Damsel Under Stress (Page 42)
When we’d all been served, I discovered it was finally my turn to be interrogated by Gloria. She fixed me with a measuring gaze. “So, Katie, as you can well imagine, Owen has told us next to nothing about you other than that you work together and that you’re from out of town. Where were you before you came to New York?”
“I’m from a small town in Texas. I’d lived there all my life, except when I was off at school.”
“And what did you do there?” Her tone wasn’t nearly as sharp with me as it had been with Owen, but I still felt like I’d been hooked to a polygraph machine and this testimony was the only way I might be able to clear my name and avoid life in prison.
“My family owns a farm supply store there, and I worked in the store. I pretty much ran the business from the time I was in high school.”
“Are you planning to stay in New York long?”
“I haven’t been considering it a temporary thing. I love the city. I could see myself settling there.” She nodded like she was happy with the answer, and then I caught her glancing toward Owen. I knew then exactly what was going on. She was a lioness with a cub. Coddling him wouldn’t do him any good in the wild, so she’d be as tough with him as she had to for him to grow up strong and self-sufficient. Meanwhile, she’d defend him to the death against any possible threats, including me. It was funny that, as brilliant as Owen was about so many things, he hadn’t seen this. Then again, she only got that motherly look in her eyes when he wasn’t paying attention.
She eased off on the questioning at that point, and I hoped that meant she didn’t disapprove of me. I had a feeling it would be awhile before she decided to go so far as to actually approve of me, but as long as I was in neutral territory, I figured I was doing okay with her.
It sounded more like an order than a suggestion, so we trooped upstairs obediently. Owen looked like he needed some serious book time, so I left him to his reading and went to prop my still-chilled feet against the radiator in my room.
Just before four, I changed into my planned outfit for the evening, Gemma’s cream-colored cashmere sweater and my black skirt. After I was dressed, I figured I’d better head downstairs. I got the feeling punctuality was essential in this household. I took my gifts with me to put under the Christmas tree that stood in the front window. Owen’s door was still closed as I passed it, and I carefully stepped over the squeaky spot in the hallway so I wouldn’t disturb him.
Downstairs in the parlor, I checked the tags on the gifts under the Christmas tree to find the appropriate piles, then added my gifts. I couldn’t help but notice that there were two gifts there with my name on them. Then I sat and communed with Arawn while I waited for the others. James joined me first, and we made stiff small talk until Gloria and Owen came downstairs. Gloria then hustled us outside to the car. Owen drove, and Gloria insisted I sit in the front with him while she and James took the backseat.
The church in the heart of the village looked like something you’d see on the front of a Christmas card. It was built of stone with a snow-dusted slate roof and red-bowed evergreen wreaths on the arched front doors. The congregation, however, was like nothing I’d seen before. It was a mix of every kind of magical person I’d encountered. There was a special raised seating area near the front for the gnomes. Elves and fairies were mixed in among the humans. Gargoyles perched on the backs of pews. I wasn’t sure if they were local or if they were part of the MSI security detail. The sense of power inside the church was so strong it felt like my hair was standing on end.
Once we started singing carols, I learned that Owen had a very nice singing voice. It made me self-conscious about the fact that I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. I fought off the feelings of inadequacy that always seemed to lurk where Owen was concerned. He was so perfect, so good at almost everything, that it was often difficult to imagine him being interested in me. But he was interested and had made that clear, and he wasn’t entirely perfect now that I knew him better. For one thing, he was kind of an emotional basket case, for reasons that were becoming increasingly obvious.
But that little vulnerability only made him more interesting to me. What woman could resist a handsome, wealthy, powerful, nice man who was also just a tiny bit broken inside? It meant that in spite of him seemingly having everything, there was something he still needed from me. He might have been ultrapowerful, but I couldn’t help wanting to protect him.