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I let out a slow exhale, willing the internal fist to unclench. And really? She was right. I hadn’t given it even a moment of consideration—heartfelt or otherwise—even though I’d fully intended to. Why? Because of Rory and the way my mind constantly wanted to travel to her. And so I’d shut down my thoughts to the best of my ability. Because thoughts of my father spending his evenings with another woman having picnics on the lake shore and impregnating her with my gorgeous, sexy half-sister was driving me mad.
“Is the heartburn that bad?” Blakely asked, indicating I’d once again made a sound of distress without realizing it.
I gave her an apologetic look. If it was confirmed that Rory was related to me, I’d relish going to another country. I’d get as far away from her and the feelings of lust she stirred up in me as I possibly could.
Is it only lust that she stirs up? No, and that made the problem worse.
My gaze met Blakely’s. “I’ll give it some real consideration,” I promised her.
She grinned and raised her glass, clinking it to mine just as our food arrived.
When we’d finished lunch, I walked Blakely outside the club where we waited while the valet brought her car around. As it pulled up to the curb, Blakely slipped her hand around my waist, leaned in close, and brought her lips to mine, darting her tongue out to lick my bottom lip before pulling away. She tilted her head and smiled shyly up at me. “I hope that was okay,” she said. “And I do hope you’ll think hard about…us. We could rule the world together.” She gave a small, teasing laugh, and then she wiped my lips with her thumb before heading toward her car.
I watched Blakely get in her cherry red convertible and peel off, tempted to yell after her to slow the hell down, like some overbearing dad.
Or big brother.
Though she definitely hadn’t kissed me like a sibling. It had been…pleasant. And only slightly weird. But not…bad.
Just not Rory.
Fuck.
I stood there for a moment feeling troubled and weighted down by things out of my control before finally turning and reentering the club in order to take the quickest route to the member’s parking lot located in the back.
“Oh, hello, Gage.”
I came up short. “Mrs. Bellamy,” I said, taking Virginia Bellamy’s hand and leaning in and kissing her on her powder-soft cheek as her perfume wafted over me. “How nice to see you.”
“It’s nice to see you too,” she said, sniffing delicately as if to see if there was alcohol on my breath. Ah yes, the gossips had been chattering. Likely the suppositions of a drinking problem had quickly morphed into an upcoming stay at a cushy rehab center. Talk moved faster than reality—or the lack thereof in my case anyway—on the towns bordering Pelion Lake.
I’d never been fodder for the gossips of either town. Part of me resented it, and part of me almost…relished the feeling of stirring up comments of anything other than how so-called perfect I was.
Neither charge was accurate.
“I heard about your accident,” she said. “I see you’re no worse for wear.”
“No, just a fender bender. I looked down at my phone for just a moment and…” I shrugged and gave her my best bashful smile.
“Hmm. Yes, texting and driving is an epidemic these days. Do be more careful. Your parents would be beside themselves if you were injured.”
“I will. Nice to see you—”
Virginia Bellamy pulled on my arm when I tried to turn to walk away. “I wanted to mention something to you, Gage, as I’ve heard you’ve been seen keeping company with that woman working with Faith Lorenz.”
That woman.
“Her name is Aurora,” I said, feeling a sudden jolt of protectiveness that had a decidedly different feel than the concern over Blakely’s propensity toward speeding.
Mrs. Bellamy’s shoulders came back as if she’d heard the defensiveness in my tone. “Yes,” she said. “Aurora Castle. I recalled some things since she came to my home. She’s the spitting image of a woman who visited Calliope many years ago from somewhere up the coast, stirring up all kinds of drama at the Metropolitan Club. From what I remember, she had those men skinny-dipping in the club pool. Can you even imagine?” She made a sound of outrage in her throat.
I resisted the cringe that threatened to take over my face. Damn it. She’d remembered Rory’s mother. And if she made the connection, someone else might easily discover she wasn’t an art appraiser. Her cover would be blown, and she’d never be welcome in another Calliope home.
Plus, whatever else Rory’s mother had done while she was in Calliope, she hadn’t made friends of the wives of the founding members of the Metropolitan Club. Mrs. Bellamy could be a snooty old snob, but her opinion mattered in this town if you wanted to flourish in society. Still, I couldn’t help the snark that rolled off my tongue. “She forced them to skinny-dip? How did she manage that?”
“Lord only knows how those type of women weave their spells.”
Those type of women. Good grief. “Anyway,” I said. “Aurora’s from New York. She’s never been here before.” That last part, at least, was true. “The resemblance must be a coincidence.”
