Page 63 of My Real Love Affair

“That’s the fifty-year aging process. Armand insists on only the finest.”

“Of course he does,” I muttered.

Dad gave me a look that could have frozen hell. He’d been giving me that look all through dinner. Every time I touched Melody or smiled at her he gave me a look that basically saidbullshit.

He wasn’t buying it. Not even a little.

Kathy made small talk for another twenty minutes before finally standing, her smile apologetic. “Well, I hate to be rude, but I have an early morning tomorrow. Melody, it was truly lovely meeting you. Austin, don’t keep her out too late.”

“Goodnight, Kathy,” I said.

Melody told her good night too, and Kathy swept out, leaving the three of us in uncomfortable silence. Melody took another microscopic sip of her drink, her face doing that thing again where she tried to hide her distaste. I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Here.” I reached over and took the glass from her hands. “Let me help you with that.”

“Austin—”

I downed the rest in one go. Expensive or not, it still burned going down. “There. All better.”

“That was mine.”

“And you were suffering. I’m being charitable.” I set both glasses on the side table. “You’re welcome.”

A ghost of a smile crossed her face before she schooled her expression back to polite neutrality.

Dad watched the exchange with calculating eyes. Then he stood, moving to stand by the fireplace, and pushed a button to ignite the flames. Clearly, his intention was to add heat to the interrogation. Maybe literally hold my feet to the flames.

“I’ll be direct,” Dad said. “Because subtlety seems to be wasted on you, Austin.”

“When is subtlety ever wasted on me? I’m the king of subtle.”

“You’re the king of disasters.” He turned his attention to Melody. “Ms. Stephens. You seem like an intelligent young woman.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Which is why I’m confused as to why you’re here. With him.” He gestured at me like I was a particularly disappointing piece of furniture. “Reputations are not things to be played with. And whatever this is?” He waved a hand between us. “I’m not buying it.”

My jaw tightened. “Dad?—”

“I have enough idiot sons to know a charade when I see one. This relationship appeared overnight. Conveniently timed with your latest scandal.” His voice was cold, clinical. “You’re using each other. I’m not sure what you each hope to gain, but I assure you, it won’t work.”

Melody’s hands clenched in her lap. I reached over and covered them with one of mine, squeezing gently.

“We’re not—” she started.

“Ms. Stephens.” Dad’s tone wasn’t unkind, but it wasn’t warm either. “I appreciate you coming tonight. Truly. But you should consider very carefully whether you want to associate yourself with someone like Austin.”

“Someone like me,” I repeated flatly. “I assume you mean someone charming, intelligent, hilarious.”

“I mean someone who has spent his entire adult life making poor decisions. Someone who ran from responsibility and has shown no ability to commit to anything beyond his own pleasure.” He looked at me then, and I saw something that might have been disappointment. Or maybe just exhaustion. “When Austin has his inevitable fall from grace—and he will fall, make no mistake—anyone attached to him will fall with him. I’m not sure you want to risk being dragged down with him.”

The words stung. Not because they were surprising. But because hearing my father’s disgust and disappointment fucking hurt.

“That’s enough,” I said, my voice low.

“Is it? Because from where I stand, I’m stating facts.” He turned back to Melody. “You seem like you’ve built something real. I’d hate to see you destroy it for whatever temporary arrangement you have with my son.”

“Mr. Bancroft.” Melody’s voice was stronger now, some of that steel I’d seen in the lawyers’ office coming through. “With all due respect, I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions about who I spend time with.”