Champagne Brunch: The Stiletto Sisters Series by Ainsley Claire (easy readers .txt) 📗

us to the table. Mia’s parents are sitting at a large banquette, oozing wealth and power. It’s clearly the spot in this restaurant where they can best see and be seen. Mia walks right up with a smile. “Mom, Papa, I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Axel Remington.”

They don’t stand and embrace her, which reminds me of something my parents would do. No need for actual emotion—it’s more about the show.

I extend my hand to her father. “Mr. Couture, it’s nice to meet you.”

He shakes it, and his grip is firm but not bone crushing.

I turn to her mother and extend my hand. “Mrs. Couture, it’s a pleasure.”

She gives me a plastic smile and gestures to the open seating at their table. “Mia, do you really think a bodyguard is necessary? Seems a little showy.”

I almost choke on my water. I follow her line of sight to where Peter is sitting across the room. How did she even notice him?

Mia smiles, but she doesn’t respond.

“Actually, it’s essential,” I jump in. “Mia is regularly approached. Plus, with Russian trolls posting false information about her, she’s become a target for conspiracy theorists. She has to have someone with her at all times.”

Her mother purses her lips. We’re not getting off to a good start, but they have to understand this. I try a different tact.

“What a wonderful restaurant. I can’t believe you were able to secure a reservation for us. You have some real weight around here. Thank you.”

Her father sits up straight. “Yes, well, sometimes if you know the right people, you can pull a few strings. Mia tells us you work in baseball. Are you a player?”

I chuckle and explain what I do.

He shakes his head. “I just don’t understand why a player makes so much money.”

“I suppose when less than two-tenths of a percent of the kids who play little league go on to play for Major League Baseball, it’s a pretty small group. And when a team like the Yankees earns north of four-hundred million a season between tickets, television, radio, concessions, licensing their logo, and all their other various revenue streams, their payroll is, relatively speaking, pretty low. The owner makes a nice profit.”

“I like a man who knows his numbers,” Mia’s father says.

I look at him thoughtfully. “We all know the real numbers person here is Mia.” I put my hand on her leg, and I can feel her relax.

Her mother looks away. “Such a waste being all the way in San Francisco.”

“Mom, what are your plans for Christmas?” Mia asks. “Are you thinking of flying to see Ava?”

“You know I can’t take that much time away from the office,” her father says.

We order dinner, and Mia’s parents slowly but surely pick at her to the point that I’d like to grab her by the hand and pull her out of here. My parents were around as I was growing up, but only because it created an illusion of how great they were and how involved they were with us. Mia’s parents seem to take every opportunity to tear down and discount all of her success. Perhaps that makes them feel better. It’s very odd.

As dinner begins to wrap up, Mia’s father turns to me. “I suppose you like that my daughter is rich.”

“Dad,” Mia admonishes him.

He waves her away.

I look at her and my heart beats faster. I want so much to take her away from here and shower her with love and attention. “She is part of a very small club, and it’s stunning to think she did it on her own,” I tell him. “I appreciate how generous and charitable she is with everything she’s earned, and I may not be in her league, but I’m grateful to make a good income of my own.”

Her father snorts. I don’t think he has any capacity to understand this, and the way he’s treating Mia really irritates me.

“Not that it matters, but I’m worth over a hundred million dollars,” I add. “We can live quite comfortably on just my income. We’ll be fine. I’ll share, and she can give hers all away. My only goal is to make her happy.“

“You can’t make someone happy,” her mother says with disdain. “We’ve always taught our girls that happiness is not a brass ring. If you strive for happiness, you’ll be less successful.”

I sit back in my seat. Wow. “I think Mia and I have managed to be successful not only in our careers, but also in finding each other.” I look over at Mia, and her eyes are sparkling. I’ve had enough. “Dinner was incredible,” I tell her parents as I signal the waiter and hand him my credit card. “We have some plans this evening, so I’m sorry to cut this short.”

The table is silent while we wait. Fortunately, it isn’t long before the waiter returns with the folder and my card. I add a generous tip and sign before standing and reaching for Mia’s hand.

Her parents just look at us. They don’t even seem upset that this is the only time they’re going to see their daughter during our trip. If they’d made themselves available, we would have made other plans to see them. But they did not.

“Enjoy your trip,” her mother says as we walk away.

Once we step outside, Mia texts Peter, and he already has the valet getting the car.

“I’m really sorry about that,” she says with a deep sigh.

“What do you have to be sorry for?” I reach for her hands and lace her fingers together with mine. “It’s funny. In some ways we come from the same type of parents—people more worried about outside appearances than inside.”

“My parents mean well…”

“Yes, and so do mine. But that doesn’t mean they’re doing a good job.” I