“Darling, you’re home. You’re a little late. I wasn’t sure if you remembered.”
I roll my eyes, kiss my mother’s cheeks, and hug my father. “Mom, as if I'd forget roast night! We’ve done this every week since I was born.”
“Yes, a bit traditional,” she says, turning back to her painting. Dad settles on the settee, patting the seat. “Sit with me.”
“What's new, buttercup? Did you actually go out last night?”
“I did.” I swallow, hoping my father doesn’t notice the warmth in my cheeks. I did more than just go out—I lost my virginity in the back of a car, and I can’t regret it. A shiver runs through me. I enjoyed every second, and already I want more.
Why didn’t I get his number or give him mine? In my rush to appear worldly, I left without sharing my details. I hope he wants to see me again. I’d only told him my first name—he’d never find me online.
That was probably a good thing. If he knew my dad was Chief of Police, he’d probably run. Most men were scared off when they found out, and when I brought anyone home, Dad made sure they knew who was boss. No wonder it took me so long to lose the big V.
But what a way to lose it. He was big, powerful, and made me come so hard I’m still dizzy twelve hours later. I shift, craving him, that sweet ache only he seems able to satisfy—or inflame.
From the hallway, footsteps tap the wooden floors as one of the staff members moves briskly toward the kitchen.
“So, did you meet anyone?” Dad asks.
I meet my father’s eyes. He’s watching closely. I nod. “I did.” I can’t help the grin creeping in. “He’s sinfully handsome. Drove me home—like a gentleman.”
“As long as that’s all he did, then I’m happy for you.”
I frown. “Dad, don't be gross.”
He lifts his hands in surrender. “You just met him, and he’s already driving you home?”
“Well, actually, his driver drove me home.”
“Oh? Someone we might know? What's his family name?” my mother asks, pausing her painting shuffle.
I hesitate, ignoring my father's narrowed eyes. “I can't remember. I had too much to drink, but I'm here, I'm safe, and he wasn't anyone important.”For you, I didn’t add. “Can we please change the subject?”
“Of course,” my mother says with a warning look at Dad. “But if you see him again, invite him over. I'd like to meet anyone who catches your eye. For a moment, I worried you might be a lesbian.”
I take a deep breath. “Enough, Mother. You can't say things like that. And if I loved someone of the same sex, you'd still love me, right?”
She arches a brow and calls for tea from the live-in staff.
The clink of china being arranged on a tray drifts up from the kitchen. I count the minutes until I can leave. My mother irritates me, and my father still treats me like a child who can't date—ridiculous, given I'm twenty-eight. I'm old enough to make my own choices, good or bad.
Mother pours tea into fine china cups. “Did you get that Dior gown I sent over this week? It'll be perfect for the Met Gala next week. Matches your eyes beautifully.”
I nod, taking a sip of tea. “It’s beautiful, Mother, and I’ll wear it. But please, don’t try to matchmake me with anyone at the event. If you do, I won’t go. I can handle my own dates and decide whom I like.”
“So you have a date lined up?” she asks sweetly—too sweetly.
“I'm going alone, which is perfectly fine.” I hold her gaze until she offers me a thin smile.
“Very good. We’ll make it a family night. It’ll be nice to be together again now that you’re based full-time in New York. We missed you when you were living in Los Angeles. Dreadful, hot place.”
Oh, to be back in the City of Angels again. “Yes, we’ll have a splendid time,” I say, sarcasm lacing my words. My father glares at me, and I smile back.
Maybe I could ask my law firm to send me back to LA. Wishful thinking. They needed me in New York, and I knew I wouldn’t be going anywhere for some time. More’s the pity.
The savory scent of roasted garlic drifts in from the kitchen. We move to the dining room. My mother launches into gossip—who wore what at her weekly friends' lunch, who embarrassed themselves, and which family might be having financial trouble. I nod, my mind drifting as I eat a potato, and her voice fades into background noise.
All I can think about is Stephen.
