“If everyone can take their seats. Dinner is served,” my father announces, helping my mother into the chair beside the head of the table before he assumes his place at the head.
Chatter picks up around me as the servers place the salads on the table. Melody is quiet throughout the entire meal unless directly spoken to. I can’t tell if she’s nervous or if she’s playing the part of a dutiful date.
Dinner passes relatively quickly for an extensive affair, and the guests start to leave. I’ve almost escaped unscathed when my father orders, “Sons, you will stay for a family dessert.”
Melody turns to me at the door. “I had a great time tonight. Maybe we can do it again sometime?”
“I’m sorry, I’m not available.”
“Oh.” She visibly deflates. “Constance didn’t tell me that.”
“Tell you what, dear?” Of course, mother had to choose this second to pay attention.
“Nothing.” I say at the same time as Melody responds, “Grant is taken.”
“No, he’s not.” My mother laughs.
“Yes, I am.” I’m quickly losing patience with this charade.
Appearance means everything to Constance Davenport, and she won’t have a family squabble witnessed. Her saccharine smile is firmly in place for Melody as she bids her goodbye. As soon as Melody is gone and the remainder of the guests are out of the room, mother turns her ire on me. “Grant Davenport, you dare embarrass me.”
“I didn’t embarrass you, mother. You did that yourself when you blindsided us all with dates to your birthday dinner.” I brush past her and down to the private lounge where my father always insists we hold our private family desserts, also known as drinks with a side of interrogation.
“Dear, talk to Grant. He told that poor girl he was not available,” my mother fusses, following me into the room.
“Because I’m not,” I shout.
“Did you meet someone?” Reginald asks from his chair by the fireplace.
This is my fault. I should’ve known this was coming and prepared better.
“Taylor’s back,” Theodore supplies and I’m confused how he knows that. “What? I saw her in pictures from that charity event you hosted.”
“That girl is bad news,” my mother grouses.
“That girlis my wife.”
“I thought you settled that years ago.” My father regards me. The expectation was that we were divorced when she initially sent the papers. I just never told my family that I never signed them.
“We’re still married.”
“She always was after your money. Now she’s back and playing you for a fool.” The disdain in my father’s voice has my temper flaring.
“You don’t know her. You never gave her a chance. You hated her from the minute you found out about her.”
My mother rolls her eyes. “Please, she’s not made for this life. She proved that when she disappeared and wouldn’t speak to you. If she really loved you, she wouldn’t have left in the first place or taken this long to magically show back up in your life, but if that’s really someone you want to waste your time on, then by all means, just don’t say we didn’t warn you.”
“You’ve all made your displeasure known. But let me make myself perfectly clear—Taylor is in my life and if you can’t get over whatever the hell this is and be okay with that, then you won’t be. Are we done here?”
I don’t wait for a response. Instead, I remember I have free will and leave. It might come back to bite me in the ass, but I can’t sit through another minute of them bashing Taylor to my face. How can we move on if the ghosts of our past are always going to be there to hold it against us?
That question plagues me all the way back to my brownstone and well into the weekend.
Grant’s mother’s birthday was yesterday, and I haven’t spoken to him since before the extravagant affair. I’m trying not to let it get to me. Old habits die hard though, and if there’s one thing I know for certain, it’s that I’m still enemy number one in the Davenport camp. And on top of that I’m still waiting to hear from Landon Crue on whether or not he wants to move forward after my pitch to him yesterday.
So I do what any rational woman would do in this situation—I overthink it to the ends of the earth and then call my brother to see if he’s heard from Grant. As far as I know, Josh is in New York this week too and likely meeting up with Grant at some point.
“Hey, little sis. To what do I owe the pleasure of an unscheduled phone call?” I can picture his goofy, lopsided grin on his face.
