When I was younger, I had resented all the drills and etiquette lessons. I hadn’t wanted to learn poise and manners and how to make small talk with rich, snobby people. I’d wanted to take more photography lessons and study art history and go outside and take pictures.
But my father had insisted, and so I’d learned exactly which forks to use with which courses during a meal. I’d learned how to dress for certain events, how to style my hair to look respectable, how to do my makeup so I looked reasonably put together and not totally trampy. In essence, I’d learned how to be a lady.
Usually, I ignored all that shit. I had my black boots, my black eyeliner, and my attitude.
Tonight, though? I was glad to be able to fall back on my training.
When Ford had said he was taking me to dinner, I’d naïvely assumed that it would be a private dinner out, just the two of us. A chance to talk about this plan of his in more detail.
Instead, after we’d gone back to my apartment, after he’d fed and walked my dog while I put on a little black dress and actual heels, worked some product into my hair and put on a dash of makeup, he’d called a private car to drop us off at a very nice restaurant in a very nice hotel.
Where his entire family was waiting.
“You didn’t tell me we were having dinner with your family,” I hissed at him once I realized what was happening.
“Didn’t I?” he asked, looking completely nonplussed.
I glared at him in response, and he just grinned back.
“Relax. It’s just my family. And a few of their business associates,” he said.
A few? That was an understatement. Being Who They Were, the Malones had taken over the entirety of the Travelle Restaurant at the Langham Hotel to entertain in style, and the place was filled to the brim with people. Most of whom I’d never met before.
“You’ll be fine,” Ford said, taking my coat. “I’ll be right next to you all night.”
“Right. Just like you were ‘right next to me all night’ at your mom’s party?”
Eyes focusing on something over my shoulder, Ford murmured, “Speak of the devil…” and then louder, “Mother!”
Turning me around, he dragged me over to his mom. She was dressed head to toe in silver sequins, and as ridiculous as that might sound, she somehow looked very nice.
Her eyes lit up. “Ford, darling, you made it.” She glanced at me, and it was clear from her expression that she was just as displeased by my presence as I was to be there. “And Mara.”
“Mrs. Malone. You look well,” I forced myself to say, smiling politely. It was going to be a long night.
Thankfully, there was a room full of people between us.
I quickly ascertained that most of the guests were Malone Real Estate Holdings employees and business associates, and that’s when it really hit me: Ford hadn’t asked me out to dinner so we could sort out his half-baked fake girlfriend plan. This was the equivalent of tossing someone into the deep end of the pool and hoping they’d figure out how to swim.
This was our official coming out as a couple. Holy hell.
“Are you ready?” Ford asked me, putting his arm around my waist.
“I was born ready,” I answered, already turning on my bubbly party persona full force.
Ford grinned down at me. “You’re the best, Em,” he said. “I really owe you one.”
And there it was. That delicious, dimpled smile. The genuine gratitude. Drat.
We began making our way through the crowd. I knew we’d end up at his parents’ table eventually, but Ford seemed content to take his time, talking at length to everyone we passed.
Admittedly, I got a thrill every single time he introduced me as his girlfriend. It made it a lot easier to smile and shake hands and occasionally exchange those airy cheek-kisses with everyone I met. The funny part was, I didn’t actually know much about real estate—so all the shop talk Ford engaged in with people was interesting enough that I had no trouble paying attention and asking appropriate questions. It was night and day compared to the locker room talk I’d witnessed between Ford and his colleagues that day at the country club.
Finally, we made it to the head table, where Ford’s mother ignored me and his father gave me a neutral smile. Mr. Malone had always seemed like a textbook workaholic to me—Ford rarely talked about him now, and I knew he’d been largely absent during Ford’s youth.
“This is Emzee, remember?” Ford reminded him, kissing the top of my head and sending warmth all the way down to my toes. “My brilliant photographer friend. We’re dating now.”
“Ah. Excellent,” Mr. Malone said. He was probably in his sixties, but he was devilishly handsome, with deep dimples and an air of easy charm—it was obvious where Ford got those things from. “Welcome to the fold, Emzee.”
