by Lexie Ray
I hurried to head off any response Amelia could make, not wanting the issue to escalate.
“I would’ve had to refuse the invitation,” I said, careful to keep my voice bright and empty. “I’ve been holed up here all day with a stylist. It is so nice to be pampered inside the comforts of your own home.”
Amelia narrowed her eyes at me while Jane and Violet gaped, but Brock saved them the indignity of having to counter with a loud guffaw.
“Score one for Miss Michelle,” he said. “You go, girl.”
“I wasn’t aware we were at one of your vulgar boxing matches, Brock,” Amelia said haughtily. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go see to the chefs.”
“She means she has to go micromanage the chefs,” Brock said in a stage whisper, wiggling his eyebrows. I tried not to smile but failed miserably, forced to take another sip of champagne to hide my mirth. Had I really gotten the better of Amelia Wharton in that exchange? I was sure there would be many more for me to try my hand at.
“How are you feeling, Jonathan?” Violet asked anxiously, taking his arm and leaning into him. “I hear you’ve been having trouble at work.”
Trouble at work? That was news to me. Jonathan smiled and stepped back, his message gentle but clear.
“It’s just challenging getting back into the swing of things,” he said. “That’s all.”
He put his arm around me, and I was so happy I could’ve sung. Bring it on, Wharton family dinner. So far, I’d put Amelia in her place, Jonathan had reminded Violet of hers, and the champagne was making me feel invincible. Of course, the evening had started out with the ultimate snub: Amelia clearly picking Violet over me for “family time.” We hadn’t even had the first course and I was already playing an intense game of chess here.
“I brought over some boxes of photos and things, like we talked about,” Violet persisted, touching Jonathan’s shoulder again. Why couldn’t she take a hint? Jonathan had his arm around me, not her.
“Thank you,” he said stiffly, maneuvering away from her so that he could retrieve his glass of champagne from a side table. “I’ll go through them and get them returned to you as soon as possible.”
“There could be some things in them you’d like to keep,” she pressed on, oblivious to Jonathan’s attempts to get away from her. “You can have them for as long as you want. Forever, even.”
Brock seemed to take pity on poor Violet.
“Come here, pretty girl,” he said, taking her on his arm. “I’m going to get us some drinks while you tell me all about that massage. Spare no gory detail. I want to hear all about how that naughty masseuse had his hands on you. Where’d he touch you?”
“It was a girl masseuse,” Violet said, letting herself be led away.
“Oh, do tell,” Brock said, his grin a poor disguise for a leer. I couldn’t figure him out. Was he slimy, or was he genuine? Could he be a friend to both Jonathan and me?
“Jane, why didn’t you all invite Michelle to go to the spa?” Jonathan demanded, his voice low and angry as Brock and Violet moved out of earshot.
“No, it’s really fine,” I cut in.
“It’s not fine.” Jane surprised both Jonathan and me by speaking up. “I told Mom to send Lucy for Michelle this morning, but Mom refused. She said she wanted to show Violet that we still valued her. I’m sorry. I should’ve stood up to her, but you know how Mom is.”
Jonathan shrugged helplessly, and Jane looked chagrined.
“Okay, maybe you don’t know how Mom is,” Jane said. “But I’m so sorry, Michelle. It was such a shitty thing of Mom to do, but that’s kind of who she is. You’ll get to know her, though you’ll wish you hadn’t.”
I was completely taken aback by Jane’s candor. Was she telling the truth? I could definitely see Amelia plotting to exclude me. She’d wanted me out of their lives from the get go. Was it possible that Jane could be my friend as well?
“Thank you for the thought,” I said. “But I really did have a good time with my stylist.”
“Who was it?” Jane asked. “You look amazing, by the way.”
“Rowan,” I answered. “I don’t know her last name, though.”
“Oh, Rowan is just Rowan,” Jane gushed, placing a hand over her cleavage. “And she’s great. How did you swing an appointment with her? She’s booked solid most of the time.”
