Page 95 of My Real Love Affair

AUSTIN

The car pulled up to the swankiest hotel in New York City. A valet was there to open the back door within seconds. I stepped out, nodded once, and practically rushed up the stairs with my feet barely touching the red carpet lined with paparazzi.

I didn’t want to be photographed alone. That would make headlines. It would just piss Cash off even more. I was still waiting for my dad to call me into his study and tell me I was officially disowned. I wasn’t sure why it hadn’t happened already.

Pausing for pictures on the red carpet would only remind him that I was very single. At least I wasn’t on the prowl.

Employees of the hotel dressed in all black pointed the way to the ballroom. I walked in and sighed. Another gala. I couldn’t remember how many galas I had attended in my life. They were all the same.

Guests in tuxedos and gowns milled around with champagne flutes. The soft murmur of conversation mixed with a string quartet playing something classical. The overwhelming smell of expensive perfume and cologne filled my senses.

The decorations were all black and white with splashes of silver. It was all very tasteful. Very decadent. Expensive champagne. Fancy appetizers.

I fucking hated these events.

But at least the booze was top shelf, and I could write a check at the end of the night knowing it was going to ocean conservation or whatever cause we were pretending to care about.

I spotted my brothers immediately—kind of hard to miss when there were four of them clustered together like a Bancroft convention. Cash stood in the center of the group looking severe in his tuxedo. Kent and his wife, Sylvie, were there too, along with Zayn and Isaac. I assumed their wives were around somewhere. My brothers were rarely away from their wives.

Kent noticed me first. His face broke into a genuine smile as I approached, and Sylvie immediately pulled me into a hug.

“Austin! It’s so good to see you.” She looked stunning in a deep blue gown, her hair swept up elegantly. “We were hoping you’d come.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I lied smoothly. “You look incredible, Sylvie.”

“Flatterer.” But she was pleased. Kent shook my hand, pulling me in for one of those half-hug things men do at formal events.

“Good to see you, brother,” Kent said. “Fair warning—give Cash a wide berth tonight. He’s in a mood.”

I glanced over at Cash, who was studiously not looking at me while having what appeared to be a very intense conversation with one of our cousins. “When isn’t he in a mood?”

“He’s especially not impressed with you.” Kent paused, choosing his words carefully. “The situation with Melody. The photos. The breakup. All of it.”

“Of course he isn’t.” I grabbed another champagne flute from a passing waiter. “Cash is never impressed with anything I do.”

“Austin—”

“It’s fine, Kent. Really.” I took a drink. “I’ve already accepted that I’m probably getting cut off. So be it. I’ve been living on borrowed time anyway.”

Kent’s expression was troubled, but Sylvie squeezed my arm sympathetically. “For what it’s worth, I think you’ve been doing good work lately.”

I smiled. I liked her. I liked her family. If only I could have something like that. I understood why Kent bailed on New York and moved upstate to be a farmer or whatever it was he was doing up there. It was definitely a simpler life.

“Thanks, Sylvie.”

“Incoming,” Kent muttered.

“Cash?” I asked. “You should probably move out of the way. I would hate for you to get blood splatter all over you.”

“Not Cash,” Kent said in a tone that told me exactly who it was.

Fuck.I turned to see our father approaching, his silver hair gleaming under the chandeliers. Armand Bancroft in a tuxedo was an imposing sight. He was in the elderly category, but the way he held himself would make anyone second-guess the age on his driver’s license.

He was six feet of old money and older expectations, moving through the crowd like he owned the place. He didn’t own this particular hotel, but he owned enough property to have that air of power that followed him wherever he went.

He shook Kent’s hand, kissed Sylvie’s cheek, then turned to me. His hand landed on my shoulder. The look he gave me told me I was probably attending my last gala. I would have to sell the Ferrari and move out of the hotel and find an actual penthouseto buy or maybe a townhome. Hell, maybe I would move back to Vancouver.

Life as I knew it was over.