My gaze shifts again, and then I see her.
Across the room, Cece is talking to her sister, Vi, head tilted in thought, one hand resting lightly against her side. Her eyes crinkle at something she says, and she laughs—light and unfiltered. Her whole face lit up.
Our eyes lock across the hall, and my chest damn near caves in. She looks so painfully radiant, I almost forget how to breathe. The moment I picked her up earlier tonight doesn’t even come close to this.
In that halter-neck cream dress, with her short hair framing her face and lips painted the color of magnolias—she looks like a fucking bride.
And for a split second, I wish I hadn’t screwed up, wish I’d said the right words when she needed them. But she smiles at me like I’m still worth a damn. Andthank Godfor that.
I peel my eyes away from Cece, drag in a breath, and turn just in time to see her father, Samuel, motioning me over. His wife, Eloise, standing serenely next to him. With the way she’s holding that champagne flute in her hand, she’s dragging that same unease back into my veins that my mother has mastered.
“Mr. and Mrs. Wentworth,” I say as I join them, back stiff.
I jolt forward when Samuel lands a rather rough slap on my back, laughing. “You made it in time this time, eh?”
I nod, forcing a chuckle. “It’s your daughter’s fault, sir. She made us get ready an hour early.”
Eloise’s expression flickers too fast for me to catch the emotion in it. But she manages to keep that tight smile of hers still plastered. “Well, isn’t that excellent.”
Samuel quickly cuts in. “How’s the Coquitlam expansion going? I heard there were some issues. Did Victor not come through?”
Victor Beadle is the current owner of the massive Coquitlam Complex. And friends with the man asking me if I’ve somehow managed to destroy their longstanding relationship. Fortunately, not yet.
“It’s going.” I give a non-answer. “The logistics are yet to be straightened out. But we’re getting there.”
He nods, satisfied. Then his face changes dramatically, beaming at whoever is behind me.
Her familiar comforting scent wraps around me as her dainty hand slips under my bicep.
“Cece, sweetheart.” Samuel smiles warmly at her. “I asked them to add the potato-cheese fritters from that Indian place you like. Did you find them?”
Potato-cheese fritters? Isn’t that Vivienne’s favorite?
“Yeah, Dad.” She chuckles softly and nods. “That’s the first thing Vi asked for from the staff.”
Smooth, Cece.
Nothing in her words implied that her own parents had mistaken Vi’s favorite starter as hers. And all that effortless maneuver so that their expression doesn’t shutter with surface-level guilt.
I haven’t seen her interact with her parents much.And it’s not for the lack of trying. She rarely wants to visit them. A simple evening with them is something she treats like a chore.
I’m beginning to understand her more now. And we’re cut from the same damn mulberry silk, it seems.
So I hold her closer through the rest of our stilted conversation, and it becomes even more labored after a few minutes. Enough that Cece excuses herself to the washroom politely.
And I end up reluctantly joining my father. He’s standing with Gareth—my uncle and longtime shareholder of Astor Holdings. Three scotches in, if the flush in his cheeks is anything to go by. Gareth is the more outwardly genial of the two, which makes him twice as dangerous.
I force my feet forward.
“Levi,” my father says, barely glancing at me. “Didn’t think you’d manage to show up on time for once.”
What the hell?
I’m notthatunpunctual, am I? Or is this a new undermining tactic of these faux-elites, and I’ve missed that class somehow?
I roll my eyes when Gareth chuckles irritatingly.
“How are you liking the party?” I ask flatly, grabbing a drink from a tray that floats past.