“It just … happened,” I said, watching Lucy move around the dining room, putting the finishing touches on the place settings. How had Lucy gotten the stylist appointment for me? She must have some pretty awesome connections.
“Well, Rowan is a miracle worker,” Jane said, then gasped. “That’s not to say—I didn’t mean—it’s just your makeup’s so great—fuck me.”
“Best to stop while you’re ahead, Jane,” Collier rumbled, making his entrance. “You and Michelle are both visions and look very lovely.”
“Thank you,” I said, happy he’d stepped in when he did. “How was golf today?”
“A lot better than being primped and coiffed all day, I’ll tell you that much,” he laughed. “Do you know anything about the game?”
“I caddied for my father a couple of times,” I said. “Never really got into it, though. I just liked hanging out with him and being outside.”
“Well, you’re welcome at the club whenever you like,” Collier said. “I certainly won’t make you caddy for me, but the grounds are beautiful. You could drive me around in the golf cart, if you want to.”
“Sounds fun,” I said, beaming. Thank God for Jonathan’s father. He could just swoop in and make everything better.
“Everyone!” Amelia’s high voice rang out through the dining room, causing all chatter to cease. She gave Brock the evil eye as he continued laughing at something Violet had told him long after everyone else had fallen silent.
“Sorry,” he said, sniffling a little into his glass of champagne.
“I wanted to hold this dinner to celebrate my son, who was gone from us for so long,” Amelia said, looking lovingly at the man with his arm around me. Jonathan seemed distinctly uncomfortable, and squeezed me a little tighter. I didn’t mind one bit.
“I would’ve had a hundred people here tonight—that’s how joyful I am,” Amelia continued. “But we decided to have only the closest of family members and friends here today. It’s important to surround ourselves with family during such a time of upheaval.”
As she talked about family, Amelia gazed lovingly upon Violet, who smiled back. But when the word “upheaval” left her lips, Amelia leveled a stare at me. I didn’t need a translator to understand. The message had been blunt, and I had received it—Violet was Amelia’s choice for Jonathan, and I was just some usurper making everything go to hell.
“Jesus Christ,” Jane muttered. “Sorry, Michelle.” It both embarrassed and heartened me that other people were picking up on the hostile display. Maybe that would encourage some lines to be drawn and I could see just who our allies were—and our enemies.
“Something to add, Jane?” Amelia asked sweetly. I could practically taste the venom in the undercurrent of her voice.
“Just a tickle in my throat,” Jane said in the exact same tone. “Sorry for the interruption.”
“I hope we all enjoy the dinner and drinks tonight,” Amelia added. “But please don’t forget why we’re here—because my son is home safe. A toast to Jonathan.”
“To Jonathan and Michelle,” Jane added loudly as everyone else only murmured “to Jonathan.” She hoisted her glass in the air. “Because without Michelle, who knows what would’ve happened to him?”
Amelia gritted her teeth, and I could hear her grind them. “Don’t be morbid, dear,” she told Jane. “To Jonathan and Michelle.”
“Hear, hear,” Collier said, and we all drank the toast.
Was that score two for Michelle? I didn’t dare try to seek Brock out to see. Amelia appeared to seethe as she took her spot at the table beside Collier.
Thankfully, we all got caught u
p in the five-course dinner, swilling wine and champagne amid the different stages. It was divine and opulent, almost too rich to properly enjoy. Each course was presented as just a few bites on each plate so we could all appreciate the tastes the chefs had assembled.
“It’s kind of like tapas,” Jane remarked, stabbing an asparagus spear with her fork.
“Tapas?” I repeated.
“Oh my God, you don’t know what tapas are?” Jane demanded, aghast. “We are so fucking going.”
“Jane Wharton!” Amelia raged. “I don’t know where you and your brother got your foul mouths, but I won’t tolerate it.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Jonathan complained, looking up from his plate.
“Fuck,” Brock threw in. “Sorry, I was feeling left out.”
“Let’s just all keep in mind that we’re adults,” Collier said, placing his knife and fork on his clean plate.
