Sway With Me (Inspiring the Greek Billionaire) (17 page)

Chapter 17

You can’t always judge a book by its cover.

William Shakespeare
, Merchant of Venice,
act 3, scene 2

Strolling into the Grand Ballroom, Portia tried not to become too overwhelmed. She’d lived in New York. Danced in off-Broadway productions. Yet nothing prepared her for the spectacle they encountered.

The room screamed of money. Ryan had warned her, but she’d never imagined how elaborate this fundraiser would be. His
family’s
fundraiser.

The room looked like Rockefeller Center at Christmastime. Colorful lights illuminated beautiful ice sculptures, plunging them into a true winter wonderland. White twinkling Christmas lights wrapped around miniature pine trees on tables covered with silver cloths and bars covered by ice were offered in several spots throughout the room.

She grabbed Ryan’s hand for support, hoping her palms weren’t sweating. This was his world and somewhere in here were his parents and brothers. What would they think when they discovered who she was?

Her stomach rolled. She didn’t belong here.

Ryan took a step further into the room, but she remained rooted to her spot, terrified. If she could, she would’ve spun on her heels and run out of there, but she couldn’t. She had stage fright and she wasn’t even on a stage. Come to think of it, she’d rather dance half-naked on a stage than pretend she belonged in this scene.

He twisted to face her, pulling her close. “I know what you’re thinking. Stop it.”

“What? You couldn’t—”

“I know you, Portia. You think you don’t belong, that you’re different.” He played with one of her curls. “And you’re right.”

How could he say that to her? Her heart pounded and the urge to flee the room consumed her.

He searched her face, obviously noticing her reaction and his eyes widened as he yanked her against his chest. “I’m sorry, that didn’t come out the way I intended. You
are
different, in every way that counts. You’re kind and strong and determined.” She moved back and looked up at him. “Some of these people haven’t worked a day in their lives and they take everything they have for granted. But that’s not what makes you different. You’re different because of how I feel about you. I lo—”

A shorter replica of Ryan smacked him on the back. “Nice of you to make your annual appearance, oh prodigal brother of mine.”

Wincing, Ryan stepped back and gave his brother a manly half-hug. “Portia, this is Sean, my youngest brother. Sean, this is Portia, my . . .”

“Friend,” she said, offering her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Ryan’s talked a lot about you and Drew.”

Sean smirked at his brother. “Good to know he hasn’t forgotten us.”

The brothers could’ve passed for twins except for a few subtle differences. Sean’s eyes, while the same shape as Ryan’s, were hazel and his hair just a touch darker. He wore a more modern tuxedo with a skinny tie rather than a bow tie, giving her just a hint of his personality.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around.” Ryan banded his arm around her waist. “I’m going to change that. I owe all of you an apology.”

Sean waved his hand as if he couldn’t care less. “No apology necessary, at least for me. Just buy a round of drinks one night at the bar and we’ll call it even.” He frowned. “Have you seen Sam?”

She glanced at Ryan, unfamiliar with the name.

“Yeah.” He pulled her tighter against him. “Where are Mom and Dad?”

His brother paused then nodded and she got the feeling she was missing something. “Last I saw they were talking to Drew and Rose over by the caviar bar.” He pointed to the far right of the room.

Caviar bar? Every minute, she felt more out of place. Ryan might think she belonged, but it was becoming more and more apparent that she didn’t. Waiters passed hors d'ourves and glasses of champagne to the guests and they weren’t the typical pigs-in-a-blanket she was used to. They served sushi and poached pear with prosciutto and things she couldn’t pronounce.

“Rose is Braden’s sister,” Ryan explained, seemingly distracted by something. Or someone.

Sean smiled. “Yeah, Braden is here, too, but, unlike you, he didn’t bring a date.”

With seriousness she’d never heard in his voice, Ryan said, “Portia is more than my date.”

She grew warm inside, hope blooming in her chest as she waited for him to elaborate. They hadn’t discussed their relationship or anything about the future for fear of ruining what they had together. But time was running out.

Sean’s eyebrow arched. “Sounds intriguing.”

