“There you are.” He pulls me to his side. “Dad, this is Ginny.”
It feels strange, having been with Art for close to two years, and living in this small town for over one, yet being introduced as though I’m brand-new.
Franklin Penngrove’s gaze slides to me. He’s taller than Art, broader, and there’s a coldness that thins the air.
“So this is the girl causing all the fuss,” he says, looking me over like merchandise he’s not sure is worth the price. “I’ve heard a great deal about you, Miss DeGrance. Mostly fromThe Rosebrook Rag, unfortunately.”
The way he says my name makes my skin prickle.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. Penngrove.”
Keep your voice steady, and your chin up,mon chou. Never let them see you waver.
“Is it?” He tilts his head, cataloguing my dress, my shoes, Art’s hand on my back. “Arthur tells me he gave you a position at that tavern of his. Have you always bartended?”
My gaze slides to Art and then back. There’s no world that exists where Franklin Penngrove doesn’t know my history, but if he wants to play the game, then I’ll wait him out.
“I was a sous-chef, actually. In Boston.”
“A sous-chef.” His eyebrows rise. “And now you’re pouring drinks. Tell me, does it run in your family to give up career ambitions for a man?”
The dig lands exactly where he intended. Art stiffens beside me but says nothing.
“Never for a man, Mr. Penngrove. But for love? That’s worth the world, wouldn’t you say?”
“Mmm.” Franklin swirls his whiskey. “You understand my concern, surely. Every choice he makes reflects on this family. And when I see photographs of his girlfriend splashed across tabloids with his best friend on a park bench, or taking long strolls through town.” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t inspire confidence.”
“With all due respect, I don’t control what the tabloids print.”
“No. But you control how you conduct yourself. A woman in your position should be more careful. For Arthur’s sake, if not your own.”
A woman in your position.Like I’m a liability to be contained.
I wait for Art to say something. To defend me. To push even slightly. But he stands there, hand on my back, rubbing small circles like his touch is enough to soothe the sting.
And I understand with devastating clarity what’s been happening since I moved here. Not just the secrets or the distance.Art has been ashamed of me.Too scared to upset his father. Too weak to choose me over Franklin’s approval.
So why the hell did he bring me here in the first place?
Because he was told to.
My mouth goes sour at the realization. This meeting—this party—just confirmed everything to me, and my gut knows it now with a certainty I’ve been trying to hide from until this point.
There was an outside force that had Art bring me to Rosebrook. And when he got me here, he was too scared of his dad to fully play his cards. Andthatis the biggest, most bitter pill to swallow.
Art’s in over his head, and I’m the game piece he’s carelessly shoving down to try and keep himself afloat.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say.
Franklin studies me. “She’s got spine. I’ll give her that.” He sips his whiskey. “Let’s hope it’s enough to make up for the rest. Make sure you both put on a good show tonight, hmm? Just like we discussed, Arthur. Control the optics.”
He melts into the crowd, leaving me with Art’s hand on my back and ice in my veins.
“I’m sorry,” Art murmurs. He doesn’t look at me. “He’s a dick. And he’s protective of our image.”
“What did he mean ‘control the optics’? Why am I here, Art?”
“You’re here because you’re mine.”
