Page 17 of Tempted To Be Mine

The moment I stepped inside, the chaos hit me like a wave. Voices overlapping. Someone laughing. Shrieking kids and a crying infant. It was all part of the chaos I missed when I was gone for too long. The Blackwell family in its natural habitat.

“Jeremy!” My mom appeared from nowhere, pulling me into a hug before I could even set down the wine. “You’re late.”

“Traffic,” I said, kissing her cheek. “You know how the 405 gets.”

She pulled back and gave me a look that said she knew me better than I knew myself. “I do know how it gets and so do you, which is why you should have left earlier. But you’re here now. Come on, everyone’s in the dining room.”

I followed her through the house, taking in the familiar sights. Family photos lined the walls, a timeline of Blackwell history stretching back decades. There were plenty of new photos as well. The family kept growing, and the walls kept filling up. I noticed the Van Gogh was missing, replaced with wedding photos. Pictures of grandchildren.

Bye-bye Van Gogh. The Picasso would be gone next.

The dining room was filled with my very loud family. The long mahogany table was set for a feast, candles flickering between platters of food that made my stomach growl. Mom had gone all out, as usual.

“There he is!” Drew called from his seat, raising his glass. “The prodigal model returns!”

“Shut up,” I said, but I was grinning as I made my way around the table, exchanging hugs and handshakes.

Dad stood to greet me, pulling me into one of his solid, grounding hugs. Max Blackwell was the kind of man who exuded confidence and grounding. Distinguished, warm, and steady as a rock.

“Good to see you, son. How was the Santa Monica shoot?”

“Good. Really good, actually.” I handed him the wine. “Sebastian seemed happy with the shots.”

“He should be. You’re doing great work.” Dad clapped me on the shoulder and gestured to an empty seat. “Sit. Eat. Your mother’s been cooking all day.”

I found my spot between Micah and Hollis, across from Drew and his wife, Kensey. The table was full. Callum sat at one end with Victoria. Beau was already loading his plate, while our sister, Cleo, nursed a glass of wine and watched the chaos with an amused expression.

“Where are the kids?” I asked, noticing the distinct lack of tiny humans climbing on furniture.

“Nanny’s got them in the playroom,” Hollis said. “They’re having their own little feast. Mac and cheese, chicken nuggets, the works.”

“Smart. Keep the chaos contained.”

“That’s the idea.”

Mom took her seat at the head of the table opposite Dad, and just like that, the meal began. Platters were passed, wine was poured, and about ten different conversations happened. People hopped in out of one and then the other.

This was what I loved about family dinners. No matter how crazy our individual lives got, we always came back to this. The same table with the same faces. Our own personal army no matter what happened.

“So,” Callum said. “Catch me up. What’s everyone working on?”

It was his way of keeping tabs on the family empire. As the oldest, Callum had always been the responsible one. He ran the business side of Blackwell Occasions and was a go-to for all of us about anything professional related.

“I just took a deposit from a certain A-list celebrity who isn’t officially divorced but already planning her next wedding,” Cleo said. “And Mandy is already on the hunt for a venue. It’s all very hush-hush.”

Everyone immediately started shouting names in an attempt to guess who it was.

“The charity gala is next month,” Victoria said, her eyes lighting up the way they always did when she talked about her work. She’d built something beautiful, an organization that supported families with sick children. It was her heart and soul and we’d all been doing what we could to help make it a success. “We’re expecting record attendance this year.”

“That’s amazing,” Mom said, beaming. “I’d love to help if you need volunteers.”

“Always.” Victoria took a drink of her wine. “Speaking of which, how’s the foundation doing?”

Mom launched into an update about her charity work, feeding hungry kids across the city. She’d been doing it almost full-time over the last year. Her passion for it never dimmed. Dad watched her with that look he always got when she talked about her work. He was proud of her. Prouder than he was when she accepted her third Oscar.

“Drew, how are the investments looking?” Dad asked once Mom finished.

Drew leaned back in his chair. “Solid. Everyone’s portfolios are up. I’ve got some new opportunities I want to discuss some options with each of you individually, but the short version is we’re in good shape.”