Ryan stared at her for what felt like minutes until Sean nudged him in the ribs. Then with a hand splayed on her lower back, Ryan turned her and propelled them in the opposite direction. “Ready to say hi to the folks?”

She pasted on a smile, hiding her disappointment. What did she mean to Ryan?

Mistaking it for nerves, Ryan brushed her cheek with his knuckles. “Come on. I promise you, no matter what, they won’t hold you responsible for my mistakes. They’ll love you.”

What would his parents think about their oldest son involved with Reina’s daughter? What if they hated her? Her palms grew sweaty and her heart started running a marathon beneath her breast.

Ryan weaved them through the room, not bothering to stop and chat with the various women who called out greetings. He nodded politely and sidestepped them as he and Portia made their way to his parents.

His mother caught them coming toward them and patted her husband’s arm. Both had kind and eager expressions, obviously thrilled to see their son.

Portia immediately saw the resemblance between Ryan and his father. They were roughly the same height with the same build, but his dad had a good twenty-five pounds extra on him. His hair was a distinguished gray and his eyes were identical to Ryan’s. She realized this was what Ryan would look like in thirty years.

Despite the fact their mothers were around the same age, Mrs. Sullivan appeared at least a decade younger. She wore her dark brown hair in a regal bob. Her mom hadn’t cut her silver hair in years and wore it in a long braid. Ryan’s mother wore a simple black ball gown with capped sleeves, embellished with elegant beads around the waist. Portia’s mom didn’t own anything designer, black, made in a foreign country, or created in the last thirty years. She looked like a modern-day flower child with long, flowing skirts in bright colors. That was one of the reasons that the minute Portia turned eighteen, she’d moved to New York. Between her clothes and her talk of their duties as a Muse, her mother had always managed to embarrass her. No wonder her Aunt Tina wanted nothing to do with them.

Ryan squeezed her hand as they walked up to his parents. “Mom, Dad, this is—”

“Portia.” Mrs. Sullivan placed a hand over her chest. “My goodness, you haven’t changed a bit. Please, call us Michael and Olivia. After all, we’re family. What are you doing here with Ryan?”

Shocked, Portia’s feet automatically slid into third position. “You remember me?”

“Of course. Your aunt showed us pictures of you and your sister, Viola, all the time.” Olivia took her hand. “She was so proud of you. And of course, Alexander told us Viola had moved here. We would’ve had her over for dinner, but we haven’t done much entertaining since the funeral. We’ve always considered you all part of our family even when your mother took you on all of your adventures.”

She didn’t know which part of Olivia’s comments to concentrate on first. Pictures? Adventures? Viola had attended Alexander’s funeral? Portia wasn’t even aware they’d known each other.

Michael stepped forward. “Reina had always said you’d make your way home. I’m only sorry it was after Tina and Alexander’s deaths. Still, if you ever need anything, you just have to pick up the phone and ask.”

Out of everything they could’ve said, she never expected to hear that her mom had stayed in touch with her aunt. She took a deep breath and blinked back the threatening tears.

“I’m sorry. Did we say something wrong?” Olivia asked.

“No. I’m just surprised.”

Ryan rubbed her back reassuringly, calming her. “I didn’t know my mother and you communicated,” she said.

Olivia slid her husband a quick glance. “Oh, just a few letters here and there. But she and your aunt corresponded every week. I guess your mom isn’t big on technology and preferred old-fashioned pen and paper. No emails for her. Tina lived for getting those letters and pictures of you and your sister. Reina wanted to come visit, but the treatments for the cancer wiped Tina out and she didn’t want you to see her that way.”

All these years she’d blamed her mom for keeping them from the family. “My mother wanted to come to Michigan?”

Michael looked grim. “Yes. I offered to pay for you all to fly here but she wouldn’t go against your aunt’s wishes. Tina didn’t want you to grieve her.”

“I wish I would’ve known. My mother didn’t explain any of this to us.”

Olivia smiled. “If you’d like to come over one day, I could show you some of our family albums. I’ve got several pictures of your aunt. I even have pictures of you and Ryan playing together at Alexander and Tina’s wedding reception.”

