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“Well, I came for you so, I feel like the question answers itself,” he says.
I want my tour right this second.
We let go of each other, and Drew takes a slow look around. “How’s it going? Seems like a good turnout.”
“I’m pretty sure people flew home from Turks and Caicos to be here,” Elodie says.
“So how does it work? Is it formal? Are there toasts?”
“The toasts should be any time now,” I tell him. “We don’t need to hang around long after that.”
“I don’t know, I might want to. I’m really feeling the suit tonight.”
“And the champagne apparently,” I say as he snags another glass from a passing tray. He’s awfully smiley for my old Brewd.
He raises his glass to me. “Took me a few minutes to track you down.” And then he scans me from head to toe. When our eyes meet again, a lick of heat slaps me in the face.
Elodie loops her arm through his and starts walking him away from me. “Let’s mingle,” she’s saying as I get into gear and march along on his other side. “Oh, look who it is.”
My mother. She turns her high wattage smile on me, then lifts her brows to the extent that she’s able when she sees Drew. “Well, hello! Are you Tricia’s oldest? You look very familiar.”
“Mrs. Arnaud, this is Drew Riley, a friend of mine from Art School.”
“Oh. I see. Lovely to see you.” Ignoring him completely after that, she looks from Elodie to me. “I’ll need you two for the toasts now, please.” It’s not a request.
Ugh.
As my mother drags us away, I turn to find Drew walking in the other direction. He disappears into another room, and he might as well be on another planet.
The toasts—all seven of them—are insufferable. I finally catch sight of Drew again at the back of the large room, leaning on a tacky pillar while Becca wags her cleavage around in front of him. I can’t tell from this distance whether he’s checking out her tits or not, but I know he’s paying more attention to her than he is to me, and it makes me want to smash my glass with a knife to get his eyes off her.
But Elodie and I grin and bear the ancient sentiments expressed by our family members wishing us a prosperous future, a healthy, happy family, blah, blah, etcetera.
By the end, I feel like we’re less than people and more like two prize-winning horses who’ve been chosen to breed. I keep wondering how many of these people would be clapping if I were standing up here with Drew.
And I’m not going to pretend I don’t know exactly why that’s the thought that keeps popping in my head. It’s obvious, isn’t it? I like him. A lot. And I think he likes me, too, which is nothing short of miraculous, and even if we do keep seeing each other and somehow fall for each other—there wouldn’t be a soul here who would celebrate us. Except maybe Elodie.
So, as often as I’ve toyed with the idea of putting more of my heart into our gay affair, I would lose so, so much. And I’m terrified I’d end up regretting it—choosing someone else over my family, my inheritance. My legacy.
Yes, I’m shallow. Yes, I care about those things; I wouldn’t be here tonight if I didn’t. And yes, I know how shitty that sounds, but that’s nothing compared to how shitty it feels.
Which is one more reason I’m ready for the damn tour.
“Show us around.” I tell Elodie once the toasts are over.
“Twenty minutes, that’s all you get.”
“I know,” I say as we cross the room to Drew and Becca.
Elodie takes point. “Drew—would you like the grand tour?”
He glances from her to me. I give him a quick nod.
“A tour sounds great.” He unpeels himself from the column, and Becca looks poised to join us. “It was nice to meet you, Becky, but I have to dash after the tour,” he tells her.
“Oh.”
Elodie does her arm loop thing again and sweeps Drew away from Becca’s barely-contained breasts. I pause a moment. “Hey, Beccs. Thanks so much for coming tonight. You know it really means a lot.”
