I haven’t formally met Falcon, Mason, and Lake’s parents. Well, with the exception of Mrs. Reyes. So, when Mr. Reyes announces it’s time for dinner, I feel all kinds of uncomfortable. I follow Layla to the dining room, aka the ballroom, which has a table big enough to seat half the students at Trinity.
Oh. Fun.
Julian takes a seat at the head of the table, with Mr. Reyes at the foot. For a moment, I forget myself, and I pull a this-isn’t-weird-at-all-face as I watch the older generation split from the younger.
“Everything alright, Miss Hunt?” Mr. Reyes asks, catching me red-handed.
Shoot.
“Oh yes, just a cramp in my foot. I recently sprained it,” I lie through my teeth. “Thank you for asking, though.”
“Good. Good,” he murmurs.
Mason sits on Julian’s right with Lake next to him. Falcon takes Julian’s left side, but he first pulls out Layla’s chair for her, which is next to his.
I’m glad my friend found such a caring guy. I sit down next to Layla and glancing up, I catch Mason looking at me.
I smile brightly at him, which instantly makes him frown.
I need to start keeping score of all my wins.
When everyone is seated, Julian rises to his feet, and holding a flute in his hand, he says, “This is a first for me. I’ll appreciate your understanding if I fumble a bit.”
My impression of Julian is the same as the night of the Thanksgiving event, he comes across as the perfect businessman. His behavior is professional, his eyes are sharp, and the invisible wall he has around him will knock you flat on your ass if you try to get close to him.
Almost like Mason, who’s just missing the professionalism because he’s too busy being a jerk.
“It’s been quite the year,” Julian begins his toast. He smiles down at Falcon with affection, and it makes my heart go aww. “Falcon has met this lovely woman,” he looks to Layla, “Thank you for joining us.”
Layla gives him a grateful look, “Thank you for having me.”
Julian glances over the table, then he frowns. “Where’s Stephanie?”
“Oh, she’s just taking a call. She’ll join us soon. Do carry on,” Mr. Reyes answers.
“Give me a moment. I need to check my speech,” he chuckles, making his half of the table chuckle.
He quickly scans over the card next to his silverware, then continues, “Mason,” Julian locks eyes with Mason, and it feels as if there’s a lot being said between them with just one glance. “I’m looking forward to working with you. I would like to believe Jennifer would’ve been happy for us.”
My eyes widen at his words, then they jump to Mason’s face, and seeing the flash of pain, I turn my head and look at Mr. and Mrs. Chargill.
Mr. Chargill stares at the table cloth, while Mrs, Chargill downs her glass of wine.
I have to wonder if Julian’s really oblivious to the wave of heartache his statement caused.
He’s just about to continue when Stephanie comes into the room. She hurries over to Mr. Reyes and whispers something near his ear.
Mr. Reyes gets up, then glances around the table. “Please continue with dinner. We’ll only be a minute.” He gestures to where Stephanie is waiting by the door. “Julian, join us.”
The older generation murmurs amongst themselves, then Mrs. Reyes snaps her fingers in the air, making staff stream into the room with plates of food.
“We might as well eat. No use in letting Stephanie spoil dinner.”
My jaw drops, and under the table, I pat Layla’s leg.
“Have another glass of wine, Clare,” Mason’s mom expresses with annoyance. “You’re going to give me indigestion.”
Good for Mrs. Chargill for speaking up, and I now see where Mason inherited his knack for sarcasm.
Mrs. Reyes leans forward and glares at Mrs. Chargill. “If there’s any left after you’re done with it.”
Mrs. Cutler lets out a sigh, “Thank you for that, ladies. You’ve just added a wrinkle to my forehead with your bickering.”
I hunch over and duck my head, pressing my lips together. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try not to laugh, but a snort escapes. My hands shoot to my face, and I try to hide behind it.
“You’re going to burst a vein, Hunt,” Mason states wryly. “No one will blame you for laughing at our dinner drama.”
“Barbara,” Mrs. Reyes scowls down the length of the table at Mason. “Maybe if you indulged less, you would have more time to reign in your son?”
Ouch. Low blow, Lady. Low blow.
“Oh, for god’s sake, Clare,” Mrs. Chargill snaps. “Drop your holier than thou attitude. It makes you look like you’re constipated.”
I glance at Mason, and seeing his mouth lift at the corner makes me feel better about wanting to crack up.
“Who said family gatherings were boring?” Mr. Cutler mumbles. He looks down at his food, then calls out, “Son, bring your plate.”