Stunned, Portia checked Ryan’s reaction and found him equally surprised. “We’ve met?”

“Ryan talked about you for weeks after you left. Reina reassured him you’d come back for good one day. He waited by the door every night for a month until he gave up and threw his attention into his cute little art projects.”

Ryan stiffened. She couldn’t help herself from prodding Olivia for information. “Art projects?”

“He started sketching, and as he got older, he painted. He was very talented.” Olivia looked at her son lovingly. “I don’t know why you stopped such a wonderful hobby.”

“Maybe because I wanted it to be more than a hobby,” Ryan said tersely. His jaw tightened as his skin paled. “Will you excuse me?” Without a word, he walked away, leaving her with his parents.

They obviously had no idea how much art meant to their son, and neither had Portia. A shiver of awareness passed over her as she watched Ryan cross the dance floor. Was it possible she had inspired his art when they were children? She shook her head. She was beginning to sound like her mother. Yet in her dreams, he was an artist.

Olivia and Michael exchanged a look, then Olivia asked, “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you and Ryan become reacquainted?”

She lost track of Ryan in the crowd and turned back to his parents. “Alexander left us his mansion in his Will on the condition we live together in it for three months. Tomorrow, George Pappas, Alexander’s attorney, will officially hand over the deed.”

Whether Ryan would allow her to stay in the house remained to be seen. She’d hoped he’d grown to love the mansion as much as she had these last few months. Otherwise, whatever they’d built between them would crumble into pieces much like the house’s walls when they’d first moved in.

Olivia shook her head. “Sounds like something my brother would cook up. He always did have a Zeus complex.”

Despite her worries, her lips tugged up in a smile. She’d heard of a God complex, but a Zeus complex was a new one. “I’m sorry, Ryan hasn’t said much about him.”

“Probably because Ryan feels a little guilty about the fire,” Olivia said.

Seizing the opportunity to learn more about what led to the family discord, Portia pretended to know more than she did. “You’re right. He does feel guilty.”

“He shouldn’t. He acted irresponsibly when he left Alexander alone to go see that girl, but it was an innocent mistake and we never blamed him,” Michael said, banding an arm around his wife’s waist.

Olivia burrowed into his side, an affectionate gesture which had Portia wondering if she and Ryan could one day be as close as his parents. “As a child, Ryan loved spending time at that mansion. In fact, I remember you two dancing in the ballroom together. You were teaching him the steps to
Thriller
. He adored you and I can see it in his eyes, he still does.”

She suddenly remembered. When she’d run out of the church, embarrassed about her shoes, he’d followed her and convinced her to come back in after complimenting her choice in footwear. He’d joked about how people spent so much money on shoes for weddings, but then couldn’t walk by the end of the day because of their blisters. After the reception, she’d tagged along with him when the family continued the celebration at the mansion. They’d spent hours dancing and drawing pictures in the ballroom.

How could she have forgotten? No wonder they were drawn to the ballroom. They’d played there as children.

Filled with excitement, she gave Olivia a quick hug. “Would you excuse me? I’m going to see if I can coax a dance from him.”

Olivia smiled. “I’m glad you two found each other again. Your mother always said you would.”

She did? Why hadn’t she said anything?

Michael clasped Portia’s shoulder. “It was nice meeting you again, Portia. I hope you and Ryan will join us on Christmas for dinner. We’d love to have both of you there.”

While she relished the idea of a large family dinner, she wasn’t sure if she could convince Ryan to attend. “I’d enjoy that. Thank you.”

Heading for the dance floor, she scanned the mass of tuxedos for Ryan. She narrowed her eyes on the back of a man with cinnamon-colored hair dancing with a brunette in a skintight black-sequined dress. As she moved closer, she realized it was Sean and sighed in relief. She tapped him on the back. “Sean, have you seen Ryan?”

He gazed at the floor. “I, uh . . . I think he went into the lobby.”

“Thanks, I’ll go—”

She took a couple of steps back before Sean grabbed her arm. “No, why don’t you let him do his thing and dance with me?”