Page 61 of Hot As Ice

My uncle snorts, covering it up with a cough. Gramps shoots him a death glare. I meet Jack’s eyes across the table, and he smirks at me, raising his eyebrows as if to say, can you believe this bullshit?

“We’re having the party here at the estate,” my father says, and I know he caught the look that passed between me and my uncle. “We’ll convert the tennis courts.”

“Not at the country club?” Jack asks, swirling his bourbon and giving me another pointed stare. “How modern.” The country club is where my father and mother got married. It’s where a lot of the old money couples in this town get married. It’s considered almost like a rite of passage. Getting married at some other location doesn’t have the same gravitas, and people will talk. I doubt Celeste knows anything about that though.

“The planner and I have such great ideas for converting the tennis courts,” Celeste says, excited and oblivious. “It’s going to look like a fairy tale.”

Stevie leans forward. “Will you tell me some of your plans? I love weddings.”

For the next several minutes, Celeste regales Stevie with all the minute details: twinkling fairy lights, chocolate fountains and candied butterflies, orange trees specially brought in from out of state, rose garlands hanging from the tented ceilings, a band playing Motown classics, koi ponds with lotus flowers, et cetera, et cetera.

The frown on Gramps’ face is magnificent. No doubt he’s questioning his new daughter-in-law’s taste. I sip my Coke to hide my grin.

“I’m thinking of having some peacocks wandering the grounds during cocktail hour,” Celeste says. “And I want to arrive in a Cinderella-style horse and carriage.”

This time, Gramps can’t quite hide his groan.

“That all sounds lovely,” Stevie says politely. I wonder how she would plan our wedding. I shake my head, getting ahead of myself, but ever since I thought about wife-ing her up this morning, the idea won’t budge. It just feels…right.

“Well,” Gramps says, making to rise. “It’s time for the men to retire to the library for our scotch break. You lovelies keep discussing the party. We’ll see you in a bit.”

I get up and follow Gramps into the library, giving Stevie’s shoulder a squeeze as I go. Our scotch tradition is old. It goes all the way back to my great-great grandfather, or maybe even beyond. Back in the day, after dinner, the men would leave the table to drink and smoke cigars in the library while the women stayed behind. Then they would all reconvene in some other room. But I plan on leaving right after this.

Gramps goes to retrieve the Macallan ‘M’ from the sideboard. He pours some for everyone but me. My father eyes the soda in my glass with distaste. He hates that I don’t drink. I smirk and raise my Coke to him in a mock toast.

“I want to reiterate the importance of family,” my grandfather says, holding up his snifter. “I’m so proud of you three. You honor the Cruise name. Benjamin, you have proven yourself time and again to be a capable leader. Jack, you are the glue that holds us all together.” He turns to me. “Hunter, my boy, I’m more and more proud of you every single day.”

“Thanks, Gramps.”

“To family! To us!” He concludes, and we all raise our glasses and echo him.

I drain my Coke and wonder if leaving in five minutes would be too rude. All I want is to go home and bury myself inside Stevie’s tight, warm pussy. I don’t know how to process my father’s news, and even though I usually shrug off my grandfather’s toasts and speeches, this one today has rubbed me the wrong way.

Spending time with Stevie will help shut off my brain for a few hours and I can get a good night’s rest.

My father comes to stand beside me while Gramps and Jack discuss something about the new art gallery.

“I expect you to be at the party next month,” he says.

I avoid his eyes. “You know I’ll be there.”

“You’ve been dodging my calls.”

“Been busy.”

He tsks but doesn’t say anything else.

Ten minutes later, I’m helping Stevie into her coat and she and Celeste are hugging goodbye, talking about going to lunch next week.

I exhale a deep sigh of relief the moment we’re back in my car, eager to put the entire evening behind me. And I’ll worry about what all of it means later. Much later.

twenty

stevie

SITTING AT MY desk, with all of my jewelry-making supplies around me, I pick up a citrine crystal.

Citrine is one of my favorites.