I groan. I don’t want to hear that. I look at Kane and Misty. “Get a room, would you?”
They smile at me. “You don’t have to tell me twice,” Kane says, grabbing Misty’s hand and striding away.
I shake my head. My sarcasm was lost on them. I search the room, checking that Zara hasn’t walked in and seen them bolt upstairs. I hate knowing something she doesn’t. Kane told me they’re sleeping together, but Misty is yet to tell Zara. I don’t understand what the delay is.
Scanning the room again, I see Dad, who has stepped through the front door. My mom is off to the side, talking to her bodyguard. When she sees Dad, her lips tighten and she shifts, turning her back to him.
At least Dad has tried to be friendly in their divorce. Mom’s been a bitch toward him, and it annoys me because Dad let it slip that Mom was the one having the affair. It should be Dad who’s angry with her, not the other way round. If I were to guess... it’s the guard who’s by her side all the time.
Zara became my air through my parents’ divorce. As my mom’s son, I enjoy advantages like chauffeured limousines, unrestricted access to money, luxurious mansions, and lavish holidays. But I would gladly trade it all for a genuinely happy family life. Kane and I have always felt like members of the Pratt family, thanks to Zara’s parents, Helen and John, who treat us as if we were their own kin.
Dad sees John and walks toward him. When they meet, they shake hands. I go to them.
“Hey, Dad, did you see Zara?”
He smiles. “Hey, yes. I met her outside.”
“Everyone’s arriving, so Zara’s outside with her mom, greeting everyone. That was my opportunity to let them do their thing and get myself a whiskey,” John says. He holds up a glass of honey-colored liquid.
“All I can say is good luck, son,” Dad says to me.
I cock my head. “Good luck with what?”
His eyes mock me. “Zara’s getting more gorgeous every day. You’re going to have your work cut out for you.”
I stare at him, emotionless, waiting for him to explain.
“It means you’re going to have competition.”
Possessiveness spreads through my chest. “I don’t fucking think so.”
“Knox!” Dad scolds me.
“Well, you better treat her right,” John chimes in.
“Of course.”
I thought I was stating the obvious. The lot of them will castrate me if I hurt her. Anyway, they have nothing to worry about.
I’m not naïve. I see the way women look at me. I’m confident that between my looks and my family’s wealth, I wouldn’t have to say much to take a woman home with me, but that’s just it. I care for no one except Zara. She’s my entire world.
A server comes around, offering us some posh food that looks like garbage. I don’t know how my mom eats it.
“Where’s the sausage rolls or something edible at least?”
Dad laughs. “There will be no sausage rolls tonight, son.”
“It’s an eighteenth birthday party, not a wedding,” I point out.
“Did Zara like the ring?” Dad asks.
I think back to the look of happiness on Zara’s face when she saw it. “She sure did.”
Dad sighs with a smile. “I knew she would.”
The crowd goes quiet. I turn my head toward the entrance. I freeze and swallow hard. Zara always looks good—a classic beauty with creamy skin, a petite build, chocolate-brown eyes, and long black hair. Tonight, she looks older than her age.
When her eyes land on me, her genuine smile hits me right in the chest. She rushes over, so I meet her halfway. She hugs me, with one hand around my back and the other on my chest. I peek at the sparkling ring on her finger.
