“Mr. Davenport, welcome back,” the twenty-something says, and I nod, leaving him at the car and making my way up thegrand entrance stairs. He was here the last time I visited, but I don’t remember his name. I do everything I can to avoid details of this place. Much to my father’s chagrin, I didn’t follow in his footsteps and join the club as a legacy member. There’s nothing here except pretentious old money and even older world outlooks, meaning there isnothing here for me.
The attendant opens the door once I reach the top of the stairs. In this place, a member or guest doesn’t lift a finger unless they insist on doing something themselves. The hostess greets me with a bright smile, but I turn down the opposite hallway, bypassing the bar, lounge, and dining room entirely.
My parents are standing outside the private dining room greeting their guests. Of course, this isn’t a simple family dinner. No, they have to invite all their friends to schmooze. It’s obnoxious. I already can’t wait to leave.
“Mother,” I lean down and press a kiss to her cheek, handing her the small gift box. She passes it off to her ever-present personal assistant without a second glance.
“Grant, how good of you to come.” She says it like I don’t always come to her birthday dinner.
“Father.” I hold out my hand to shake his. He inspects it before firmly gripping my hand in a power move.
“Son,” he reminds me, as if I could forget.
“Oh, Melody.” My mother waves to a brunette in a yellow dress. “Over here, darling. Oh, you look stunning.” She grips the woman’s arms and gives an air kiss to each cheek. I barely suppress my eye roll at her theatrics.
“Mrs. Davenport. Thank you for inviting me. Happy Birthday.”
“Thank you, dear. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity for you to meet my Grant.” Mother loops her arms through mine and leans into me.
What the fuck?
“It’s nice to meet you. Constance has told me a lot about you.” Melody holds out her hand. I notice the pristine manicureand silver jewelry adorning her fingers and wrist. Following her arm up to her face, I take in her makeup painted on in a way to make it look effortless but surely took her half the day. Melody blushes and bats her fake eyelashes at me. Oh, fuck, I know that look.
“What is this?” I look to my mother for the answer I know is coming.
“Melody is your date tonight. Take her inside and offer her something to drink.”
My father gives me a stern look that says there will be no discussion on the matter and, like the dutiful son I’ve been molded into, I hold my hand out for Melody to enter the dining room before me. I won’t be touching her, that’s for damn sure.
“Constance is so amazing,” Melody preens. Clearly, she knows nothing about me or my family because the way to get close to me is not by commending the ridiculous antics of my mother.
“Can I get you something to drink?” My manners take over on autopilot. It’s not this poor girl’s fault that she’s become a pawn in another Davenport dinner subterfuge.
“Champagne, please.” She smiles and delicately sits in the cushioned high-back chair with her name placard in front of it.
I walk to the bar set up in the corner and order a champagne for Melody and a bourbon for myself, downing the two fingers in one gulp as soon as the bartender passes it to me. I’ve signaled for him to pour another when a hand lands on my back in a rough slap.
“Grant, good to see you,” Carter greets me, nodding his head to the bartender to pour a second glass of bourbon.
“You, too.”
Over the years, I’ve mended some of my relationships with my brothers. Reginald and I still don’t see eye to eye, but Nathaniel and Carter were my best friends growing up and closest to my age.
“Did mother dearest have a date waiting for you tonight as well?”
“Sure did,” I say, pointing to Melody sitting at the table. She’s checking her makeup in a pocket-sized mirror. “Who’s yours?”
“Holly Diane,” he grumbles and nods to a blonde who is staring back at us. “Shit you not, that’s how she introduced herself, fake southern accent and all.”
“Jesus, where does she find these girls?”
“Daughters of her tennis friends,” Nathaniel says joining us. “I got stuck with Madison Clark.”
“Hey, dickheads. Order me a drink,” Madison interrupts. “I don’t want to be here with you either, Nathaniel, so don’t flatter yourself.”
“You wound me.” Nathaniel hands her Melody’s champagne.
“That was for my . . . never mind,” I start to protest before I remember I don’t care. Ordering another glass, I leave my brothers and sit down beside Melody at the same time as my mother glides into the room like she’s the queen of the country club. Problem is, sheisthe queen around here.