I smiled behind my napkin. Jonathan did have a foul mouth. I realized that this was probably what a typical Wharton dinner entailed—Amelia yapping at Jane and Jonathan and Collier calmly presiding over all of them. It made me miss my own particular family unit, even if it wasn’t anything like this one.
I eventually found out that tapas were tiny little dishes with big flavor. They were apparently all the rage around the city, restaurants that featured the snacks popping up everywhere.
Through other little fights, teasing, and outbursts, I gradually learned more and more about my dining companions.
Jane had graduated from college a little more than a year ago. She had taken time off to travel, and was still sort of casting around to see what she’d do. She was around my age.
“I think I’ll just go back to traveling,” she said, raising a dark eyebrow at Collier.
“With your own money, if so,” he said mildly. I could tell that he doted on her and would probably gladly fund whatever she wanted to do with herself.
Violet worked as a model, which predictably made me feel insecure. What kind of man had Jonathan been? Whenever she jumped into a conversation, she had the most vapid responses.
“And then the boutique backed out of the event,” Amelia was saying. I was starting to gather that she did a lot of volunteer and society work in her free time, though I’d never ask her outright.
“You should’ve sued them,” Violet added, her voice solemn. “They shouldn’t have backed out.”
“I couldn’t sue them, Violet,” Amelia said indulgently, sipping on her glass of red wine. “It was a charity event. It they wanted to back out, they could back out. There wasn’t a breach of contract, just a breach in manners.”
“I think you should be able to sue for that,” Violet said. “Manners are important.”
“That’s very true, dear,” Amelia said, frowning when Brock turned what sounded suspiciously like a laugh into a cough.
Dessert was a deconstructed strawberry cheesecake in a little shot glass that I washed down with champagne. It was so decadent that I even stole a little bite from Jonathan.
“What’s wrong?” I asked him softly as everyone else laughed about something else. “Too full for dessert?”
“This isn’t my preferred dessert,” he said, giving me a wolfish grin. “I like desserts in the middle of fields after a picnic lunch.”
I flushed and threw back the last of my champagne. Dessert after a picnic lunch was me—the first time we’d made love out at the cottage. It seemed like a thousand years ago and a thousand miles away. It was a bittersweet memory for me, but realizing that Jonathan was thinking about sex with me in the middle of dinner was enough to turn me on.
“Well, this has been a lovely dinner,” Collier said. “I think I’d like a little Irish coffee to wash this down.”
Brock and Jane murmured their agreement, and I realized it was a sign that everyone could get up from the table. Staff members began filing in to take away plates and cups, and I was sad that the eating portion of the evening was over. It had been easy to slip into the background then, but now it was social time again.
Violet giggled as she stood up, teetering on her sky-high heels.
“Careful, there,” Jane said, steadying her with practiced ease. I wondered if Violet drinking that much was par for the course. Hell, I’d had a lot to drink, too—much more than I usually had. Most of it had been to drown the nerves at facing the family in full force.
I took Jonathan’s arm, and he walked us across the floor to another room I hadn’t been in yet. There was a billiards table, as well as a card table. Collier and Amelia lingered in the dining room while the rest of us chose seats and couches. Winston entered with a tray of freshly brewed coffee while Brock located the Bailey’s in the liquor cabinet.
“I think I’m going to float away if I drink anymore,” I said lightly, smiling. “Just a plain coffee for me, please.”
“Aw, come on,” Brock said. “Jonathan, don’t tell me that you’re marrying a lightweight.”
Jane shot him a meaningful glare, and we all snuck a peek at Violet. She was drinking Bailey’s straight on the rocks, her eyes narrowed.
“I’m a good drinker,” she declared. “The best.” She tapped her finger sharply against the glass, and it was then that I noticed, for the first time in the evening, that she was still wearing her engagement ring—the engagement ring that Jonathan had given her. How could I not have noticed during the entire night? Was it possible that I had just been that nervous? Or had she slipped it on discreetly in between courses or something? What would the point be?
“Yes, you are,” Jane soothed quickly, standing by Violet and artfully snagging the glass. “Let me have a taste. Yummy!” Jane drained the glass with one swig and then smiled at her. “Let’s play pool or something.”
