Good Game (The System, #1) (58)

“Stephanie! There you are.”

My mother loops her arm in mine, dragging me in the direction of the stairs before veering right. My father is standing on the edge of the patio by the firepit. He stares out over the garden, nursing what is probably an old fashioned.

“Hello, dear.” She plops a kiss on my cheek before releasing me to stand next to my father.

“Hello, pumpkin.” My father gives me a quick hug, careful not to spill his drink. “You look beautiful. The most gorgeous woman here, after your mother, of course.”

“Jameson,” my mother taps my father’s arm lightly.

“Thank you, Dad.”

“It is a lovely dress, a classy cut, Stephanie. But it is a little,” my mother’s lips purse as she tries to find the right word, “loud.”

“Yes, well, at least it’s not a wedding dress.”

My mother whips her head around, staring at the people around us. “Stephanie, lower your voice. Theo mou,” she scolds.

“Stevie! You look bellissima! Like a celebrity.” Vittoria sidles up with Michail on her arm, her black locks contrasting beautifully against her red dress and tan skin.

“As do you, that color is gorgeous on you.”

My brother disentangles himself from his fiancée, enveloping me in a large, crushing hug.

“Good to see you, little one.”

“And you.”

My mother begins chatting with Michail and Vittoria about their upcoming wedding plans, and I tune out. I go to sip my champagne only to realize it’s still empty. A loss, truly.

A waitress slips past with a tray of oysters and horseradish. I slip one off, swallowing it down, appreciating the saltiness, before placing the empty shell back on the tray. Another waiter follows close behind her with more champagne, and I smile, replacing my flute. Oysters and champagne, the best combination. This I miss.

My mother gasps, and I switch my ears back to the conversation.

“The Covingtons are here.”

“The Covingtons?” Vittoria questions.

I stare at the beautiful blond family that just walked in. I know of the Covingtons, but I’ve never crossed paths with them. They’re old English wealth but are making modern waves. I’m pretty sure the mother comes from some royal lineage, a marquess maybe. They’re part of the upper echelon, so I’m surprised to see them here of all places. They outrank the Taylors, hell, they outrank ninety-nine percent of the families here. I’m not sure what their reasoning is for being here, but it is going to be something that Felicity lords over the rest of us now.

“The older man is Patrick Covington, head of the Covington Hotel conglomerate. Jameson and I stay in their hotel whenever we travel to Paris. Children, you remember their flagship hotel in London; we stayed there when you were in middle school.”

“I remember the fountain in the lobby.” It was a gorgeous fountain with an angel in the center and cherubs lining the sides—the sort of thing a young girl coos over. We traveled so much as children that the odds of me remembering one hotel versus another are very slim, but that fountain I remember.

“The mother is Pricilla. Her grandfather was knighted by the Queen and then granted barony; God rest her soul.”

Ah, a baron. Close enough.

“Then there’s the elder daughters, Paige and Phoebe, and the son, Parker. He is the heir to everything, but rumors say he is dabbling in his own ventures. He’s the same age as you, Stephanie, handsome as well.” My mother raises her eyebrow at me, like I wouldn’t have picked up on her point without it. “You know, I always thought you could do better than Chauncy.”

I can’t stop the soft scoff that releases from me.

That’s not what she’s been saying every time we’ve talked on the phone since the breakup, but alright.

They’re a tall, attractive family. The sisters are night and day, one in a dusty pink tulle gown, the other in a strapless, fitted black gown. Parker has every girl’s eye on him. The guy looks like he belongs on a magazine cover. The navy-blue suit he is sporting is tailored to perfection, a stark blue tie resting against his white shirt. Everyone says British men are sexier, and they are correct. The other men at this event don’t hold a candle to him. But as attractive as he might be, my mind is trapped on a devilish, tattooed brunette.

We make eye contact, and he looks at me with surprise before smiling and waving, cuff links glinting in the sunlight. Reflex has me waving back with an equal smile, but I can’t stop my brows from pinching in slight confusion. His eyes startle and panic flashes across his face as he turns away to speak with one of his sisters.

Strange.

My mother grips my arm. “Stephanie, since when are you acquainted with the Covington heir?”

Since never.

But I can’t really say that, so I just shrug.

“I was about to ask the same thing. I wasn’t aware you knew Parker.”

A chill runs down my spine. I’d know that voice anywhere. His presence presses against my back without even touching me. My brother tries to discreetly move our parents a few steps away in an attempt to give us privacy. I spin around, cocking my right brow while looking my ex-boyfriend up and down.

“Chase.”

“Steffy.”

My jaw clenches at the use of my pet name. Chase wanted to call me something no one else did as a token of his adoration. At first, it seemed cute. But as time drew on, the playful tone shifted. He has this way of saying it that makes me feel like a child, like I’m beneath him.