“Thank you.”
Her hands brushed over my hair, cupped my face, and then slid down my arms. It was hard for me to bear it, because touching was sometimes an anxiety trigger for me when the person was a stranger. “Your hair, is it naturally blond?”
“Yes,” I replied, startled and confused by the question. Who asked a question like that of a stranger?
“How fascinating. Well, welcome. I hope you have a wonderful time. We’re so glad you could make it.”
Feeling strangely unsettled, I was grateful when her attention moved to Cary and zeroed in.
“And you must be Cary,” she crooned. “Here I’d been certain my two boys were the most attractive in the world. I see I was wrong about that. You are simply divine, young man.”
Cary flashed his megawatt smile. “Ah, I think I’m in love, Mrs. Vidal.”
She laughed with throaty delight. “Please. Call me Elizabeth. Or Lizzie, if you’re brave enough.”
Looking away, I found my hand clasped by Christopher Vidal Senior. In many ways, he reminded me of his son, with his slate green eyes and boyish smile. In others, he was a pleasant surprise. Dressed in khakis, loafers, and a cashmere cardigan, he looked more like a college professor than a music company executive.
“Eva. May I call you Eva?”
“Please do.”
“Call me Chris. It makes it a little easier to distinguish between me and Christopher.” His head tilted to the side as he contemplated me through quirky brass spectacles. “I can see why Gideon is so taken with you. Your eyes are a stormy gray, yet they’re so clear and direct. Quite the most beautiful eyes I think I’ve ever seen, aside from my wife’s.”
I flushed. “Thank you.”
“Is Gideon coming?”
“Not that I’m aware of.” Why didn’t his parents know the answer to that question?
“We always hope.” He gestured at a waiting servant. “Please head back to the gardens and make yourself at home.”
Christopher greeted me with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, while Gideon’s sister Ireland sized me up in a sulky way that only a teenager could pull off. “You’re a blonde,” she said.
Jeez. Was Gideon’s preference for dark-haired women a damn law or something? “And you’re a very lovely brunette.”
Cary offered me his arm and I accepted it gratefully.
As we walked away, he asked me quietly, “Were they what you expected?”
“His mom, maybe. His stepdad, no.” I looked back over my shoulder, taking in the elegant floor-length cream sheath dress that clung to Elizabeth Vidal’s svelte figure. I thought of what little I knew about Gideon’s family. “How does a boy grow up to be a businessman who takes over his stepfather’s family business?”
“Cross owns shares in Vidal Records?”
“Controlling interest.”
“Hmm. Maybe it was a bailout?” he offered. “A helping hand during a trying time for the music industry?”
“Why not just give him the money?” I wondered.
“Because he’s a shrewd businessman?”
With a sharp exhalation, I waved the question away and cleared my mind. I was attending the party for Cary, not Gideon, and I was going to keep that first and foremost in my thoughts.
Once we’d moved outside, we found a large, elaborately decorated marquee erected in the rear garden. Although the day was beautiful enough to stay out in the sun, I found a seat at a circular table covered in white damask instead.
Cary patted my shoulder. “You relax. I’ll network.”
“Go get ’em.”
He moved away, intent on his agenda.