“I’m really good with balls,” Violet declared. “Just ask Jonathan.”
I was lucky I was sitting down on the couch or I might’ve fallen on my ass. Brock laughed, clearly delighted, as Jonathan inhaled sharply.
“Sweetie, that’s not appropriate,” Jane said gravely, her eyes big. “You shouldn’t say that anymore.”
“Well, it’s true,” Violet said, lurching toward Jonathan and me. Jonathan stood up from the couch warily. “Isn’t it true, doll? Remember?”
She made a grab for his crotch, but Jonathan stepped easily out of the way. Off balance, Violet flailed for a moment, but Jonathan swung back around, grabbing her hand and keeping her from face planting.
Violet stared at their hands for a few moments before whooping with joy.
“See?” she said, holding their attached hands aloft. “See? He chose me, bitch! You just go fuck right off! Jonathan’s mine! He’d never be with someone as ugly as you. You with that ugly face! Just fuck right off!”
I was so stunned that it was hard to breathe, let alone be angry at Violet. She was just drunk, though the shit she was spouting was hateful and hurtful. The funny thing was that, in her rage and triumph, her face contorted into a horrid mask. She might look into the mirror before she accused anyone else of being ugly.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t love you,” Jonathan said, taking his hand out of Violet’s. “I don’t know how much clearer I can be.”
“You did love me once,” Violet said, her shoulders hitching in a sob. “You did.”
“But I don’t anymore,” Jonathan said. “I’m sorry. I love Michelle. Michelle is who I’m marrying. Not you. You need to move on. I’ll never be with you.”
Violet sobbed violently and ran, somehow, in her five-inch stilettos toward the restroom.
“We need to work on your people skills, buddy,” Brock remarked. “And we need to work with Violet on the no-touch zones.”
“She needed to hear the truth,” Jonathan said, shaking his head. “It’s disrespectful to Michelle for Violet to keep trying to hang onto me like that. We’re not together anymore.”
I was simultaneously overjoyed and devastated. Maybe it was all the champagne, but the fact that Jonathan was willing to st
and up to everyone for me was a huge deal. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were wronging Violet. All she wanted to do was be with Jonathan, as disgusting as she’d been about it, and that was impossible for her now. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her despite her wretched outburst.
“Do you think I should go try to talk to her?” I asked. The thought was horrible, but I hated to see another person suffer.
“Only if you want to duke it out,” Brock said, “but don’t let me stop you. I think this party would be much improved with a little boxing. What do you say, Jonathan? Violet’s a sneaky little bitch—might try to claw your eyes out—but my money’s on Michelle. Look at those arms!”
“I’ll go talk to her,” Jonathan said. “I caused this mess. I’ll fix it.” He snagged Jane on the way to the restroom to help him, and I couldn’t help but be relieved that I didn’t have to face Violet.
“You walk around a pretty big pair, don’t you?” Brock asked, eyeing me.
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“Balls,” Brock clarified languidly. “I’m saying you have some pretty big balls.”
“I don’t know where I’d put them in this dress,” I said mildly, happy that I’d had enough alcohol to deal with all of this. “So, boxing?”
“I’m a promoter,” he said. “You ever want to slip on a bikini and call the rounds, you let me know. You seem like you have a good body. Violet used to do it before she and Jonathan started hooking up. He put a stop to that right away.”
“What makes you think he’d let me do it?” I asked in spite of the fact that I was finding the conversation pretty distasteful. The way Brock looked at me made my skin crawl, his eyes never pausing in their perusal of my body.
Brock shrugged. “Seems to me everything’s changed since you came into the picture,” he said. “Jonathan’s a different man, Violet’s suddenly available, and you’re here to stir the pot. I’m just going to sit back and enjoy the ride. I like a good show, Michelle.”
“I’m sure you do,” I said, patting his shoulder even though it grossed me out. I’d meant to patronize him, but that still couldn’t stymie my shudder at coming into contact with him.
