She takes a subtle step forward, my hand having no choice but to fall and I press my lips together, irritated she won’t let me comfort her.
She won’t let me in.
“Let’s get this over with,” she finally mutters, setting her glass down next to my empty one. I could’ve consumed three more in quick succession, but I need to keep my wits about me.
If I get too drunk, I might end up doing or saying something stupid.
Can’t risk it.
We move about the room once more, heading deeper into the opulent townhouse where the Lancasters live. We come from wealth, but not like this. They come from old money and it shows. From the fine art that hangs on their walls that looks like something straight out of a museum to the quality lines of the furniture that I know wasn’t manufactured but hand made by a renowned designer. Hell, the glasses they’re serving all the liquor in look straight out of some old English duke’s estate and are probably hundreds of years old.
Not that I’ve ever consumed alcohol out of a fancy glass at an old English duke’s estate, but if I ever did, this is how I’d imagine the glasses to look.
I spot my mother nearby, in deep conversation with a man about her age or even older who looks vaguely familiar.
“There’s my mother,” I tell Charlotte, and when she glances in her direction, her entire body goes stiff. “Who’s she with?”
“My father,” Charlotte says, her voice faint.
No wonder he looks familiar. His dickhead sons resemble him.
I shouldn’t call Crew a dickhead. He seemed all right. Can’t believe he recognized me. I haven’t raced in over a year, not after I almost wrecked and scared the shit out of myself one Saturday night. I’d been high as fuck and thinking I was untouchable.
Until that moment.
Haven’t raced since. That’s when I garaged the Chevelle. Yes, I still own a sportscar and like to go fast as I drive through the city, but I don’t have a death wish like I used to.
Not anymore.
We walk over to where my mother and her father are standing, and they don’t even notice our approach until we’re practically upon them, they’re still so involved in their conversation. Mother catches sight of us first, a small smile playing upon her lips when she sees us.
“Reggie, our children are here,” she says, her gaze going to Charlotte. “Don’t you look lovely tonight, Charlotte?”
“Thank you.” Charlotte smiles, a little yelp leaving her when my mother pulls my fiancée into her arms and gives her a tight hug. “You look nice too.”
My mother always looks nice. She’s an impeccable dresser with a great sense of style and all the money to pay for her designer clothes. I’d like to think I inherited my own sense of style from her.
I’m always on top of the trends.
“Oh, you’re too gracious, darling. You’re the star of the show tonight. That dress. You look like a sweet little cream puff.” Mother glances over at Reginald, who’s watching us, Charlotte in particular. “Have you met my son?”
This is fucking crazy, that I haven’t even met this man yet, and I’m about to marry his only daughter. “A pleasure to meet you, sir,” I say to him, offering my hand.
Reginald Lancaster shakes it, his icy blue gaze cold. Assessing. “Finally, we meet, Perry. Sorry I couldn’t attend the family dinner. I was out of the country.”
“Always gallivanting about, aren’t you, Reggie?” Mother laughs, sipping from her champagne glass.
“It was for business,” he says through gritted teeth, reaching for Charlotte. “You look beautiful tonight, Charlotte.”
She lets go of my hand and allows her father to hug her, but barely touches him in return. “Thank you.”
Guess she’s not a daddy’s girl.
A couple I don’t recognize start talking to my mother, distracting her. I watch Charlotte with her father, noting the way Reginald doesn’t fully let her go. He keeps my fiancée by his side, his arm around her waist as he joins the conversation with my mother. That arm around Charlotte’s waist feels as if he’s trying to send a message to me—his touch is like a claim. Reminding me that she still belongs to him. I also can’t help but notice the way his fingers bite into her waist, he’s holding her so tightly.
My gaze goes to Charlotte, noting the misery there.
Unease slithers down my spine.