People’s reactions were all the same. Even the eldest, most stubborn, of faces, couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the elegance.
Mine, on the other hand, stayed placidly neutral.
Tipping back my head, the bubbles of my champagne barely hit my nose before I have another in my hand. My father demands the best, even of waitstaff. His name was never associated with anything half-ass.
They’re seen but not heard unlike the elite well—to—do blood-hungry leeches wandering around. All they want to be is witnessed.
Unlucky for me because my last name meant I was the next closest connection to gaining access to my father. People have been kissing my ass all night putting on a show in the hopes of me mentioning their name.
I smile and play along knowing damn well it will do nothing.
The grim, white-haired fucker that’s been chatting me up the last ten minutes doesn’t get the hint. My head starts to pound the longer he drones on about marketing economics.
“The wife’s been complaining I work too much,” he heaves. I’m hoping he’ll keel over when he draws out a cough but am left disappointed. Righting himself he pounds on his chest. Darn, the luck.
I conceal my snort by taking a drink. You and everyone else here, buddy. The rich don’t make their money eating dinner and watching movies with the kids.
“Have you thought about where you could vacation this summer?” Eli says, stepping in. He makes it seem casual with his relaxed posture, but I knew he was intervening.
Thank God, too. This man was about to prematurely bore me to death.
“I traveled to St. Barts last year with my own family,” he adds, twirling the stem of his drink between his fingers.
The guy’s whose name I hadn’t bothered to remember, eyes slice over to Eli. “She complains I’m never home.”
“Isn’t that what they all say?” he agrees. Smile overly gummy.
They chat for a while, and I do my best to politely zone out until I hear the one name that has my ears perking up. The Caspers have arrived.
Eli leans over. The old perve getting distracted by someone’s ass that most definitely doesn’t belong to his wife passing by.
“Our girl’s here,” he murmurs.
Wrong. Rory wasmygirl.
Grabbing at the guy’s arms, Eli starts leading him toward the bar and the fuck away from me. The look he shoots me over his shoulder tells me all I need to know. I owed him.
Whatever. I would buy himtwovillas in St. Barts if he wanted. One for him and one for his ego. I-did-not-care.
I only had one thing on my mind right now. My eyes glued to the stairs.
Abram’s announced first—no Lorna in sight. Good. He stuck to his guns. Followed by Finn shortly after. He shares his father’s brash, self-assured posture.
Unlike his father he waves, even throwing in a wink here and there as he descends. Enjoying the spotlight to the fullest.
My shoulders stiffen. The commentator announcing the one name I knew would have more heads turning tonight than anyone else’s.
“Aurora Casper, daughter of Abram Casper.”
Believe it or not, it’s not uncommon—okay, it’s pretty common—for people in my world to have children out of an affair. What’s not so common is for the parent to acknowledge them as a dependent so late in life. Usually, that’s done at an age so young no one knew the difference, or they were treated like they didn’t exist at all.
So Rory was a bit of an anomaly to everyone here tonight.
I know what you’re thinking. Rory was older but that story sounds like another headache and not something I felt like thinking too much into when I spot her.
Almost, if not every, head glued to where she stood like mine was. Princess would be the gossip of the night, driving everyone into full-blown chaos.
I suck in a sharp breath, forcing myself not to blink. Not willing to miss a moment of what was waltzing down the stairs.