Hallie gives me a coy smile and pats me on the chest. “You’ll see.”
12
HALLIDAY
“I really admirethe charity work you do; it’s inspiring,” I say, smiling brightly at Lavinia seated next to me at the table.
“You’re too kind, Halliday,” she replies before her gaze tracks to Sterling sitting opposite her.
“It is inspiring.” He nods his agreement, but it lacks any depth. I narrow my eyes at him in question, but he holds my gaze unperturbed.
He complimented Lavinia when she arrived and has made all the usual dinner conversation with everyone at the table, being his usual charming self. But he’s wearing a practiced smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
He’s got his defenses up, but why?
“Dad? Zoey said Ashton is doing a show next month at Lawson’s gallery. Why don’t you and Lavinia go? You bought one of his pieces, didn’t you?” Sinclair says, her eyes brimming with hope as they volley between Lavinia and Sterling.
“Oh, I love his work,” Lavinia chirps enthusiastically.
Hope swells my chest at the open energy flowing from her. But Sterling’s wearing an unreadable expression. His eyes pinch at the corners before he smiles politely at Lavinia.
“I’d be happy to escort you,” he answers, but it lacks any real enthusiasm.
Sinclair smiles. “Perfect.”
Sterling’s eyes move to my face, and my cheeks heat.
He doesn’t want to be here. He's managing to hide it well, but I’ve picked up on some of his quirks since we met. Like the way he takes a sip of his drink, letting the conversation move on before he has to respond to something he’d rather not discuss. And the way he leans back in his chair subtly, distancing himself whenever Lavinia leans forward to talk to him.
No one else seems to notice, but I do, and I can’t understand why. The energy across the table is palpable. The air between Sterling’s and Lavinia’s seats is practically sizzling. Her aura, tinged with pink—symbolizes openness to love and romance. Sterling’s, however, is conflicted. Blending red and indigo—indicating passion and connection—but also black, which means a blockage. More than one color at once can be a sign that someone is in the midst of a change or has a lot on their mind.
Around the table, Mal sits at one end with his wife, Trudy. Sullivan’s PA, Arabella, a sweet-looking woman who must be in her late forties is opposite them. She’s spent most of the evening talking and playing with Molly, who’s sitting between her and Sullivan. Sinclair told me she used to be Sterling’s PA, but when Sullivan took over the running of Beaufort Diamonds, she became his instead.
Sinclair is beside Sterling, opposite Denver. He’s only spoken when he’s been asked a direct question. Like when Sinclair asked him if he was jealous that Killian and Jenson are in Cape Town, and he was left behind in New York.
“And you get left here with us.” She’d laughed. “Bummer. You could have been letting loose with cocktails and all those hot girls at the beach like those two are.”
“Killian and Jenson have a job to do, and they’ll be doing it.” Denver had all but growled.
“Yeah, I’m sure they are.” She’d rolled her eyes. “Not switching out of work mode for a moment, just like their boss, huh?”
Denver ignored her jibe. She’s annoyed that Sullivan called him to collect her from the fundraiser. She told me as such. She said it isn’t the first time Denver’s been called to take her home, and she hates feeling like he’s been sent to babysit her.
We needed extra guests, like Denver and Arabella, who weren’t partnered up. This needs to feel like a group of friends casually having dinner together, because Lavinia has no idea it’s also serving as a date for her and Sterling.
But judging from the way her attention has been glued on him all night, I don’t think she would have objected if I’d told her it was.
“You feed baby now?”
I turn toward Molly, who’s toddled down the table and squeezed herself in between mine and Denver’s chairs. She looks at me with wide, innocent eyes, a mop of adorable dark curls on her head as she presents her baby doll to me like it’s the most precious thing in the world.
“Me?”
She nods, her little chubby cheeks rosy as she thrusts the doll into my arms.
“Oh, thank you.” I take my time admiring the baby. “What’s baby’s name?”
“Baby,” she says with all the cute seriousness that a two-year-old can muster.
