“Care for a glass?”
“Sure.” Easy, agreeable Perry Constantine kicks in, just as he always does. “That sounds great.”
I follow him to the bar cart that’s loaded with a variety of alcohol, watching as he refills his glass with an aged scotch and pours me my own glass before handing it over.
“To marriage.” Reginald raises his glass and I do the same, clinking them together.
“To marriage,” I echo, taking a giant swallow, savoring the burn as it slides down my throat.
I’m hoping if I drink enough of it, it’ll wash away the unease inside of me. I don’t like that this man just suddenly showed up uninvited. And how he let himself inside my home—though I guess technically, the apartment belongs to him.
“You’re probably wondering why I popped in unannounced,” he says conversationally.
I nod, taking another sip.
“I was in the neighborhood,” he continues, his gaze steady on me as he brings the glass to his lips and takes a drink. “Thought I’d stop by and offer a piece of advice to my future son-in-law.”
The hairs on the back of my neck rise at his ominous tone and I don’t acknowledge what he says. “Do you know where Charlotte is?”
He seems confused by my subject change. “You don’t?”
I slowly shake my head. “I don’t keep tabs on her. I work all day. I’m sure she knows how to entertain herself.”
Reginald laughs. “That’s where you’re wrong. The way women like to entertain themselves is going to spa treatments or shopping. In plain terms, they like to spend all of our fucking money.”
He laughs and I join him, though mine rings hollow. From what I can tell, Charlotte isn’t interested in shopping or going to the spa.
But I don’t know her that well, and he certainly should.
“She comes with a trust fund, you know,” he says, like no big deal.
“Don’t we all?” I’m trying to make a joke but his face is stone-cold sober.
“From what I understand, you’re bringing nothing to this marriage but your name. I’m the one doing all the heavy lifting.”
I don’t bother correcting him. It’s really Charlotte and I who are doing the brunt of the work—like getting married.
“The Lancaster name opens doors,” Reginald continues. “Doors you Constantines don’t even get to see, let alone test the handle to see if it’s locked.”
He guffaws at his own joke, but I don’t bother laughing this time around. Now he’s just being insulting to my family, though he’s not necessarily lying either.
The Lancasters can open doors we can’t. They go back generations. They are practically American pioneers. Right up there with the Rockefellers and the Vanderbilts. It’s the kind of old money Mother salivates over, wishing she were one of them.
Well, she’s about to become connected with them in a matter of weeks.
Is that why she wants me marrying Charlotte? For status alone?
“Your brother is a sharp son of a bitch,” Reginald says once his laughter dies and he takes another drink. “I like him.”
“Winston is smart,” I agree, wondering where he’s going with this.
“You anything like him?” Reginald squints at me, as if he’s really seeing me for the first time. “I did some research. A few internet searches pull up photos of you partying with pretty women.”
“That was a long time ago, sir.” I stand up straighter, smoothing my hand over my rumpled tie. “I don’t go out like that anymore, now that I’m engaged.”
“Bah.” He waves a hand, dismissing my words. “Do what you want once you make it legal. If she’s anything like her mother, Charlotte won’t protest. Just tell her to go to Chanel, or have one of those boozy lunches with her friends like her mother’s always doing.”
From what I can tell, Charlotte doesn’t have any friends. Not really.