Set Up in SoHo (The Matchmaker Chronicles)

by Dee Davis

  “Ms. Sevalas,” a reporter bellowed, shoving a microphone in my face, flashbulbs momentarily blinding me. “Can you tell us if it’s true that Althea orchestrated the proposal?”

  I shook my head and pushed forward, grateful for Ethan’s protective arm.

  “What about the wedding?” another reporter asked. “Will Althea be giving away the bride?” There was a swell of laughter as I gritted my teeth.

  “Ms. Sevalas has no comment,” Ethan said, ushering me up the steps and through the doorway.

  “I’m very sorry, Mr. McCay,” an unctuous hotel staffer offered, appearing at our elbow. “We’ve cleared the entrance twice, but they just keep coming back.”

  “No worries.” Ethan shrugged, his manner cordial. “It comes with the territory. Besides, we made it in one piece.”

  “Thanks to you,” I said as we walked through the lobby toward the stairs. “I just hope Althea managed to avoid the worst of it.”

  “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you defending your aunt,” he said as we paused on the threshold of the Wedgwood Room.

  “Just don’t tell anyone,” I said with a wry grin.

  Ethan laughed and I felt my heart lighten. At least for the moment, life was good. I’d successfully dodged the paparazzi, Philip DuBois had all but agreed to be on my show, and I was attending the party of the year with one of Manhattan’s most eligible bachelors.

  Not that I was trying to tempt fate or anything.

  We made our way through the assembled company to the bar, and as Ethan ordered a couple of drinks I allowed myself the luxury of perusing the crowd. The attendees read like Who’s Who of New York Society. The up-and-coming huddled in adoration around the already arrived, separated discretely from little clusters of born-with-it-alls. Society in miniature, a microcosm perfectly preserved within walls of delicate Wedgwood blue.

  Which is, of course, where the room gets its name. Pale blue walls with white accents and strategically placed mirrors give the space the air of days gone by. While not as ornate as the Grand Ballroom, there’s a seductive warmth that makes it perfect for a more intimate party. It’s almost as if you stepped into one of Josiah Wedgwood’s Jasperware creations.

  Something like two hundred of Vanessa’s and Mark’s friends and family were in attendance. Although in all honesty, at least part of the crowd was here to see and be seen. In Manhattan society, even an engagement party is a spectator sport. Especially when one considered the circumstances surrounding said engagement.

  Tables laden with all kinds of epicurean delicacies were strategically placed in the center of the room, with bars in the corners, and a champagne fountain taking center stage against the far wall. Catty-corner across the way, a carved mahogany table under one of the mirrors housed a small arsenal of wrapped gifts, many of them signature Tiffany blue. (Presumably, including mine—a ridiculously expensive and absolutely adorable martini pitcher. I’d known it was perfect for Vanessa and Mark the minute I’d spotted it.)

  “I see my grandfather over there,” Ethan said, interrupting my thoughts as he handed me a drink. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

  I was secretly delighted that he wanted to introduce me, but it didn’t pay to be too openly enthusiastic about that sort of thing. So instead I nodded, linking my arm through his as we made our way through the crowd, and in short order we were standing in front of Walter Mathias, the reigning patriarch of Ethan’s family. Although Walter had long left the springtime of his life, he was still a formidable man, standing well over six feet with a swath of white hair and a surprising twinkle in his faded blue eyes.

  “Andi, this is my grandfather.”

  “Delighted to meet you,” Walter said, enveloping my hand in both of his. “I hear you’ve been keeping my grandson on his toes. The office is still buzzing with talk of your dressing him down.”

  “It seems I jumped the gun—at least a little bit,” I said, wrinkling my nose in embarrassment. “I sort of have a habit of doing that.”

  “Well, from the way I heard it, you had justifiable cause to be angry.”

  “Yes, but not at your grandson. Thankfully, he’s forgiven me for that.”

  “All’s well that ends well, I always say. But I am sorry about my granddaughter,” Walter said. “She’s got a mind of her own, that one. And I can assure you that she’s been appropriately reprimanded.”

