"Em, this is a big night," Richard says, eyes flicking around the room urgently. "I'm trying to get to Piper. He's a little rough, the kind of guy who thinks he's smart because he's old, but play along. I need him to listen for once."
Before I can ask whatroughmeans, someone's booming voice cuts through the murmurs. "Richard! There you are, my boy!"
Boy. Never heard anyone calling Richard a boy.
Sure, he has that young face, but he's turned forty this summer, and if you know him, you'll get he's never been allowedto be one.
Richard doesn't seem to mind, though, smiling at the round man barreling toward us with his forearm around a slender blonde at least thirty years younger and fifteen inches taller.
"His third wife," Richard whispers fast before he steps forward, shaking Piper's hand. "Mr. Piper. Glad you could make it. Remember how I told you about my wife, Emma?"
Piper's gaze slides over me and snags right on my cleavage. "The writer, right? Richard tells me you've got quite the imagination."
"Too wild," I say, forcing a smile. "Usually gets me into trouble."
"Oh-hoh. I like that," Piper says and gestures vaguely to the blonde. "And this is my lovely wife."
When she tries to speak, he pats her hand like she's a decorative lamp he needs to turn off, and her mouth shuts.
I narrow my eyes. I'm not here to save anyone's dignity, but still.
"Sorry, I didn't catch your name?" I ask her.
She gives me a small, broken smile that says:It doesn't matter. I'm used to not mattering.
Piper gives her a brief smile. "Business talk, darling. Why don't you freshen our drinks? Two ice cubes into mine." He hands her the glass and she walks away without a word.
I blink, stunned with the public mental slaughter that just happened right before my eyes, but Piper's attention quickly refocuses on me.
"How does it feel to be a queen in waiting?" he asks.
"Oh, please." Richard waves his hand, blindingly polite. "You flatter me."
"I don't flatter. I see straight through people," Piper says, to my boobs again.What the hell.
"Your wife's smart for picking a king, and now she can spend her life doing whatever you women love doing. Manicures? Garden? Raising children?"
Oh wow. I'm not really a feminist, but I'm tempted to make him a bit smaller.
Richard forces a laugh, his eyes flicking to my fist curling and then to me, quietly pleading:Just go with it.
So I suck in air and recite the drilled lines I know so well like I'm some beauty pageant: "I'm very proud of Richard and his success. He deserves it. You should hear some of his wonderful ideas. He said you're having the best insight on current market." I smile at Richard as a cue.
He smiles proudly and takes it immediately, launching into numbers, acquisitions, a brighter tomorrow for the children, always the children. I breathe through it all, even though Piper's gaze continues to linger like he'd like to try my tenderloins and when I try to speak, he cuts over me.
Richard doesn't register it since he's too busy with his sermon.
And I? I'm sick. Over the years, I've learned how to disappear in rooms like this. It gets easier with time, which is the worst part.
Just because you've gotten good at something doesn't meanyou should've had to.
"Excuse me," I cut in, sounding so syrupy, I should rinse my mouth. "My feet are killing me. I'll go sit."
"Sure, darling." Richard kisses my forehead gently. "Should I get you anything?"
"No." I smile and rush to the corner, right next to lobster, which is ironic since I'm allergic to seafood. But if I get to choose between Piper and hives, I'll take the hives.
It's also far from everyone. I hate all these events, that glittering trap.
