“I believe they call that mundane, sir, and unfortunately, you don’t wear that well.”
With a slight chuckle, I lean forward and flick the ash off my cigarette. “I see you’re trying for the raise anyway.”
“One must always aspire.”
Chapter 12
Lucian
Sixteen years ago …
I hate dinner parties.
Wedged between my mother and the recently married Darla Lancaster, I’d rather sit between two dentists performing root canals on either side of my face without Novocain. Darla leans in, showing my mother the five carat diamond weighing down her ring finger, over which my mother acts like it’s the most impressive thing she’s ever seen.
I have to give it to my mother, she knows how to play this game better than any woman in this room. If she didn’t, I’m certain my father wouldn’t have bothered with her.
Not that Darla’s new beau is anything to write home about. The guy is twice her age and, in spite of the money he likes to flaunt, hasn’t bothered to get the enormous wart removed from his nose that’s earned him the nickname The Troll of Lancaster.
As something grabs hold of my thigh, I stiffen, and catch the wily grin on Darla’s face, while she continues to converse with my mother. As she prattles on about her nuptials, running her hand higher up my thigh, my mother sits oblivious on the other side of me.
“I cannot wait for the day Lucian takes an interest in girls.”
“Oh ...” Darla’s hand slides back down. “Is he … gay?”
I open my mouth to respond, but my mother answers for me.
“Oh, God, no. He just hasn’t found the right girl, yet.”
For fucks sake, I hate that they talk about me like I’m not sitting between them, while one feels me up.
I twist in my chair, catching sight of Solange, who stands off to the side, ready to clear plates, fill drinks, whatever is needed of her. She slides her gaze to me, only briefly, and the tightening of my stomach comes as a surprise.
I shouldn’t feel this way toward her. The help, as my mother calls them.
We arranged to meet down in the cave later this evening, and the sooner this party ends, the faster we can sneak away together.
Darla’s hand slides over my thigh again, squeezing too close to the growing erection that I’m certain she’ll happily take credit for. Clearing my throat, I straighten in my chair, drawing her hand down to my knee.
“Mayor Boyd! So good to see you!” Pushing up from her seat, my mother stands to greet yet another dinner guest, and when she nudges my arm, my shoulders sag, and I follow suit. For once, I don’t mind playing polite, if it gets this woman’s hands off me.
Beside Mayor Boyd, whom I’ve only met once before, stands a blonde, maybe around my age, with a bright smile and blue eyes. The smooth shine of her hair, coupled with a poufy dress, reminds me of one of the dolls my mom keeps imprisoned in her sitting room.
No doubt my mother is thinking the same, as she takes the girl’s hands, holding them out to get a good look at her dress.
“My, aren’t you a vision! Look at this dress, Lucian, isn’t it gorgeous?”
The girl’s doe eyes fall on me, her smile turning demure with the blush of her cheeks.
“This is my daughter, Amelia.” Mayor Boyd sets his hand on the girl’s shoulder, and I spot the slight twitch of her arm. “Her mother fell ill this evening, so she’s graciously decided to be my date for the night.”
“Amelia, this is my son. Lucian.” Another nudge is a cue from my mother to play the role I’ve been bred to play since I was old enough to shake hands and kiss knuckles.
“Nice to meet you, Amelia.”
“Not so much enthusiasm, Lucian.” My mother chuckles, but I know better. It’s a warning that I’m not playing nicely enough. “After dinner, perhaps you can show Amelia the grounds. Take her for a walk in the gardens.”
“I’d like that.” Once again, the girl’s eyes sparkle like those of a well-bred politician’s daughter.
“Sure.” I can’t bring myself to fabricate the enthusiasm my mother is expecting from me, but at the same time, it was only two weeks ago that I nursed a black eye for my insolence.
“Excellent. Now, which school do you attend, Amelia?” It’s a trick my mother has developed over the years. She can gauge how much money and pull someone has by which school their son, or daughter, attends, and no doubt, she’s reading Mayor Boyd like one of the many bodice rippers she tears through a week in her sitting room.
“We, uh … opted for public schools. I thought it would establish rapport with the locals to know their mayor’s daughter attends the same schools as their children.”
“Of course.” Not even her best smile can hide the disgust riding on her voice.
I have to hold back the snort trapped in my throat. Suddenly, Amelia Boyd isn’t so fascinating to my mother, which means she’s just stepped up a notch in my book. “I’ll look for you after dinner.”
The smile on her face reveals perfect teeth that have undoubtedly seen their share of orthodontic work.
We settle down to eat, and between Darla’s hand on my thigh, the shy glances from Amelia, and the sultry, jealous stares from Solange, I’m ready to blow this fucking popstand by the time dessert is served.
“Lucian is quite the athlete!” Darla says with enthusiasm beside me, having worked her way up my leg, where her knuckles have brushed my balls twice. “Does he get that from you, or his father?”
“Oh, God, Griffin never played a sport in school. I, however, twirled baton in gymnastics up until my senior year.”
“You were a gymnast?” Mayor Boyd says from across the table, raising a glass of wine to his lips. “Fascinating.”
“Yes, I did competitive gymnastics for a number of years.”
Beside my mother, my father grinds his jaw, staring back at Mayor Boyd, but seems to cap whatever thoughts are spinning through his head with a long swill of his drink. He holds up the empty glass, and Solange lurches forward, filling it with more wine.
“I still have my baton hanging up in my sitting room. Sometimes, I take it down to see if I still have it.” With a chuckle, my mother sips her wine, staring over the glass in the flirtatious way that I know gnaws at my father’s pride. “I may be forty-two, but I can do a backbend like it’s nobody’s business.”
“Seriously?” Boyd clears his throat. “You are full of surprises, Lady Blackthorne.”
“Please. Call me Laura.”
“The talent in your family is … incredible.” Darla cups me, and I jolt upright, setting my hand on hers and swallowing hard as the erection meant for Solange has made itself known.
My mother couldn’t be more oblivious if she were deaf and blindfolded. “Have you heard Lucian play piano?”
God. No. The moment I stand up from this table, the better half of New England is going to know I’m hard.
Clearly tipsy, my mother hooks her arm in mine and tugs. “Come on, let’s go to the atrium to listen to him play.”
“We’re not going to the atrium.” My father’s voice carries all the annoyance of the evening, and for once, I’m relieved to hear him speak up. “My son toys around with piano, but he’s no Mozart. Certainly not worth uprooting an entire dinner party for.”