The Royals Collection. Rebecca Winters

apartment since moving out as a fresh-faced nineteen-year-old. Chanel had thought that having her own place would make a difference in how Beatrice and Perry responded to her efforts at cooking.

      She’d learned differently quickly enough when they’d made it clear she fell short in every hosting department. The meal was too simple, the drinks offered too narrow in choice and even her bright stoneware dishes from a chain department store were considered inferior.

      As could be inferred by her mother’s gift of appropriate understated chinaware on Chanel’s next birthday. She’d donated it to Goodwill and continued using her much less expensive, bright and cheerful dishes.

      Since then, Chanel had assiduously avoided her mother’s inferences and even direct suggestions that Chanel might like to host one of the smaller family get-togethers over the years. In the ten years since that first debacle, Chanel had made sure there were no situations in which she’d have to invite her mother or stepfather into her home for so much as a drink of water.

      Perry was clearly impressed by Demyan as a host, though, the older man’s expression shining with approval over the high-end penthouse and being offered his highball by a black-clad server.

      Demyan kept them occupied with small talk, redirecting the conversation any time it looked like it would go into the familiar let’s-criticize-Chanel direction. He was also overtly approving, verbalizing his appreciation for Chanel in ways that could not be mistaken or overlooked by her parents.

      His protective behavior touched her deeply and Chanel found herself relaxing with her family in a way she could not remember doing in years.

      “So, you work for Yurkovich Tanner?” Perry asked Demyan over dinner.

      “I do.”

      Chanel added, “In the corporate offices.”

      A vague answer never satisfied her stepfather and she wasn’t sure her addition would, either, but she could hope. She didn’t want to spend the rest of the evening listening to Perry grill Demyan about his connections and job prospects.

      She realized moments later that she needn’t have worried.

      Demyan adroitly evaded each sally until Perry gave up with a rather confused-sounding “Well, maybe you can put a good word in for Andrew. I tried contacting them on his behalf, you know, because of Andrew’s connection to one of the original founders.”

      Andrew wasn’t the one connected to Bartholomew Tanner. That was Chanel and her connection was tenuous at best, but trust Perry to dismiss her blood relationship to the founder and receipt of a Tanner Yurkovich university scholarship as unimportant altogether.

      “I haven’t heard back.” Perry shrugged. “It was a long shot, but business is all about contacts.”

      Demyan nodded and then looked away from Perry to smile at Chanel. “I’m always happy to put a good word in for family.”

      Oh, the fiend. Chanel kicked Demyan’s ankle under the table, but he didn’t even have the courtesy to flinch.

      So, that’s why the dinner tonight. He’d said he was okay with waiting for her answer on his proposal, but really he had every intention of getting her family on his side. He had to realize it wouldn’t take much.

      Beatrice Saltzman had given up hope her oldest daughter would ever marry, and had never had any that it would be advantageously. She would be Demyan’s biggest supporter once she realized the plans he wanted to make.

      Chanel was going to kill him later, but right now she had to deal with the fallout of his implication.

      It wasn’t her mother or Perry who picked up on it, either. They wouldn’t

      “You’re getting married?” Laura gasped, her eyes shining. She grinned at Chanel. “I told you that outfit was going to hook him.”

      “I wasn’t looking to hook anybody. We’re not engaged.”

      “But I have asked Chanel to marry me.”

      Chanel’s mother stared at her agape. “And you haven’t said yes? No, of course you haven’t.” She shook her head like she couldn’t expect anything else from her socially awkward eldest.

      “I’m thinking about it.” Chanel glared daggers at Demyan, but he smiled back with a shark’s smile she was now convinced was not her imagination.

      “Don’t think too long. He’s likely to withdraw the offer,” Perry advised in serious, almost concerned tones. “You’re not likely to do better.”

      “It’s not a business deal.” Chanel ground out the words, refusing to be hurt by her stepfather’s observation.

      Because it was true. She couldn’t imagine anyone better than Demyan ever coming into her life, but that wasn’t what was holding her back, was it?

      “No, it’s not,” Andrew chimed in, giving his dad a fierce scowl. “Leave her alone about it. Demyan would be damn lucky to have Chanel for a wife and he’s obviously smart enough to realize it.”

      Their mom tut-tutted about swearing, but Andrew ignored her and Chanel just gave her little brother a grateful smile. He and Laura had never taken after their parents’ dim view of Chanel. Their extended family, other friends and colleagues of the Saltzmans might, but not her siblings.

      For that, Chanel had always been extremely thankful. Because she loved Andrew and Laura to bits.

      Instead of looking annoyed by Andrew taking Chanel’s part, Demyan gave him an approving glance before turning a truly chilling one on Perry. “Neither of us is likely to do better, hence my proposal.”

      “Well, of course,” Perry blustered, but no question—he realized he’d erred with his words.

      Chanel wanted to agree to marry Demyan right then, but she couldn’t. There was too much at stake.

      * * *

      Chanel was sitting down to watch an old-movie marathon on A&E when her doorbell rang the next evening.

      She’d turned down Demyan’s offer of dinner and a night in at the penthouse, telling him she wanted some time alone to think.

      He hadn’t been happy, insisting she could think as easily in his company as out of it. Knowing that for the fallacy it was, she’d refused to budge. No matter how many different arguments he brought to bear.

      Chanel had taken the fact she’d gotten her way as proof she could withstand even the more forceful side of his personality. And that he respected her enough to accede to her wishes when he knew she was serious about them.

      If he was the one ringing the bell, both suppositions would be faulty and that might be the answer she needed.

      As painful as it might be to utter.

      It wasn’t Demyan through the peephole, though. It was Chanel’s mom.

      Stunned, Chanel opened the door. “Mother. What are you doing here?”

      “I wanted to talk to you. May I come in?”

      Chanel stepped back and watched with some bemusement as her mother entered her apartment for the first time since she’d moved in years ago.

      Beatrice sat down on the sofa, carefully adjusting the skirt of her Vera Wang suit as she did so. “Close the door, Chanel. The temperature has dropped outside.”

      “Would you like something to drink?” Chanel asked as she obeyed her mother’s directive and then hovered by the door, unsure what to do with herself.

      “No, thank you.” With a slight wave of her hand toward the other end of the sofa she indicated Chanel should sit down. “I... You seemed uncertain about your relationship with Demyan last night. I thought you might want to talk about it.”

      “To you?” Chanel asked with disbelief as she settled into her seat.

      Her mother grimaced,