Chapter 54 Chapter 54 The Parents
I give myself loose curls, keeping them soft and effortless. My makeup is light—just enough to make my natural features pop. A pink cashmere sweater slips off one shoulder, paired with light blue jeans and pink pumps. I finish with my wool trench coat. My large shoulder bag hangs by the door—I tuck in an extra shirt and underwear, just in case. Phone, wallet, keys. Mason’s keys go into my pocket.
He told me to let myself in.
"Snoop around," he texted earlier, adding a winky face. He’s still at the gym.
The five-mile drive down the Strip takes almost thirty minutes. Saturday night traffic is insane—lights, noise, people everywhere. By the time I reach his building, I’m already a little on edge.
I park on the 28th floor and head up to the front desk on the 31st.
The girl behind the desk smiles politely, hands me a map, and explains that next time I can use the resident entrance. Mason already has me listed—I’ll have access to the private elevator.
That… does something to my chest.
I thank her and slide the paper into my bag.
Inside the elevator, with the attendant standing quietly beside me, I scan the key card. “Top floor,” the display reads.
A strange sense of déjà vu washes over me as the scent of lavender fills the space.
The doors slide open.
But this time, there’s another door waiting.
“Use the key for this one,” the attendant says with a polite smile.
I step out, slide the key into the fob, and the door unlocks smoothly.
I step inside.
The penthouse looks different under normal lighting—less intimidating, more… lived in. And it smells better. Cleaner. Warmer.
Then I hear voices.
Faint. Coming from deeper inside.
I freeze.
I thought he wasn’t home.
“Mason?” I call out cautiously.
A head pops out from one of the rooms.
Nate.
“Elena???” His face lights up. “No way. I didn’t believe him when he said you two were dating!”
He walks toward me quickly, but this time the way he looks at me doesn’t make my skin crawl.
“Come on, let’s put your coat and bag away.” He opens a door to a coat closet. “We’re here to surprise Mason. We do this dinner every year—not really for Christmas, just to get together. Everyone’s here.”
Everyone?
I slip off my coat, handing it to him.
“I’m glad you’re not wearing anything revealing,” he adds with a laugh.
We walk toward the living room, but before turning the corner, he stops me.
“Take a deep breath,” he says quietly. “And don’t show them if you’re intimidated. If they smell blood, they’ll pounce.”
Great.
I inhale slowly, steadying myself.
Then we step in.
The living room is massive. White plush carpet, black leather couches, floor-to-ceiling windows stretching at least fifteen feet high. A long fireplace runs across one wall with a huge TV mounted above it. A white Christmas tree glows softly in the corner.
And it’s full of people.
They all turn at once.
Every single pair of eyes lands on me.
“This is Elle—Mason’s girlfriend,” Nate announces, guiding me forward.
Girlfriend.
That word hits harder than expected.
He starts introducing everyone.
“My uncle—and Mason’s dad—Travis Jones. My aunt, Catori Jones. Mason’s older twin sisters, Lomasi and Aponi. My dad, Thomas Jones, my mom, Leilani Jones, and my younger brother, Hanson.”
I straighten slightly.
“I’m Elena Dimitrova. It’s nice to meet you all.”
I smile.
And then the questions start.
“Where are you from?” one of the sisters asks. “You have an accent.”
“Bulgaria,” I answer calmly.
“I knew you looked familiar,” Aponi says, studying me. “I was in Greece this summer—you were all over the tabloids.”
Mason’s father suddenly looks up from his phone, interest piqued.
“Relinquished her royal title last year,” she continues. “You were photographed with some mobster.”
I keep my expression neutral.
"I was not interested in all the things that come with the title of "Duchess" and Ivan Pavlov is a business associate of my cousins and a close friend. I usually live a quiet life but when I am in Europe without security detail, tabloids post garbage."
Mason’s mother nods faintly, returning to her phone.
Travis Jones, however, keeps watching me.
“How long have you been dating my son?”
“About two months,” I say smoothly.
“Two and a half,” Mason’s voice cuts in from behind me.
Relief floods through me instantly as his hand settles on my lower back.
I didn’t realize how tense I was until now.
“It says here you’re eighteen,” Lomasi says, her smile turning mischievous. “Still in high school.”
I feel the shift in the room.
Mason’s uncle clicks his tongue under his breath.
“What are you all doing here?” Mason asks, irritation threading his voice.
“I’m not done talking to Elena,” his father replies calmly. “What are your plans after graduation?”
I meet his gaze directly.
“I’m taking a year off. Traveling with my friends. After that, college—maybe photography or English literature. Or…” I pause slightly, “I could disappear to a farm my grandmother left me. It’s in the Balkan Mountains. Quiet. Isolated. I could read, write… live peacefully away from all of this.”
The room is silent.
“I have time to figure it out.”
Travis studies me.
“And what are your intentions regarding my son?”
I laugh.
Actually laugh.
“I’m sorry,” I say, shaking my head. “I thought you were joking. That’s such an archaic question.”
The room stiffens.
“But to answer what you’re really asking…” I continue, my tone sharpening slightly. “I have no intentions. We’re dating. It’s too early for anything else.”
I pause, then add, more bluntly—
“I don’t want to get married. Ever. And I can’t have children—not that I’d want to. I value my independence.”
His father’s lips twitch, almost amused.
“Please,” he says. “Go on.”
I tilt my head slightly.
“To be completely honest…” I let the words hang for a second. “I just want to find out if Mason can work his dick as well as he works his mouth. Then I’ll know exactly where this is going.”
Silence.
Then—
Mason laughs, leaning in to kiss my shoulder.
“That sharp tongue,” he murmurs, “is exactly why I love you.”
His uncle bursts out laughing. Nate follows right behind him.
His sisters look stunned.
Completely stunned.
Catori Jones sits up straighter, cutting through the tension effortlessly.
“Let’s have dinner,” she says, her tone warm but firm. She glances at me, a knowing look in her eyes. “Travis, that’s what you get for asking ridiculous questions.”
Then she turns fully to me.
“Elena, tell me more about this property your grandmother left you. It sounds absolutely heavenly.”
And just like that, the tension breaks.