Beside my mother in a long, purple dress and holding a drink in her hand is Odette. I rub my eyes, and she’s still there. I can’t believe it. Odie would rather go to jail than attend one of our parents’ business parties.
“Good afternoon,” I greet the group.
They greet me back in their posh tones and then continue their chatter. I lock eyes with Buster Crenshaw, then quickly avert my gaze as my chest squeezes in on itself.
He has his daughter’s eyes.
And the eyes of yet another person who can’t understand why I didn’t ride at dawn for the murder of Sylvie, but has also never asked me. Not that I ever want to relive that day, but if one can’t ask me what they’re so desperate to hear, then they don’t have the right to criticize me over the decisions I make.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” I whisper to Odie.
“With all the commotion about Ara, I figured showing my face would do some good,” she says.
“Kingsley.” A deep voice pulls my attention. It’s my father’s.
All eyes are on me. “Yes?”
“We were telling them about your great work on Beaumont Grand. You’ve been giving it your all for those social media videos, haven’t you?” Mom asks, her smile radiating genuine pride.
I straighten my back. “Yes. Our new social media managers and I have been doing everything to improve business, and it’s been working tremendously.”
“Yes, yes, I’ve seen some of those videos. Bright boy you’ve got there, Beaumont,” Caesar Moonclaf compliments sharply, rubbing his scrubby beard. “I wish my son, Henry, was more like you. Hey, maybe we could use your expertise to promote my investment firm.”
Dad’s laugh booms. “Can’t steal my money maker from me, Caesar. Use your own children.”
The group erupts into laughter, and I join in. God, I hope when I grow old, I don’t find lame shit like this humorous.Somebody kill me now.
“I’m glad the boy is much better at helping the resort than he is at his other duties,” Buster remarks offhandedly, as if he didn’t just insult me. “Maybe he should take over that job instead, Xavier.”
Dad’s gaze remains steady, but when he lays a hand on my shoulder, he squeezes with considerable force. “Kingsley can handle both.”
“I believe it,” another man, Kumar, adds. I never bothered committing his first name to memory. “We used to talk about the feared man Kingsley would become, and now we’re looking at him in the flesh! If he’s anything like he was before the…”
Kumar pauses, hoping someone will fill in the blank. He looks at Buster, but Buster doesn’t acknowledge it.
“…before the incident, then he can handle everything. My people know better than to underestimate Kingsley Beaumont.”
Odie wraps an arm around my shoulders. “My brother is scarier than people like to admit. He took some time off, but wouldn’t we all after what happened?”
Grateful as I am, I’d rather she stop digging me into a hole. With the anger Buster has for me, all she is doing is helping stir up a tense conversation between me and my dead fiancée’s father.
We already had one of those the week after her murder. When Buster couldn’t find me, he went after my dad, blaming him for setting up Sylvie’s murder for some bigger gain. When Dad denied it, he told my father he had a worthless son because all I could do was sit on my ass instead of going after the guy who killed his daughter. It was a wonder how they got out of that argument without creating a feud.
He never spoke of Sylvie again after that—at least not to us. We didn’t sever ties between our families, but now a silent weight rests upon us. So, we don’t need a heated fight for the press to go crazy over.
“I suppose.” Buster sips at his drink, eyes anything but friendly. “My daughter was the best thing to happen to Kingsley, so I expect him to have struggled after her murder. Clearly, he has and continues to.”
And continues to.Is the asshole trying to start something? My fists clench at my sides, but Odette’s gentle hand on my arm grounds me.
Dad claps his hands before his waist, voice steady. “I’m not sure what you’re implying, Buster.”
“Nothing, of course. I noticed how little Kingsley has done since that tragic day. Social media videos are great, but I’m sure there are better things your son could spend his time on. Maybe something pertaining to the death of his beloved fiancée.”
Dad’s pupils narrow into slits as Mom’s mouth twists into a grimace. She’s never liked the Crenshaws to begin with. When Dad suggested I marry Sylvie, it took a lot for her to come to terms with the idea. I don’t know what issues she has with them, but Buster has only made it worse.
“And what have you done pertaining to Sylvie?” Mom presses, her eyebrow perking up in agotchamoment.
“Plenty,” he states.
