“Hi, guys. You remember Knox McIntyre, right?”
“Of course.” Her dad stuck out his hand and gave Knox a firm handshake. “Glad you could join us.”
“I appreciate the invitation,” Knox said. “All my family’s in the Okanagan Valley, and it’s a hel—heck—of a drive. I’ve never been to the yacht club before.”
“Are we okay to go inside?” Charlie asked.
“We already have a table,” her dad replied. “Your mother thought it might be nice if we greeted you out here. To make Knox feel extra welcome.”
“Oh…kay.” An odd move, but she wasn’t going to question it. Maybe they’d been worried Knox wouldn’t be wearing the proper attire. “Can we go in now? I’m ravenous.”
Her mother frowned. “Hang on, Charlotte. You’ve got a smudge under one eye. It might be mascara. Let’s head over to the little girls’ room and clean it up.” She gestured to her husband. “Art, you can take Knox inside and get him settled.”
Charlie followed her mother into the ladies’ room. Though she’d checked her makeup before leaving, she might have rubbed her eyes during the drive. She peered at her reflection in the mirror but didn’t see anything amiss. “Mom? Where’s the smudge?”
Her mother grabbed her arm. “There’s no smudge. I need to talk to you before we go inside. The Bouchards are here.”
Shit.What were the chances?
Actually, the chances were pretty good, considering Randolph’s parents were yacht club regulars. “That’s okay. As long as we don’t sit too close to them, it shouldn’t be that awkward.”
“I don’t think you understand. I invited them here.” At Charlie’s stunned expression, a furrow crept up between her mother’s brows. “Don’t look so surprised. They’ve joined us for the buffet before.”
“But that was when Randolph and I were together.” Cold dread ran through Charlie’s veins. “Wait. Is he with them?”
“Yes. I made sure of it.”
Charlie stared at her in disbelief. “Why did you invite him if you knew Knox was coming?”
Her mother lowered her voice to a furious hiss. “So you could see the difference for yourself. I’m not pleased you’re dating a man with no discernible future. How do you expect a bartender to take care of you? If you size him up next to Randolph, you might realize what a huge mistake you’re making.”
No.Charlie’s stomach twisted into a knot. She’d invited Knox, believing her parentswantedto meet him. Not so he could be subjected to her mom’s warped agenda. “Does Dad know about this?”
“Of course not. He’s utterly clueless. But he doesn’t understand what’s at stake.”
“Knox doesn’t deserve to be treated this way.” Charlie gouged her nails deep into her palms. “We’re leaving.”
“You most certainly are not. Imagine how embarrassing it will be for everyone if you march into the dining room and drag Knox out of there. Do you really want to subject your ‘boyfriend’ to that kind of humiliation?”
A sob clogged Charlie’s throat. She needed to stand up for herself. To show a little backbone. But from the time she was old enough to join her parents on their grown-up outings, she’d been taught never to make a scene.
“Fine,” she said. “But if I keep dating Knox, you can’t pull this again. Do you understand?”
Her mother laughed. “Of course, dear.”
An agreement that counted for nothing. How could it, when Charlie had no leverage?
It’s your own damn fault for still living with your parents.
When she went into the dining room, Knox was seated beside her father. Around the table were Mr. and Mrs. Bouchard and their son, Randolph. He looked as slick as ever, in a dark gray suit that probably cost a small fortune. She sat beside Knox and squeezed his hand in solidarity. To her dismay, he didn’t return the gesture—a sure sign he wasn’t pleased with the setup.
Randolph fixed his gaze on her. “Hello, Charlie. It’s nice to see you again. We were just trying to decide what kind of wine to order with dinner. Perhaps your bartender friend could offer a suggestion.”
“His name is Knox,” she snapped.
“I’m not a wine connoisseur,” Knox said. “But with turkey, I’d suggest a light-bodied red, like a Pinot Noir. If you want a local wine, you could ask if they have something from the Okanagan Valley. The Quails’ Gate Pinot is one of my favorites.”
“Thank you, Knox,” her dad said. “We’ll see what they have and order a couple of bottles. Kids, why don’t you get started on the buffet?”