  “It’s over now.” I shrugged. “And thanks to Ethan everything is back on track.”

  Walter smiled fondly at his grandson and then turned his attention back to me. “You look a lot like your grandmother,” he said, studying my face.

  “She mentioned that the two of you were friends.”

  “I’ve known Harriet for practically ever.”

  “Since you were in short pants, to hear her tell it.”

  “Our families summered together in Newport. But our friendship continued beyond that. I was fond of Niko as well. Always thought he did Harriet a favor taking her away from her father. Old man was dogmatic as hell. She had a far better life with your grandfather. He had a way of making anything seem fun. I miss him.”

  “Me, too,” I said, feeling the familiar tug of longing.

  “So how is Harriet these days?” Walter asked.

  “Traveling, mainly. She likes to say she’s seeing the world one port at a time. She still misses Grandfather, but I think for the most part she’s happy.”

  “Good for her,” Walter said. “It’s hard being on your own.”

  “Harriet’s not exactly on her own, Grandfather,” Diana said, appearing at Walter’s elbow, Dillon hovering just behind. “She’s got Andi, and Althea. And Melina. Although I don’t know that she really counts, considering she so rarely puts in an appearance. Must be hard, Andi, not knowing where your mother is.” She smirked at me, her expression goading.

  Ethan’s hand tightened on my arm, and I swallowed a retort. “My mother isn’t any of your business.”

  “Diana,” Walter said, his blue eyes suddenly icy, “be a dear, won’t you, and go and get me another drink?” He handed her his empty glass, and I swear to God, if I could have taken a photograph of her reaction I would have. It was not a pretty picture, anger turning her face a nasty shade of red.

  Without another word, she turned, glass in hand, and, with Dillon in tow, headed for the bar. I wanted to clap. Or cheer. Or maybe hit Instant Replay. It was that good. But, having been raised with better manners, I withheld the urge.

  “I’m sorry, Andi,” Ethan began, but his grandfather cut him off.

  “What Diana said was utterly inexcusable. There is really no excuse. And unfortunately, no controlling her mouth.”

  “But,” I began, for some reason feeling compelled to confess that Diana’s antagonism toward me was at least partly my fault.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Walter said, his wizened gaze hardening. “She shouldn’t have attacked your mother that way. Or you, for that matter. All I can ask is that you don’t hold her rudeness against the rest of the family. Particularly my grandson. He’s a good man. But,” he said, his eyes back to twinkling, “if I were you, I’d scoot before she comes back. Oh, and Andi,” he called as we walked away, “do tell Harriet I asked about her.”

  “Your grandfather is lovely.”

  “And my cousin is a bitch.”

  “Well, there’s clearly no love lost between the two of us,” I said, pleased to hear him support me over Diana. “I’m just sorry you and your grandfather got caught in the cross fire.”

  “Seemed pretty one-sided to me. Your grandmother would have been proud of you.”

  “If she’d stuck around long enough to hear about it.”

  “She’s gone already?”

  “Not yet. But she’s leaving soon. She’s very like my mother in that way.”

  “I don’t know your mother. But I’ve seen how much Harriet loves you.”

  “And I love her,” I said with a sigh. “I suppose every family has its eccentrici
ties. Mine just has a little more than most.”

  “We’ve got Diana,” Ethan reminded me with a grin. “Which gives us quite a leg up on the competition. Anyway, if it’s any consolation, Dillon seemed incredibly uncomfortable.”

  “He knows how I feel about my mother’s leaving. And even though we’re not together anymore, I can’t believe he’d support Diana’s dissing my mother.”

  “Of course not. And Grandfather was right. Diana speaks without thinking.”

  “We have that much in common,” I said. “But this is a party and I’m not going to let Diana ruin it for me.”

  “A thought I completely concur with.” Ethan nodded as Vanessa emerged from the crowd.

  “Andi, thank goodness I found you,” Vanessa said, looking both relieved and resplendent in a gold-embroidered sheath that glittered as she moved. “I wanted to warn you. Diana Merreck is here—with Dillon.”

