I bend down and kiss her cheek. “I know I told you before we left, but you really do look incredible.”
“I hope so. This is the most I’ve ever spent on a dress, and even though I got it online, and it’s secondhand, it cost a lot. Fortunately, I came into a little money recently.” She gives me a wink. Kicking up a heel, she adds, “Lila let me borrow the shoes,” as we walk to the elevator holding hands.
“I like them.” They’re sexy, but it feels weird to say that since they belong to her friend. “They look great on you.”
“You look so sexy in black head to toe, Mr. Haywood. A little rebellious, cutting-edge style, handsome as always, but a little danger thrown in the mix tonight.”
“That’s what I’m going for—dangerous and sexy.”
“Goal achieved.” We step into the elevator, and she’s taking another deep breath when I punch the button for the penthouse. She asks, “So Daxton was the father of Archibald Haywood, right?”
“No. It’s the other way around, but seriously, no one’s going to be talking about my family tree.” We spend the ascent in silence, both of us bracing ourselves for different reasons. I regret not texting my mom prior to give her a heads-up. I give Story’s hand a little squeeze just as the doors open. “Here we go.”
“Why am I hearing Darth Vader’s theme song in my head?”
I chuckle. “That would make us the bad guys.”
She waffles her head back and forth. “True. And there’s no way we’re not the good guys in this scenario.”
Bringing her hand to my chest, I say, “Us against them, babe.”
“Us against them,” she says, nodding. Upon entry to the vast apartment, her jaw isn’t hitting the floor, but by how her eyes are taking things in—her lips are just parted and her steps slowing—I’m worried she’ll never see me the same. “You grew up here?”
“Yes. This is the main residence. The Haywood House is used for the holidays, weekend getaways, and summer breaks.”
“Okay.”
That’s it. That’s all I get.
Not good.
I stop when I see Patrice. She hands a coat check ticket to Caffrey and Janet Williams of East Hampton—their son is an asshole who picked one fight with me before I taught him a lesson about fucking with me. He just did time down in Florida on a drug charge. They act like they don’t have any children now and scurry away when they see me.
When Patrice sees me, she smiles like she’s seeing her own son. “Cooper, I didn’t know if we’d get to see you tonight.” Her gaze flicks to Story, and her smile grows wider. “And you brought a date.”
“I did.” I give her a hug.
Patrice looks at Story when we part and holds out her hand. “Hi, I’m Patrice Fielder. This guy’s former nanny.”
Story smiles, instantly at ease as her shoulders soften. She shakes her hand, but then Patrice hugs her. I’m not sure if Story will like that based on her earlier commentary, but it doesn’t matter because she hugs her right back.
Stepping apart, Patrice adds, “This is the first time he’s brought home someone he—”
“Cooper!”
Fuck.
The high squeal burst the good moment we were having, which I’m sure was the intention. Camille throws her arms around me, blocking my view of Story, the connection lost as I try to pry Camille off me in a hurry.
I hear Patrice continue, “Cares about,” her tone souring as she glares at the back of Camille’s head. She’s not telling a lie.
“Camille,” I snap, untangling her arms from around me. Putting distance between us, I look at Story and then hold out my hand to her.
The ire of burning bronze licks in her eyes, but she raises her hand and joins with mine.
The jerk of Camille’s head has her glaring in confusion at Story’s and my hands. “What’s going on, Coop?”
I catch the roll of Story’s eyes before she starts to pull away. I hold her tighter. No way am I letting her slip away. I will make it very clear to everyone in this fucking party who I’m with and who I’m choosing.
More guests arrive, pulling Patrice away to take their coats and leaving the three of us standing there.
“This is my girlfriend, Story Salenger,” I reply, glancing at Story beside me. “Story, this is Camille Arden.”
Camille grins like the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland. “How sweet,” she says condescendingly as she looks from Story back to me. She pats my arm. “Is this the suit I bought you?”
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Shaking her head like she’s innocent to the pot she’s stirring, she adds, “I always did like the cut of Tom Ford on you. Don’t you agree, Story? That’s such a unique name. Very . . . I’m not sure.”
Fuck.
Fuck.
Waving her hand to brush the small talk away, she continues to blabber, “I had no idea you were dating anyone. Why didn’t you mention her last week when we got together?”
Fuck.
I could stand here and do this, go a few verbal rounds with her . . . but I tuck Story under my arm and walk away instead. Letting me lead, I hold her hand as we weave through the crowd, the party well into the swing of things. “Drink?”
“A double,” she replies.
Glad she’s still holding my hand after that fiasco, I lean down and ask, “A double what?”
“Anything.”
We reach the bar, and I order bourbon on the rocks. Looking at Story, I realize I’ve never seen her drink alcohol besides a few sips of champagne. “What do you normally drink?”
“I don’t really.”
I turn back to the bartender and look at the selection on display. If she doesn’t drink, a double of anything will be the trouble neither of us needs. “A glass of rosé.”
I hand her the glass and take a long drink of mine when he sets it on the bar in front of me. Since people are waiting to place their drink orders, I take Story by the crook of her arm and lead her toward the door that leads to the west-facing balcony. “It’s cold outside, but do you need some fresh air?”
“I think it would be good for a minute.”
I haven’t seen my parents yet, but I’m okay with that after what just happened with Camille. Very few people are outside due to the low temperature, but it gives Story and me a moment alone. I take my jacket off and wrap it around her shoulders. “I’m sorry—”
“Cooper,” she says, sighing. “I’m not na?ve. Maybe I’m not as classy as Camille, but if that means being catty to someone you don’t know out of jealousy, I’d rather be me.”
“You blow me away by how you handle everything with grace. So don’t think for a minute that you’re not sophisticated.”
She sidles closer and leans against me. I slip my arm under the jacket and around her waist, holding her close and hoping I can keep her warm for just a few minutes more. I’m not sure what lies ahead when she meets my parents, but here right now, I’m happy and hope she is.
I take another drink to warm my insides. When she takes a sip of her wine, I ask, “How is it?”
“Spectacular.”
I smile as the lights reflect in her eyes, mesmerized by this incredible woman. “I meant the wine, though you’re right. The view is pretty spectacular.”
Music invades our peace when the door opens. “I didn’t realize you were here, Cooper,” my mom observes.
I step away from Story like I’m sixteen and was just busted having sex on the couch or something. Since that happened, my reaction is now automatic. When I turn around, my dad is with her as they stare back and forth between Story and me.
Tempted to reach for her hand again but not sure if it’s to comfort her or me, I stop myself when I see her free hand tucked behind her back and the wine held down by her side. The body language isn’t hard to read. “Mom, hi. I’m here.”
She leans in to kiss my cheek before I shake hands with my dad.
“Who’s this?” he asks, his voice gruffer than usual. As he’s much older than my mom, his aging seems to accelerate as visually while my mom hasn’t changed in twenty years.
“Hello,” my mom says to Story before I have a chance to introduce them. “Camille told me our Cooper brought someone with him.” She holds out her hand. “I didn’t see your name on the RSVP list, so this is quite a surprise.”