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Chapter 7
Rory watched Grant navigate the reception, his tall, powerful figure weaving around the tables like a blade slicing through cloth.
Though he moved with the same confidence and grace at the Mousehole, a guardedness surrounded him in the reception hall, as if he were protecting himself from both criticism and opportunists. While everyone at the tavern loved him, no one there ever wanted anything from him that he wasn’t willing to give.
That wasn’t the case here. Vivian aside, other people in his family’s circle clearly wanted and expected things from Grant Taylor. Several guests greeted him with warmth and embraces, but an equal number made underhanded remarks (“Your mother wants you at the altar next.” “Your father could use you at Intellix.” “Still wasting your talent, son?”).
To his credit, Grant responded with polite graciousness, though Rory saw the tension lining his shoulders and the stiffness of his spine.
A polished, elegant woman seated at a table grabbed his wrist as he passed, bringing him to a halt.
Rory started to rise, instinctively wanting to be at his side. Then she saw Vivian sitting in the chair beside the woman, and the similarity in their features left no doubt that they were mother and daughter.
She sank back into her chair. One confrontation with Grant’s ex-fiancée was enough. Though she was supposed to be his girlfriend, she didn’t want to make herself memorable to this circle of people.
Grant spoke for a few minutes with the older woman, who indicated Vivian. He smiled, his eyes emptying. If Rory had any curiosity about his lingering feelings for the other woman, they disappeared in that instant. He didn’t even dislike Vivian—not anymore, at least.
Rory reached for her wineglass, dispelling a sudden unease. She would hate to be the recipient of Grant’sindifference.
He detached his arm from the woman, nodded curtly, and strode back to the table. The tightness in Rory’s chest eased as he took his place beside her.
“You okay?” she whispered.
“I am now.” He shot her a faint smile.
“Attention, please.” A fork clinked on glass, and Edward Taylor rose from the head table. “Before the dancing begins, we’d like to make several toasts to the happy couple.”
The chatter died down.
“I’ve been lucky in many ways.” Edward settled his hand on Nathan’s shoulder. “I started my company at the right moment in time. I married the love of my life. I was there when the Giants won the pennant”—the guests laughed—“and I’ve seen more of the world than I thought I would. All of that has been a great fortune. But I won the parenting lottery with my son Nathan. I’m exceeding proud to have a son who is so dedicated, intelligent, and determined to do what’s right not only for him, but for his family. Not every son possesses such loyalty and good character.”
Rory’s stomach clenched.Really, Edward?
Joanna, seated at her husband’s left, thinned her mouth into a tight line. Nathan pulled at his bow-tie with discomfort.
“Not every son values his upbringing and is grateful for the privileges he’s been given,” Edward continued. “Not every son recognizes the meaning of the wordfamily. But Nathan does. That is just one reason why I’m so pleased that today he and Alice are starting the journey to create a family of their own.”
Applause rose along with a few hoots of approval. Edward ended with a toast to the couple and resumed his seat. Joanna grabbed his arm and hissed a few angry words in his ear.
Rory risked a glance at Grant. His face was expressionless, but a muscle ticked in his jaw. She considered asking him to leave, but he would never walk out and disrupt his brother’s reception.
Alice’s father rose for a speech. Thankfully, no one else lacked the grace to make underhanded comments about Grant, choosing instead to focus on the happiness of the newlywed couple.
Dinner followed—the King crab legs were delicious—then the cutting of the four-tiered cake and dancing. Though Rory warned Grant that she was a terrible dancer, he turned out to possess such expertise that after two spins around the floor, she was ready to audition for Broadway.
“Where did you learn how to dance?” Breathless and flushed, she let him twirl her again.
“Ten years of private lessons.” He shook his head with a humorless laugh. “My mother wanted to make sure Nathan and I knew how to dance with a woman. I drew the line when she tried to sign me up for ballroom dancing competitions.”
Rory grinned at the thought of a younger Grant dressed in a glittery sequined costume. “You’d rather make salsa than dance the salsa.”
He chuckled. “I’m better at the former, too.”
“Grant!” Nathan barreled across the dance floor. A trickle of sweat ran down his temple. “You’re not going to believe this.”
Grant brought him and Rory to a halt, her hand still encased in his and his arm around her waist. “You want to cut in, all you have to do is ask.”
“I don’t want to cut in.” Nathan threw Rory an apologetic look. “No offense.”