  “Too late,” Ethan acknowledged. “We’ve just run into her.”

  “Oh, God. That’s just what I was afraid of. Can you forgive me?”

  “What’s to forgive?” I shrugged with a wave of my hand. “Sometimes life is just messy.”

  “Well, if it gives you any comfort at all,” Vanessa laughed, “I did get the best of her once. At Camp Adirondack. We were in sixth grade. She was going on and on about her lineage. And how her blood was bluer than any of ours. So Cybil and I stole her panties, and ran them up the camp flagpole. You should have heard her shrieking—underwear flapping in the breeze. And trust me, they weren’t Perele.”

  “There’s something absurdly comforting in that story.” I smiled. “Although I’m not sure what that says about me.”

  “That you’re normal,” Ethan assured me. “And knowing Diana, she deserved the humiliation.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that,” Vanessa said. “But I have to admit it gave everyone else a good laugh. Anyway, Diana never should have been invited tonight. Not under the circumstances. But you know how adamant my mother is about following social decorum. She’s all about propriety and she insisted it wouldn’t be right to omit Diana when we were inviting the rest of the family. And I never dreamed she’d actually come.”

  “Well, in this case,” I said, “I think your mother’s right. But you’re sweet to have worried about me.”

  “I just hate to think that I caused you any more pain.”

  “But you didn’t,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m fine. Honestly.”

  “So score one for the good guys,” Vanessa said. “I know she’s your cousin, Ethan, but I’ve never really liked her.”

  “She seems to have that effect on people,” he observed dryly.

  “So where’s the man of the hour?” I asked, changing the subject. Not that I was against a little Diana bashing, but she was Ethan’s cousin and I hated the idea of us continuing to run down a member of his family—even if it was Diana.

  “He’s over there with my father and his cronies.” She nodded toward one of the bars and a crowd of older men, Mark at the center, holding court. “Considering the age difference, it’s remarkable how well he fits in.” Not to mention the fact that Mark made his fortune strictly on his own without the benefit of an East Coast pedigree.

  “Actually, Mark can run circles around most of them,” Ethan said. “I suspect they’re salivating just to have the chance to pick his brain.”

  “He is pretty amazing, isn’t he?” Vanessa asked, smiling as she watched her husband-to-be. “But they do seem to be hovering and, other attributes aside, Mark isn’t the most patient of men. What do you say we go and rescue him?”

  “Good idea,” Ethan said. “Andi?”

  “I’ll be there in a minute. I want to try and find Bethany. She’s here somewhere.”

  “All right,” he nodded, dropping a kiss on the top of my head, “but don’t be too long.”

  I nodded as they moved off to rescue Mark. I’d lied, actually. I wasn’t looking for Bethany. I just wanted a moment alone. The run-in with Diana had affected me more than I really wanted to admit.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I headed toward a quiet corner and a potted palm. Very cliché, but exactly what I needed—a place to gather my scattered thoughts. Once there, I closed my eyes, waiting for calm to descend. Nothing happened. But then what had I expected? Advice from on high? Hate Diana. Love Ethan. Forget about Dillon?

  “Andi?”

  Speak of the devil. With a sigh I opened my eyes and turned slowly toward the sound of Dillon’s voice, bracing myself for the worst. So much for finding refuge.

  He stood in front of me, rocking on the soles of his feet, his discomfort obvious. “You, ah, look really beautiful tonight.”

  I searched his face, looking for some sign that he was leading me on, but I saw only sincerity. “Thanks. I’m happy.”

  “Are you? Really happy, I mean?”

  “Yeah. I think so.”

  “With Ethan.”

  The name hung between us for a moment, and then I nodded, realizing that it was the truth. Ethan did make me happy.

  “I see,” he said, staring down at his immaculately polished wingtips.

  “So where’s Diana?” I asked, purposely keeping my tone light as I tried to ignore the tension stretching between us.

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “Mingling somewhere. I sort of ditched her. I wanted to find you and apologize for what she said earlier.”

