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My father grunts, and I watch as my mother’s eyes shift to his. I don’t know what happens during their exchange, but her eyes narrow slightly, then my father speaks, and when he does, I wish he didn’t.
“He can’t marry Allison,” he states. “She is pregnant with someone else’s baby.”
There is a collective gasp, but when my gaze shifts to Parker, what I see is more hurt. She didn’t know. Allison probably hasn’t talked to her at all. It seems as if she’s been avoiding her best friend since her kidnapping, since coming back from that week she was gone.
The rest of the dinner is solemn, and when it’s finished, the women move to the living room as the men move to the back patio. Cocktails are served, along with cigars. Wells stands next to me, his eyes on my profile more than once.
I ignore him.
I know that he without a doubt has a million questions for me. He doesn’t say anything, though. He just watches me. I can feel his disappointment rolling off him in waves. I turn to him, facing him so I can ask him what the fuck his problem is.
My father speaks before I can. He takes a step in front of me, his gaze leveling me, and jerks his chin behind me as he clears his throat. “Come and talk to me.”
He walks past me, and I turn to follow him. The women are all talking in the living room, but he moves so swiftly that I can’t make out what they’re saying when I practically march by them. He climbs the staircase, and I’m surprised that he isn’t going to his office.
When he makes his way up to the master bedroom, he heads straight for the double doors that lead out to the balcony. I’m surprised, mainly because I can count on one hand how many times I’ve been in my parents’ bedroom.
This is their space, and rarely are we invited inside, which is fine. I don’t want to be in here, but the fact that he’s specifically brought me here causes me to question what the fuck is going on. Because it’s clear that it’s something.
“This isn’t about Allison,” he announces softly as soon as I close the balcony doors behind me.
“What’s it about, then?”
There is a moment of silence. I expect him to look around, but he doesn’t. He keeps his gaze focused on me before he speaks. And when he does, there is a tinge of fear in his voice, which is something I’ve never heard before.
“I think Samson has put some bugs in my office. I don’t want to tear shit apart because I don’t want him to know that I know.”
I smirk thinking of that Friends episode “We don’t want him to know that we know, that they know.” I cover my mouth and try to wipe the smile from my lips as that entire scene plays out in my head.
“What do you want me to do?” I ask, knowing he isn’t telling me this for no fucking reason.
That’s when my father’s lips curve up into a grin. “I want you to play the fucking player. Surveillance on him has just been bumped up. I want to see it all. I want to know what he eats for breakfast and when he takes a shit.”
“Bumped up?” I ask, trying not to laugh at the part where my dad is talking about my cousin taking a shit.
He chuckles. “Bumped the fuck up, Hendrick. I want every fucking thing. I want to know every move he makes, and I want every fucking conversation he has recorded. This motherfucker is watching me, and I want to know the fuck why.”
It’s a challenge, but it’s not an impossible challenge. “I’ll do that for you.”
“That’s your goal from now until your nuptials. The wedding will be completely handled. All you’ll have to do is show up on the day.”
“No parties?” I ask on a laugh.
He shakes his head. “No parties. This is your focus. The rest of the world doesn’t matter.”
“And dinners?”
He smirks. “You get a pass, although you may want to check in with your mom from time to time.”
“I will,” I say. “I’ll make sure to check in often.”
He lifts his hand, wrapping his fingers around the back of my neck, squeezing gently. “You’re a good boy, Hendrick.”
Then he releases his hand and takes a step backward. “Now, let’s go back to your brothers and enjoy our drinks and cigars before you hole yourself up in your office and do your nerd thing.”
“You love my nerd thing,” I point out as he turns and heads toward the French doors.
The hairs on the back of my neck tingle, and I turn to look over my shoulder. I expect to see someone watching me. I’ve never been wrong when the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention, but I don’t see anyone. However, that doesn’t mean nobody is watching me.
