This Could Be Us (Skyland, #2)(6)
“I’ll remember that for prom.”
My smile drops and I slap my forehead. “Ugh. Can we not talk about prom right now? I’m not ready.”
“You’ve got plenty of time to adjust. Maybe no one will ask me.”
My daughter is so pretty she gets stopped on the street by modeling scouts. We both know someone will muster the courage to ask her, but I’m not ready for her to grow up. Next will be college, and I’ll probably have to get several cats and a dog to survive that.
“Make sure your sisters do their homework,” I say, diverting the conversation. I was already furious. Why add melancholy to the emotional mix before we even arrive at this party?
The thud of Edward’s footsteps descending the stairs revives my anger, slipping a rod down my back. When his hand curls around my hip, I barely resist the urge to slap it away.
“We’ll be home late, baby girl,” he tells Lupe. “Call if you need anything.”
“Okay, Daddy.” She flicks a look between us, a slight frown knitting her brows.
My three girls are my greatest joy. Lupe looks the least like me with the red hair she inherited from my father, Edward’s green eyes, and her own pale-gold skin, but her temperament is the most like mine. Overachieving. Naturally nurturing and deeply intuitive. If there’s a ripple in the water, she feels it. A tsunami is happening between her parents, and I think she senses the tension in me. With a conscious effort to relax my muscles, I pull away from Edward and head for the garage.
“Love you, Lupe,” I call over my shoulder, not waiting to see if Edward follows. “Watch your sisters, and don’t wait up.”
The thirty-minute drive to Brett Callahan’s house is quiet and frosted with tension. Neither of us breaks the brittle silence. The first time we attended one of these holiday parties at the CEO’s sprawling mansion a few years ago, Edward had just started at CalPot. We barely concealed our awe, elbowing each other and trying not to gape at the ostentatious surroundings.
“I’ll get us one of these someday, Sol,” he vowed, eyeing the high ceilings and priceless art decorating the walls.
I laughed it off because, though we live a comfortable life, in many ways a privileged life in Skyland, one of Atlanta’s most desirable in-town communities, we’ll probably never have a place like that. Brett Callahan’s palatial home is practically an estate north of Atlanta. I always find myself squirming when we come this far north of the city, places that less than half a century ago didn’t welcome people who looked like me.
I pull down the visor to check my makeup. My skin glows cinnamon gold in the mirror light, which emphasizes subtle hollows under my cheekbones, my glossed lips, my favorite set of false lashes, and the hair, pressed tonight from its usual springy curls into a silky fall around my shoulders.
Edward shows his license to the security officer at the gate and passes through. He pushes out a long breath when we pull into the large circular driveway.
“I can’t believe you wore that dress.” He frowns over at me in the passenger seat, the length of my leg exposed by the high slit.
“There’s nothing wrong with it.” I smooth the silky material over my knees. “I don’t understand why you’re so uptight about tonight and this Cross guy.”
“I know it doesn’t make sense.” Edward reaches across to grab my hand and turns to me as the valet hired for the night approaches. “But trust me when I say Cross is not our friend. Just stay off his radar. Can you do that for me, Sol?”
He strokes the back of my hand, and my heart softens a little at the first sign of tenderness he’s shown me in days. Maybe I am underestimating the pressure he’s under. This Cross guy must be a real ogre to get my usually unflappable husband this flustered.
“I said I can. I will.” I squeeze his hand, catching his stare and smiling. “And I promise not to tell Delores Callahan her nonstick coating starts flaking after only a few uses.”
He huffs a short laugh, shakes his head, and opens the door to hand over the keys.
Once inside, I note the few changes they’ve made to the decor since I was here for last year’s party. A new crystal light fixture. Slightly more garish wallpaper in the foyer. New window treatments? I can’t remember if they were this tacky before. To have all this money and so little taste. Tragic, really.
“Edward, good to see you.” Delores Callahan greets us before we can join the party in the large room where everyone is mingling. Her dark hair is tightly curled tonight, and she seems not quite at home in a floral dress, her wonderful wide shoulders and forceful personality pushing against the seams and straining the collar.
“Delores,” Edward says, his smile stiff and his hand slightly tightening on my elbow. “Haven’t seen you since the sales meeting weeks ago. We’ve missed you around the office.”
“Been up in Canada,” Delores responds, her eyes gleaming with sharp intelligence as she watches my husband. “They’re really buzzing up there about your White Glove program. Several of our customers say they hear great things and want in. Can’t believe we didn’t think of something like this before.”
“You know me.” Edward practically preens. “Always looking for ways to innovate.”
I barely catch my eye roll and keep my smile fixed in place.
“Who’d have thought someone would pay that much just to feel like they’re getting the VIP treatment?” Delores shakes her head, the grudging admiration clear on her face. “And the retreats? Stroke of genius.”