Fuck.
My fingers trembled with a mixture of adrenaline and rage, and I dropped my drink to my side so he wouldn’t notice.
“Having fun?” he asked.
“I am,” I lied. “The McCormicks host a good party.”
He grinned. “You might not believe this, but back in our college days, they used to throw ragers.”
“Phil? No. Can’t picture it. Georgie, however . . . ” I joked, proud of myself for how I was handling this. Meeting my father was the ultimate test of my acting abilities, and if I could just get through tonight without slipping up, I had no doubt I could pull off the rest of my plans without a hitch.
His answering chuckle had me glancing over. Usually, I had to look down at people, but we stood shoulder to shoulder. Yes, I had his height, and his coloring, and his build, and his nose. But I had just enough of my mother’s traits that I didn’t look like a carbon copy of him, and for that, I was immensely grateful. Not just because I didn’twantto look like him, but because it would keep anyone else from getting suspicious if they knew about his secret love child.
A thought struck me then. Was I even the only one? Or were there dozens of us scattered across the world? It wouldn’t surprise me. Once a cheater, always a cheater, and he had so expertly discarded my mom when he found out she was pregnant that I doubted it had been his first rodeo.
“How’d you and Stella meet?” he asked.
I fought the urge to grind my teeth. The fact that he was more interested in me as a stranger than he’d been about his own child was like a punch to the face.
“At her tattoo shop,” I said. We’d agreed to stick to the truth on that front, because the fewer lies we told, the better.
Richard looked me over, clearly searching for ink.
“I went in for a consultation,” I elaborated. “I’m not sure if I’m ready to go through with it.”
Richard nodded sagely. “It’s always better to take your time with things that have some level of permanence.”
I nearly laughed. “Like knocking up your mistresses?”I wanted to ask. What a fucking hypocritical cunt. “Stella said you just got back from Italy?”
“I did. One of my old college friends recently moved to a vineyard in Tuscany and won’t stop raving about it, and I wanted to see if that kind of retirement was for me.”
“And?” I asked.
He tipped his head a little. “Still undecided. On the one hand, there’s a simplicity to that kind of life that part of me craves. On the other, I feel like I still have so much work to do here.”
“Did you go by yourself, or with family?” I asked, trying to sound less interested than I was.
“Alone like the tragic bachelor I am,” he said, shooting me a self-deprecating grin.
I didn’t pity him for a second. No way was I falling for this sad-sack act; I was sure he preferred being alone because it meant he could plow his way through the countryside in relative peace. Men like him never fucking changed.
I glanced behind me to check on Stella, but she was gone.
“Looking for your lady love?” Richard asked.
“Yes,” I said, finished with both this conversation and this fucking party. I’d done what I’d come here to do: ingratiate myself with the inner circle.
Richard tipped his head sideways. “She just went inside a minute ago.” His expression turned contemplative as he met my gaze. “Honestly, I’m surprised she stuck it out as long as she did. Normally, she’s at these things five, maybe ten minutes before she disappears.” He smiled, patting me on the arm, and it was a struggle not to jerk away. “You must be a good influence on her. Not that she isn’t a good person,” he rushed to add. “Just made some mistakes in her youth. But she’s doing everything she can to make that right, and not enough people give her credit for that.” The last part was said with a disapproving glare toward a gaggle of older women who hadn’t so much as looked in Stella’s direction the entire afternoon.
I nearly scoffed. How could Stella possibly make “right” what she’d done? In my opinion, there was no coming back from that kind of fuck-up, and Richard’s opinion only reinforced my belief that he was one of the shittiest people here.
I tipped my drink toward him. “I’m glad to hear you feel that way.” Another lie. “And it was nice talking to you.”
“You, too, Theo,” he said, eyeing me a little closer than he had a moment ago.
I said my goodbyes and headed into the house to look for Stella, but she wasn’t in the two back rooms being used for the party. My instinct was to ask the catering staff if they had seen her, because I knew they paid more attention than anyone realized, so I headed toward the kitchen. There, I found a harried-looking woman in a chef’s hat placing candles on a birthday cake.
She stiffened when I entered her line of sight, clutching her chest. “God, I thought you were Mrs. McCormick again.”
