The Ashtons - Cole, Abigail & Megan

meeting with the Franklin company?”
    Damn it, he’d worked for the last four weeks to clear his schedule long enough to allow a honeymoon. And now that he had the time, he wasn’t at all sure he wanted to give it up. “Because whether or not we leave town together, Megan and I have to at least give the impression of being happy newlyweds.”
    “You really think this is a good idea?”
    Actually, Simon had been wondering that himself, from the moment Megan announced her full name to the minister. An Ashton, for God’s sake. What were the odds of his accidentally marrying a woman whose family was more well-known than his own?
    He reached up and scraped one hand across his face. The media were going to be all over them for at least the next few weeks. Hell, there’d probably be paparazzi hiding in his oak trees, with telephoto lenses aimed at his house.
    Simon had already seen the avaricious glitter in the eyes of the reporters. He’d smoothly explained away the fact that Megan’s parents hadn’t attended her wedding by saying that it had been a spur of the moment thing—then tried to gloss over the fact that his own mother had been there. This was going to get complicated. The very least he needed was a few days to talk to Megan. To make their plans. To learn how to face the world as a united front. Or the jig would be up almost before it began.
    “It’s the only idea,” Simon said. “Besides, it’s done and over with now. Megan and I are married and we’ll handle whatever comes next.”
    Dave gave a long-suffering sigh and Simon almost smiled. “Fine. I’ll handle Franklin. Good luck with the little woman.”
    “Right.” Simon snapped the cell phone closed and half turned to look at the ostentatious facade of the Ashton estate.
    Cream-colored stone seemed to glow in the late afternoon light. The mansion squatted at the top of a hill, giving its residents a beautiful view of the vineyards below. Window glass winked at him as the sun slanted across the front of the house and Simon scowled at the place. It looked like one of those mansions built in the last century by robber barons with more money than taste.
    He’d heard people say that, when the house was owned by the Lattimer family, it had been smaller, yet elegant. But once Spencer Ashton took over, he’d “improved” it. He’d added two massive wings, tacked on conical towers at the end of each wing and, in general, taken a nice little country house and transformed it into a palace.
    And it felt as warm as its cool marble floors.
    Slipping his cell phone into his jacket pocket, Simon started across the crushed gravel drive, headed for the front doors. Past time to retrieve his wife and get started on their faux marriage.
    “What’re you supposed to pack for your marriage?” Megan muttered, throwing the doors to her walk-in closet wide. Okay, fine, she’d be sending for all of her things if she was going to be married for a year. But for right now, she needed to throw a few things together.
    The question was, what?
    Blindly, she stalked into the closet, swept an armful of clothing off the rack and walked back to the queen-size bed where her suitcase lay open and waiting. She’d been packing for herself for years, despite her mother always insisting that it was the maid’s job to do those little chores. Megan liked knowing what she’d have and what she wouldn’t. No point in being surprised.
    So as she worked quickly, efficiently, her mind was already racing ahead to the other things she’d need. Makeup, hairbrushes, did her new husband have a blow dryer? She’d better take hers.
    In fact, she was so busy with the task at hand, she didn’t hear her mother enter the room.
    “Would you care to explain?”
    Megan’s hands stilled and she winced a little before looking up to see Lilah Jensen Ashton standing at the foot of the bed.
    At forty-nine, Megan’s mother was still a beauty. Her chin-length red hair, kept looking natural by frequent trips to her favorite salon, was elegantly casualas always. Her cream-colored designer pants set was jazzed up by the dark-crimson silk blouse she wore beneath her jacket. Gold gleamed dully at her ears and her wrists. Thanks to a diet of coffee and salads, Lilah’s figure was as trim as it had been when she’d first gone to work as Spencer Ashton’s secretary. Her blue eyes were sharp and rarely missed much.
    “Hello, Mother.” Megan straightened up and prepared herself. Confrontations