  “It’s a nice thought. But I hardly think Diana’s on board with that idea. And she’s really the only one who can apologize.”

  “Well, that’s not going to happen. She’s really got a thing when it comes to you,” he said, looking even more uncomfortable. “I’ve no idea why. Something about your success, I think.”

  “My success?” There was a novel thought. Diana Merreck being jealous of me. I dismissed the notion as the overworking of Dillon’s very masculine mind. “I don’t think so.”

  “I’m serious,” he said. “But it doesn’t matter. I didn’t come over here to talk about Diana.”

  “You can’t have Bentley, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  “I don’t want the dog, Andi.”

  “Well, I certainly wouldn’t have guessed that from your phone calls. Honest to God, I was afraid you were going to swoop in and kidnap him or something.”

  “I’m sorry I made you worry,” he said, his discomfort still apparent. “I should have let you have him from the very beginning. He’s always been more your dog than mine. But it was a connection and I guess I’d hoped . . . Look, the real reason I came over here was to talk about us.”

  “There isn’t an us, Dillon.”

  “Maybe not like that. But we do still share a history. And surely that’s not completely wiped out?”

  “If you’re asking if we can still be friends, the answer is no. At least not now. You really hurt me.”

  “I know. And believe me, if I could take it back, I would.”

  I wasn’t sure what he was saying and I wasn’t sure I really wanted to know. My life was confusing enough as it was.

  “Look, Dillon, I appreciate your wanting to apologize for Diana. It means a lot. And I’m relieved to know that we’re not going to have custody issues when it comes to Bentley. But I don’t really think there’s anything else for us to talk about.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked, tucking his hands into his pockets. It was a gesture I’d always thought charming, but surprisingly, in the moment, I felt nothing.

  “Actually,” I said, “I am.” And with a half smile, I turned and walked away.

  The fact was that at that moment there was only one man I wanted to talk to. And it most definitely wasn’t Dillon.

  Chapter 22

  As I searched the crowd for Ethan, I marveled at how nothing really had changed. People were still laughing. Champagne was still flowing. And yet despite all the sameness, everything was different, in that indefinable way life has of shifting sometimes without any warning at all.

&
nbsp; One minute you see the world as completely blue and the next minute it’s all greens and purples. Okay, maybe that’s not the best analogy. But you get the idea. I’d been worrying so much about losing Dillon that I’d completely missed the fact that I’d found Ethan.

  And, at least temporarily, lost him again. Although it was impossible to see anything much in this crush.

  “Hey, you,” Clinton said, appearing at my elbow, carrying two vodka tonics. “I saw you talking to Dillon and figured you might could use this.”

  “Just what the doctor ordered,” I sighed, accepting the drink gratefully.

  “Are you all right?” Clinton asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

  “I’m fine.” I smiled up at him. “Better than fine, actually.”

  “You sure?” He frowned, clearly not certain what to make of my newfound euphoria. “I debated about interrupting you but figured under the circumstances you were probably better off on your own. So I toddled off to get your drink and then hightailed it back in case you needed me to pick up the pieces.”

  “Nothing to pick up,” I assured him. “Dillon just wanted to apologize for Diana’s behavior.”

  “I’m not sure that an apology would cover it. Even if it came from Diana herself.”

  “That’s pretty much what I said. But even so, you have to admit it was a nice gesture.”

  “I suppose.” He shrugged, his loyalty touching. “So is that all he wanted?”

  “He gave me full custody of Bentley,” I said, attempting to duck the question.

  “Andi—,” Clinton prompted, not about to let me get away with dodging.

  “Fine,” I said, with just a hint of exasperation. “He said he was feeling badly about how things went down between us.”

  “Badly as in ‘I want you back’?” Clinton frowned, putting voice to my earlier suspicions.

  “I don’t know. I shut him down. Told him that I’m happy with my life the way it is now, and that there really wasn’t anything for us to discuss. And then I came to look for Ethan.” I took a sip of my vodka and tonic, the bittersweet concoction suiting my mood perfectly.