My hands fist. I don’t know. I really don’t.
Brody appears next to me and guides me away from the room. I barely notice. My brain is grappling with visions of them, young and in love, in Paris. I imagine Graham promising to love her forever.
“Best to leave them alone,” Brody says quietly as we go down the stairs. He stops at the bottom of the steps, searching my face. “Are you all right?”
I nod.
“Are you really?”
I blink away tears.
No.
And I can’t even put my finger on the why of it.
“Oh, Emmy.”
I stuff down my emotions, locking them away. I’ll unpack them later and figure out what it means that I’m hurt and jealous. I take a deep breath, centering myself. “I’m fine.”
He leads me into a giant open room, the walls hung with art, with a glittering chandelier in the center. About twenty or so people are here, all of them staring at me over their drinks. On one side of the room is a formal dining area with a wooden table surrounded by ornate chairs. On the other side is a formal parlor with cozy sitting areas and side tables. A harp player fills the air with gentle notes. I head to the bar in the back, where a server is making drinks. I grab another glass of champagne as Brody follows me.
“Please tell me there isn’t a wedding cake anywhere?” I ask.
“No. Graham was very specific about this being low-key.”
How can anything be low-key in this gorgeous setting?
Brody asks for a martini, and as the bartender is mixing it, he leans down to my ear. “I’m going to introduce you to a gaggle of cousins and the like, so just nod and smile.”
“Of course.”
He sweeps me around the room, and after a few minutes, I’m feeling the buzz of the alcohol, dampening the emotion from earlier. I smile and chat in all the right places, and when I see Mina, the only familiar face, I hug her. She asks me where Graham is, but before I can reply, he enters the room with Divina. There’s a hush in the air as everyone seems to hold a collective breath.
I couldn’t get a good look at her in the office, but there’s no doubt she’s an incredibly beautiful woman, almost fragile, with wide brown eyes and thick lashes. Her dress is red and tight, accentuating her petite figure. Her auburn hair is up in a high ponytail, with the ends curled delicately as it hangs over one shoulder. She gives the room a tremulous smile, then gazes up at Graham.
I feel as if I’m going to be sick.
Brody squeezes my shoulder. “Don’t make assumptions about his feelings for her, Emmy.”
“He told me he still loved her,” I say as Graham nods to Divina and leaves her to talk to his father.
“Forget that. The bad guy approaches,” Brody says conspiratorially as he nudges his head at Holden, headed in our direction from across the room. “It’s not just that Holden slept with Divina behind my brother’s back. He’s always been jealous of our father’s attention. Ten bucks says he’ll mention how Graham isn’t next to you right now or throw in the fact that our mother came from nothing.”
“Is his mother here?” My eyes search the room.
Brody chuckles. “She won’t step in this house because it’s the one Dad lived in with us. It’s always been my theory that my mother stole Father away from Holden’s mom.”
“Your mom was the other woman?” It would explain some of the animosity Holden feels.
Brody nods. “My mother was much younger.” He waves his hand. “And you, my dear, are perfection. Tell me, when you yanked him into your room at the motel, did you have sex?”
I send him a pointed look, and he pouts.
“He won’t tell me either. That aside, he does care about you.”
“How do you know?”
“A cat litter box. I know it doesn’t seem like much, but he bought one. It’s waiting for your little pet.”
We watch Holden get closer, and I feel the eyes of people watching him, watching us.
Brody smothers a breath. “It’s like we’re in some kind of court intrigue as he walks to us. You’re the queen, and I’m your adviser, trying to protect you from the lord who’s plotting to steal your throne.”
I giggle. “He’s greedy and wants to steal your inheritance. All he needs is some white hose, a sword, and a hat with a feather in it. Maybe a wig and some powder on his face. Oh, is this the French court or the English? Should we speak French, mon ami?”
Brody snorts. “Ma chérie, I adore you. And here his is, le méchant . . .”