“No, never like that,” I said, my tone firm.
My mother sat primly on the edge of the sofa, taking a small sip of her cocktail. “So you weren’t the secret lover Hastings referenced in his announcement?” She raised an imperious eyebrow, daring me to contradict the allegation.
“Oh no. That wastotallyme.” I huffed out a cynical laugh, running my hand through my hair.
“But he’s married,” she pointed out, her face screwing up in confusion as much as the Botox would allow. As ifthatwas the most important detail in this whole, sordid affair. As if Wyatt’s infidelity was somehow more shocking than his secret, years-long relationship with his chief strategist. But that was who my mother was at her core: a traditionalist.
“Yes. I’m well aware.”
“I don’t understand,” she whispered, more to herself than me, setting her drink to the side.
“That makes two of us,” Taylor muttered under his breath.
“Not helpful,” I whispered out the side of my mouth.
“Sorry,” he apologized, sufficiently chastised.
“If it makes you feel any better, we weren’t together once he was married.”
“So you broke it off with him when he met Celine?”
I shrugged. “Sure, let’s go with that.”
I heard Taylor snicker, and I fought my own grin.
“You don’t need to be flippant.”
I shoved my hands into my pockets and rocked back on my heels, feeling like a five-year-old being called to task. I hated it when these people made me feel small. “Look, I don’t know what you want from me.”
“The truth would be a good start,” my father interjected.
“Is that really what you want?” I shot back.
He smacked his hands to his thighs and pushed to his feet, striding toward me. “We’re your parents. I want you to show us some goddamn respect.”
Taylor stepped in front of me, blocking his path. “Back off.”
From the couch, my mother snorted. My gaze shot her way for a brief second, wondering what that sound meant, before landing back on my father, who had a thick vein standing out on his forehead.
I dropped my hand on Taylor’s shoulder. “It’s okay. My dad is a lot of things, but he’s not violent. He wouldn’t dare. Would you, Dad?”
I felt Taylor relax beneath my touch, and he glanced back at me over his shoulder. “You sure?”
I nodded. “Yeah. He’ll stomp around, huffing and puffing. Maybe even throw a glass or two to get his point across, but he’s never put his hands on us.”
My dad's eyes moved to Taylor, tracking across his shoulders, down his arms, and back up to his face, taking inventory of the situation. Taylor wasn’t tall, not by Carruthers standards, but he was six feet of hard, solid muscle. And he was ready to put that body on the line to defend me. I couldn’t see Taylor’s face, but my father could, and whatever he saw there made him take a giant step back
Taylor moved reluctantly to my side, his legs braced wide, and his arms crossed over his chest, a scowl fixed firmly on his face.
I fought a grin, my cheeks quivering. There was nothing even remotely funny about this situation, but I couldn't help but think he looked like a bouncer who’d decided the crowd before him was trouble, and he was more than fine with getting his hands dirty.
“Sit down, Charles,” my mother drawled from her perch on the sofa. “Your posturing is undignified.”
“Undignified?” He turned to face her, sputtering. “I’m not the one bringing shame on this family!”
She raised that damn eyebrow again, the one that could always convey more than most people could ever communicate with a full, spoken sentence. “Is that really the discussion you want to be having right now?”
My father threw his hands up in the air and let loose a snort as he stalked back to his chair. “Fine.”
