"Jo, I'm not driving you to your death."
"Hmm?" He straightened up in his seat and glanced at Rachel, confused.
"If you were any more tense, you'd snap in two."
"I'm fine."
He was not. He couldn't be more terrified if she was driving him to a pit of vipers. Which, in a way, she was.
Rachel snorted.
"You couldn't lie if your life depended on it. It's going to be fine. This is Easter dinner, not the Spanish Inquisition."
"More like the St. Charles Inquisition..." he muttered.
"You're being dramatic," she giggled, but it did little to ease his apprehension.
Jo ran a hand through his hair nervously.
"How much do they know about me?"
"I told my mom that you're from South Chicago, that you work in construction and take care of your siblings, and that we met when you brought your youngest brother in for medical care. And that you're amazing and sweet and gentle and kind and handsome."
Jo could feel the color creeping into his cheeks and his nervous hands found their way to his hair once again while he wondered how he'd gotten in to this mess. Since bringing it up, Rachel had not backed down from the idea of introducing Jo to her parents. Jo, for his part, had done his best to distract her or to put her off, but she would not budge. The boys were no help at all, though Jo suspected they would side with Rachel if she said penguins could fly or the moon was made of muenster. Jo had officially been replaced as their favorite adult, but he couldn't bring himself to be resentful.
Rachel was by far his favorite adult as well.
Ah, yes. That was how he got in this mess.
He began to fidget with the cuff of the new button-down Rachel had bought him. She had put her foot down when it came to dressing him for this occasion. Though she insisted that the prices at Nordstrom were far less than the stores she'd considered taking him, the numbers on the tags still caused him temporary panic. Rachel had finally forbidden him to check the cost of each item before trying it on.
Trying on clothes before buying them was a whole new experience. He lost count of the combinations Rachel made him model before she finally decided on the long sleeve chambray, fitted black jeans, and tobacco-colored belt. The real fight had come about the dark brown oxfords she'd snagged from the shelf.
"No way. Those are too much."
"They go with the outfit perfectly."
"You can't hide the price tag this time, Rachel. It's listed right up there."
He pointed to the triple digit sign.
"That's actually not bad for this brand."
"Rachel. That's twice what I pay for electricity every month."
"You can't think about it that way-"
"-How else am I supposed to think about it? I can't justify you spending that on shoes I will only wear once."
"You won't wear them once! They super high quality. They'll last you several years at least!"
"Where else am I going to wear these, Rach? To work?"
"Jo! Just listen to me!"
He ducked his head at her tone. She continued, a bit softer.
"I know this is hard for you. I know meeting my family is hard for you. Honestly, I don't care what you wear. I'd take you there in your coveralls! But I want you to feel comfortable. I don't want you to think they're judging you because of what you're wearing. And they will, Jo. I'm just trying to help."
He knew she was right. But it didn't ease the knot in his gut. For the sixth time in the past hour, he considered jumping from the moving vehicle and making his way back to Burnside on foot. Or rather barefoot. There was no way he'd make the trek in these shoes.
Rachel reached over and grabbed his hand, giving it a light squeeze when he flinched.
"I'm sorry," he murmured.
"For what, baby?"
"For being a wimp about this. For the shopping trip."
He hesitated, then pushed past the gravel in his throat.
"For freaking out every time you touch me."
She ran her thumb over his hand.
"It's not you. You know that, right?"
"I know," she said, and the silence became comfortable again.
Jo looked out the window, noticing how much bigger the houses were getting. The knot in his stomach returned and he began to feel nauseated. Finally, they pulled into a gated driveway and a man stepped from the small building beside it. Rachel rolled down her window.
"Good evening, Miss Marshall. It's a pleasure to see you."
"Hi James," Rachel beamed. "How is Nancy?"
The man blushed.
"She's well, thank you for asking. Enjoy your night, miss."
He retreated into the gatehouse and the gate began to open. They had to drive through a small forest before coming to parallel columns of white trees that lead to the main house. As they drew closer, Jo felt the increasing need to vomit.
He'd never even imagined a house so big.
Rachel followed the circular driveway and parked her Volvo next to a silver Bugatti and a black Aston Martin. They sat for a moment, the only noises coming from the fountain in front of the house and the hammering of Jo's heart. Rachel gripped his hand once again and he nearly jumped through the roof.
"It's okay," Rachel soothed. "Just breathe."
Jo nodded his head jerkily. He found himself wishing he was back with the boys. Frank had been kind enough to volunteer his babysitting abilities since the restaurant was closed for Easter, and Jo would have given his left hand to be there with them at this moment.
"You ready?"
He nodded again, opening the door and standing shakily. Rachel exited the car and the sight of her took his breath away again, as it had when she'd come to pick him up. She wore a flowy, white blouse tucked into a pleated, blush-pink skirt that brushed her shins, leading to the nude heels on her feet. Even in his new clothes, Jo felt out of place at her side, like a dandelion next to a Juliet rose.
Keeping her movements slow, she reached up to brush aside a lock of hair that had escaped from his haphazard attempt at a combover.
"You look so handsome, baby," she whispered to him.
Taking his hand, she lead him up the steps to the monstrous doors.
He shook his head.
