“And of course the club had to have that kitchen fire last week, so I’ve had to arrange outside catering at the last minute.” Jesus. As if the club’s management had planned the fire merely for her inconvenience. Her voice hadn’t lost any of its strident insistence for being filtered through my car’s speakers, though the asshole honking at someone who’d cut him off in six o’clock rush hour traffic in front of me definitely made her harder to hear. It was nearly a month after Dimitri had gone to work with me for the first time, and one of the days he’d opted to stay home. At least he didn’t have to listen to this.
“In any case,” she went on, “that’s arranged now. But I need you to step up and take an interest, Brook. It wasn’t necessary to send them invitations because they’re not part of the main guest list, but I do need to know which of…Dimitri’s…family—” She always paused before and after his name, as if trying to remember it. It made my jaw clench until my molars hurt, and I was doubly, triply glad I didn’t have him in the car with me. “—will be attending, and where they’ll be staying. And how much attention they’ll require. I’d like to spend as little time as possible in their company. I can’t imagine that they’d be presentable.”
I had to slam on the brakes as someone ahead of me changed lanes with more enthusiasm than attention, and it took me a second to catch up to that.
When I did, my blood ran cold. I hadn’t even thought about the fact that my family would expect his to be there. And I had no idea where they were, who they were, how many there were, or if they were even alive.
I was so fucking screwed.
“Are you listening to me, Brook?” she demanded. “You need to tell me how many allowances we’ll need to make. I don’t want to be humiliated.”
“They’ll—um. Fuck.” Fuck, fuck,fuck.
“Brook!”
I winced. “Sorry, I—wasn’t talking to you.” I’d been talking to myselfabouther, but details. “Someone cut me off. I’m driving.”
“Then pull over and give me your full attention. Better yet, you can come here as soon as you—”
Oh, shit, no. Please no. “No! No, I’m paying attention. I’ll talk to Dimitri about his family. They may not be able to make it. Then it wouldn’t be an issue.”
Let her drop it, please let her drop it…
“It would absolutely be an issue,” she said, and my blood went from cold to icy. “If we introduce your mate to our friends and your father’s colleagues without any of his family present, it’ll be a disaster. Surely you understand how important it is for some of them to attend.” A pause. “The less objectionable ones. No doubt you can find someone in his family tree who isn’t entirely unsuitable.”
She sounded like she had a lot of doubts about it.
I had literally never, in a lifetime of disliking most of my relatives, been quite so ashamed of being one of them. Yes, I’d had the same thoughts about Dimitri when I met him. But those had been—practical. He had to sell a certain image to my parents.
Who wanted to sell a certain image to their friends.
Yeah, maybe not so different after all.
Self-knowledge could be such a bitch.
“I’ll talk to him. If they’re not familiar with events like this, I’ll make sure I help them with formal clothing and everything.” I’d be doing that in any case, but not for my family’s benefit; if any of Dimitri’s family did want to come, I’d do my best to make up for having been an asshole in my own mind by helping them get ready for it for their own comfort. Feeling out of place at something like that was the worst.
And I should know. I’d been born and bred for it, trained for it, always dressed perfectly for it, and I still never managed to be at ease.
But how the hell was I supposed to tell Dimitri that his family, whoever and wherever they were, would be expected at this fucking reception? With almost no notice?
“I suppose I’ll need to leave that aspect of this in your hands,” she said, sounding more dubious than ever. “You do have a good eye for style, Brook. On that note, you’ll be glad to hear that the linens…”
I had to split my focus between her dissertation on cream versus ivory and the traffic, which continued to be heavier than usual—my remaining focus, anyway. Most of my brain had gotten stuck on the idea of broaching this subject when I got home. It was a long, hot, loud, miserable drive home, with my mind spinning in frantic circles, and by the time I got her off the phone and pulled into my driveway, I’d had it.
Completely.
I stomped into the house and slammed the door behind me, aware that I was acting like a toddler and barely able to care.
The house didn’t smell like food.
And when I got my shoes off and went into the living room, I found Dimitri sprawled on the couch, totally at his ease.
“Jesus, if you’re going to let me deal with those assholes by myself all day, you could at least cook!”
“My day was fine, thank you,” Dimitri said, swinging his legs off the couch and setting the book he’d been reading face-down on the coffee table to keep his place. It didn’t look like one of mine, or I’d have snapped his head off for treating it that way. “How was yours? No, don’t answer that. You’re one email away from a total meltdown, aren’t you?”
“I don’t have meltdowns!” That came out a bit less emphatic than I’d wanted, the wind taken out of my sails by his calm demeanor. “Anyway, I’m hungry.”
