And, so it went for a while. Every time I tried to extract myself from conversation, there was someone else to whom I must attend. My father joined me at one point, and I searched the room again for my lover. He was with Franco now, too far away to call for him, so I said to my father, “Come with me. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
“Could it be the man who left his aftershave in my cabin?” my father asked.
“Possibly.” I signaled to Arden. A flash of uncertainty crossed his face as he broke away from Franco to join us. Bitzy greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. My father offered him his signature firm handshake.
“Dad, this is Arden Evans, my boyfriend.”
Boyfriendsounded so juvenile. I really didn’t care for it. Husband or partner—even lover—sounded far more appropriate.
My father nodded. He knew something of my relationships in the past, though it seemed he more often became acquainted with my lovers on the tail-end, just before they went belly-up.
“Are you the one my son is helping write a memoir?” my father asked.
“Yes, sir,” Arden said. His normal ebullience was severely dimmed.
“You must have led an interesting life, to have enough material to fill a whole book.”
Arden glanced toward me, trying to glean some indication as to my father’s intent. “Perhaps not so interesting.”
“What’s that?” My dad was losing his hearing, and rather than just wear hearing aids, he randomly shouted at people to speak up.
“It’s really not that interesting. Just something my…” Arden paused self-consciously. “Something my therapist suggested.”
“Your therapist?” my father boomed. “Well, I hope you’re not taking up too much of my son’s time. There’s a reason so many successful writers are recluses. They need their creative space in order to be productive.”
“I can manage my time just fine on my own,” I interjected.
My dad gave me a dubious look. “You told Black Rook you’d have an outline to them months ago. How’s that coming along?”
I swallowed tightly. “Why don’t we save the business talk for later?”
My father’s features settled into what I considered his resting disapproval face. He turned to Arden again. “It’s nothing personal, young man. Only that my son has a habit of getting distracted by shiny things when he really ought to be buckling down.”
Arden’s expression shuttered, and he didn’t offer a response. Like most instances when dealing with my father’s bluster, I didn’t know how to recover or what to say. Luckily, Bitzy took over then and directed my father by arm to an associate of his, not before shooting me an apologetic look over her shoulder.
“My father,” I said to Arden.
“Could have been worse,” he said, though I didn’t think he meant it.
“How about that cigarette?”
We made our way to the balcony, collecting Franco and Liam along the way. Outside, their debate picked up again. Something about the benefits of prenuptial agreements.
“How are you doing?” I asked Arden once we’d both taken our first pulls of our shared cigarette.
“I’m fine,” he assured me with forced cheer. “This is a great turnout. All of these people coming out to celebrate your work. I think the crowd has doubled since the last time.”
“Celebrating the end of Nathan Shields at last,” I joked.
“I don’t think that’s it,” he said warmly.
My tone softened. “No, I don’t think so either.”
“Thank you for inviting me,” he said. “I wanted to support you.”
“I’m glad you came. You look very handsome.”
“Shiny,” he said wryly.
