Preston Covington sits at the end of the long, rectangular patio table, a cloth napkin tucked into the collar of his polo shirt. Surrounded by a hoard of men in varying states of dress—two in suits, and two who look like carbon copies of my ex.
Men I wish I didn’t recognize, but that automatically send my body into a state of frenzied panic.
They aren’t the only nonfamily guests, either. In fact, that table is among several others, all with chairs filled. Strangers, but by the looks of it, important people in Daddy’s life that I’m sure he’s invited for publicity’s sake.
Jonas’s hand finds my lower back, guiding me to the seats we’re instructed to take.
Right across from Preston.
19
“So. How’s business?”
Daddy’s question makes the rest of the table pause, looking up from their plates. It’s directed at Jonas, who smirks behind the lid of his champagne flute.
As if anything about this situation is funny.
Placing the flute on the table, Jonas clears his throat. “The pub is doing quite well, actually. More consistently in the summer and fall months, but there’s not been a shortage of patrons throughout the year in a long time.”
Wiping his mouth with a napkin, Daddy nods. “I see. And your other business… ventures? Surely, you’re aware that my little girl is accustomed to a certain lifestyle. How do you plan to manage that on a bar owner’s salary?”
Even though I haven’t touched my food, I choke anyway, sputtering into my hand.
Jonas rubs my back, then reaches for my mimosa. I take it from him and sip slowly, letting the bubbles distract from the volume of people watching my every move.
“While I’m sure I’ll have no issues satisfying Lenny,” he says, and I choke again, mimosa dribbling down my chin. The groove in Preston’s forehead deepens, and at the other end of the table, Palmer and his boyfriend snicker. “I’m not at liberty to discuss my other ventures because of NDAs and contractual boundaries. You know how it is.”
A dark cloud descends on the table, the unspoken meaning behind Jonas’s words clogging the air. Daddy’s fingers tighten around his fork, and he spears into the quiche in front of him.
“Where’d you two meet, anyway?” Preston pipes up, leaning back in his seat. “You don’t really run in the same circles.”
“The Flaming Chariot,” I say, finding my voice once I’ve dried myself. Everyone stares blankly, and I internally roll my eyes. “His bar?”
“Helene,” Mama chides, and I see Jonas’s eyes widen slightly at the name. “Since when do you go to bars?”
“Since Palmer started dragging me to them.”
My brother freezes, his fork suspended with a bite of frittata on it. “Hey, that was only a couple of times. Not my fault the recreational options on the island are limited. You guys would’ve died if I’d brought her to the city.”
“Boston?” Mama’s face screws up, and she signals for one of the caterers to top off her merlot. “Oh, no. There’s nothing for Helene there but trouble.”
“She seems to do a good job of finding that in Aplana,” Daddy says. He follows it with a chuckle, but the dark look he gives pins me with shame, and I wring my hands together to keep from getting up and letting violence take over.
Rage funnels into my stomach, sifting into my bloodstream until my vision is decorated with splashes of red. The urge to strike is hot and prevalent, making my hand twitch.
I twist harder.
At my side, Cash tries to redirect the conversation. “Personally, I think it looks good for the Primrose name to see Lenny outside the compound. Makes her seem more relatable.”
Mama scoffs. “The media loves her.”
“That’s right.” Daddy snaps his fingers, drawing the attention of a man in a sweater-vest at the table behind us. “Paulie! Remember those commercials we shot back in the day? All Lenny had to do was smile at the camera, and people ran to their phones to invest or donate, or whatever else.”
“She single-handedly raised thousands of dollars in relief funds after the hospital fire a decade or so ago, remember?” Paulie says, tapping a spoon on the table. “The ad copy for that practically wrote itself.”
I see Jonas tense up from the corner of my eye, though I’m not exactly sure why. It’s not him they’re talking about like he’s not here.
“Just ’cause the media loves her, doesn’t mean the people do.” Cash shrugs. “Her popularity is what gets the brand deals and sponsorships.”
“Which she hasn’t had in years,” Palmer adds, like that’s helpful.
Frowning, I gulp down a breath. Release it too quickly, so the air rushes out and I’m left dizzy. “It hasn’t been that long. I took a break when I went to Vermont and haven’t accepted any since my return, because I’ve been focusing on me.”
“Do you have any idea how bad that looks on the company?” Daddy snaps, his frustration mounting along with the crimson shade of his face. “Withdrawing from society is one thing, but now you’re shacked up with a goddamn criminal, and—”
He cuts himself off, seeming to recall too late that there are more guests than family here. One of the suited guys beside Preston shifts, rubbing the back of his neck as if uncomfortable, and a few people from other tables lean in to whisper to each other.
My anxiety skyrockets, bile teasing the back of my throat as I glare at my plate. Wishing I hadn’t agreed to this in the first place.
“It’s a big change, is all,” Mama finishes, giving a placating smile to the crowd. Some people jot down in their little notebooks, and I wonder if they’re reporters or gossip bloggers. “Letting go of your baby girl is never easy.”
Tears form in her eyes, and the child in me wants to believe her. Wants to think she means it, that she misses me and is having a hard time losing me.
But the truth is, my moving out wasn’t a catalyst. It was the final straw. A symptom of a much larger issue that’d been going on under Mama’s nose for months, and she chose not to pay attention.
Chose to take Daddy’s side without even listening to what I was trying to tell her.
“Anyway,” Palmer says, plucking a piece of fruit from Troy’s plate. “When’s the wedding?”
Neither Jonas nor myself answers, apparently too lost in the fog of our own thoughts. I feel the weight of speculation and look up, noting that the entire table is staring at us.
Shifting, I unclasp my hands and stretch them, before tangling them together in my lap again.
“We haven’t really discussed it yet,” I say.
Preston’s jaw almost unhinges. “What? You’re engaged, and you haven’t even talked about your wedding?”
I shrug. “The engagement is still relatively new, and—”
“When we dated, we had everything planned. Down to the guest list.”
Jonas’s eyes snap to mine, and warmth floods my cheeks. It’s not like it was a secret, and yet for some reason, there’s a flash of betrayal in that violet gaze, and it feels like a lead weight’s been dropped directly onto my chest.