Mr. Carter.
Fucking hell.
Percy had been my father’s butler since before I was born, but he never dropped the formalities. AndMr. Carternever came down from his ivory tower to offer it.
We took a few echoing steps into the cavernous grand entryway before Greer leaned closer to whisper, “Are you sure I look okay? I suddenly feel very,veryunderdressed.”
“You’ll be underdressed later,” I whispered back with a brow raise. It got the eye roll I was going for. One that soothed the irritation that clawed at me at being back in that house. “And you look gorgeous. Better than any of us deserve to look at all night.”
That got a sweet blush and an even sweeter smile.
And I likely won’t be the only one who thinks so.
A point I should inform her about now that it’s too late for her to change her mind.
“Fair warning, though.” I slowed more. “My father will likely hit on you. We’ll leave when it happens.”
When.
Notif.
She started to laugh before realizing I wasn’t joking. “You’re serious.”
“As serious as the heart attack he had from taking too much Viagra with an actress I was casually seeing.”
Anger, shock, and something else crossed her pretty face in quick succession.
I knew she wouldn’t demand to leave, even if I hoped she would.
After giving herself a little shake, she lifted her chin. “It’ll be fine.”
She started forward again, but not before sliding her hand into mine.
Did she need silent support?
Or a silent possessive claim?
I wasn’t sure, but both made me feel a shit-ton better.
Percy was already waiting for us at the parlor entryway, his gleeful eyes locked on our close positioning. He had a lot more optimism on how the night would go than I did.
Once we neared, he made a boisterous announcement like we were arriving at a royal ball and not what was supposed to be a family dinner. “Tripp and his date are here, sir.”
“Date?” my father’s voice carried.
Greer slowed to shoot me a glare, putting together that I hadn’t given anyone a head’s up about her attendance.
“It’s not like he doesn’t have the space or the food,” I muttered.
She still grumbled her annoyance before plastering on a pleasant smile as we entered.
My father was already standing, irritation set on his classically handsome face. He placed his ever-present snifter of brandy on the side table and adjusted his suit—because of course he wore a suit to a small family dinner—as he stood in place.
The king of the castle, waiting to be received with praise and gifts.
I had neither for him.
I hated how much it was like looking at a mirror into the future. I had a couple inches on him, and his hair was more gray than brown, but there was no doubt I was his son.