"Nothing compared to you, Rach. You look stunning. As always."
She smiled sweetly at him just as the doors opened. Another man appeared and Jo braced himself to meet Rachel's father. When he saw the kind smile on the man's face, his stomach muscles began to relax. He could do this.
"Richard!" Rachel exclaimed, forsaking his hand to wrap the man tightly in a hug.
"Miss Marshall," the man said tenderly. "We've missed you."
Not her father, then. The anxiety returned.
"Jo, this is Richard. He's been with our family since before I can remember. Richard, this is Jo."
Richard bowed his head in a nod that was much too formal for Jo's comfort.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."
Jo had never been called "sir" before and it only added to the feeling of being a fraud.
"Likewise," he said, extending a hand.
Richard seemed as surprised at this as Jo. But he shook it lightly, and then motioned for them to enter.
"I believe you will find your family is in the front room, Miss Marshall."
"Thank you, Richard. Say hello to Amelia for me."
Rachel squeezed his arm as she passed by and then took Jo's hand in her's again.
If possible, the inside of the mansion was even more impressive than the outside. The gilded ceiling was twenty feet tall at least with immaculate crown moulding and white panels. A spiraling staircase could be seen down the wide hallway, but Rachel steered him to the left into what he assumed was the "front room."
Jo fought to keep his jaw from dropping at the sight. The ceilings were even higher in this room. A massive fireplace took up most of the far wall. Two tall, wing backed chairs sat angled on either side of it while a pair of impressive couches faced each other on a plush, Persian rug. Six floor-to-ceiling windows covered the length of the left wall, framed with burgundy drapes that brushed a glistening marble floor. The right wall held eight, life sized paintings, each in an ornate gold frame. At the middle of the ceiling hung an enormous crystal chandelier that would have seemed excessive in any lesser room.
Jo was pulled from gawking by Rachel's gentle nudge. Only then did he take notice of the subjects of his trepidation.
"Rachel. We thought you had stood us up."
Jo recognized the woman from the ill fated New Years Eve party. Rachel's mother.
"Sorry we're late, mom. The traffic was terrible."
Rachel released Jo briefly to give her mother a quick hug, and then tugged Jo over.
"Mom, this is Jo."
He fought to meet the woman's gaze while every instinct in him was screaming to keep his head lowered, eyes on the ground. Where they belonged.
"Jo. I've heard a lot about you."
Jo could immediately see the disapproval in her eyes as her gaze skimmed over every scar on his face. She reached out to shake his hand and lifted an eyebrow at the heavy scarring that encircled his wrist. Why had he agreed to let Rachel roll up his sleeves?
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Marshall," he said, his voice sounding quiet even to his ears.
"Come on, let's go meet the others."
The happy lilt to Rachel's voice indicated that she had missed the nonverbal distain coming off her mother in billows.
Two women who Jo guessed to be Rachel's sisters stood several feet away, accompanied by their husbands. All four were looking Jo up and down and made no effort to hide their censure.
"Jo, this is Sarah and her husband Matt. And Emily and her husband Steve."
Jo shook hands with each, attempting a smile that probably looked more like a grimace judging by the looks on their faces.
"We never thought we'd see the day that Rachel brought a guy home," Sarah said with one eyebrow raised, mimicking her mother.
"We've been waiting for her to announce she's moving to Calcutta and taking a vow of celibacy," Emily added, her voice dripping capriciously .
Rachel laughed lightly, undeterred by their teasing.
"Well, sissy, good guys don't grow on trees."
"No, it appears they grow in South Chicago."
Sarah's sarcasm earned the laughter of the group, but made Jo feel two inches tall. Rachel only smiled and grasped his hand gently.
"Shall we eat?" a voice boomed from the doorway.
Jo had dealt with drug dealers, pimps, abusers, and corrupt police officers, all of whom made his skin crawl and his stomach clench. But the man in front of him exuded more authority than most men sweat; Jo had never felt as intimidated by any human than by the giant of a man that was Rachel's father.
As he approached, Jo could see where Rachel had gotten her green eyes. But while Rachel's were warm and sparkled with life, her father's were completely unreadable. His stare made Jo want to find a nearby hole and bury himself in it.
"Dad!" Rachel exclaimed, moving to squeeze him into a tight hug.
Only then, did a hint of warmth find its way into those pale green orbs.
"Hi, sweetie pie," he said as he squeezed her back.
"Dad, this is Jo."
The warmth quickly left the man's face as his icy gaze raked over Jo's frame, coming to rest on his outstretched hand. Jo could see his expression change to suspicion as he noticed the scars on his wrist and forearm.
Idiot, he thought, kicking himself once more for not covering the scars that he'd become so accustomed to seeing.
"Good to meet you, sir," he said, fighting to keep his voice steady as the man's hand crushed his own in a handshake that oozed dominance.
"Hmm," was the only reply he received.
For a fleeting moment, his face took on an expression of absolute loathing, and then returned to a cold, neutral stare. It was so quick, Jo would have been sure he had imagined it, had his blood not run instantly cold at the sight.
"Dinner," Rachel's mother announced, and the family began to make their way into the dinning room.
Rachel took his hand and offered him an encouraging smile as she lead him to the second level of hell.