“Mother!” I called out.
She caught my eye and beamed. She looked radiant. Dressed head to toe in all black accented with a bright lime-green scarf wrapped around her shoulders, she looked like some beautiful exotic bird. Some artists were notoriously shy, but my mother thrived under the spotlight and loved to show people her latest piece.
And behind her, as always, was my father. Strong and solid, anchoring her crazy with his sensible, he was always content at her side.
“Natalie, I was hoping we’d see you here,” she cooed, slipping an arm around my waist and hugging me close.
“Of course, I wouldn’t have missed it. Looks like you’ve got quite a turnout already!”
“Crows, they’re all crows! Just here for the free food and drink, and to pick pick pick apart my work.”
“Which she secretly loves,” my dad chimed in, sharing a secret smile with me.
“I do, I really do,” she agreed, dropping a kiss on his cheek. They both realized there was a man on my arm at exactly the same second, and I stifled a grin when I watched them both tilt their heads up slightly to take in his height.
“Oh, and this must be the man who’s been keeping my daughter out of town so much lately. Oscar, isn’t it?” My mother offered a hand, which Oscar took. Her eyes widened at the size of his paw.
“Yes, ma’am, it’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Grayson. Looks like quite a show here tonight.”
“It really is such a spectacle,” she said, looking him up and down, taking the time to catalogue each feature. “And this is Natalie’s father.”
“Mr. Grayson,” Oscar said, shaking his hand firmly.
“I’m Al; that’s Anna,” my dad replied, taking it to a first-name basis already. An interesting development.
Then someone from the gallery came outside and asked my mother if she had a moment.
“Oh goodness, I’ve got to go—a few interviews. Will we see you later, Oscar?”
“I’ll be wherever Natalie is, I expect,” Oscar said, smiling smoothly.
I smiled and nodded, and as the two of them whisked away and melted into the crowd, I looked around for other faces I knew.
“I’ve got to make the rounds and say hello to some people. You with me?”
“Sure,” he said, “I’m with you.”
And he couldn’t have been more wrong. All night long as I introduced him to people I knew—some friends from school, some friends just from the party scene—he was more and more rude. At first it was little things: not listening when other people were talking, staring off into space when I was asking him a question to bring him into the conversation; but then it began to get worse. He was muttering snide comments under his breath, commenting on everything from the hors d’oeuvres to the photographers and finally my friends. I don’t know if they heard it, but I did, and it was enough.
Not that my friends didn’t have plenty to say about Oscar, too. Rich people don’t say what they’re thinking right out loud, but it’s right there on their face, in their eyes. They asked the right questions: where is your farm, how long have you been making cheese, how long have you been making Natalie (a particularly rude one asked by someone I went to high school with and never particularly liked); nothing openly hostile.
I’d gotten so used to party small talk that I barely heard it anymore. But Oscar heard everything, and it was not sitting well.
Finally, after circling around and making nice with everyone I needed to, I knew it was time for a drink.
“I’ll be right back,” I muttered, starting to head off toward the bar.
He caught me by the arm. Gently, of course, but still . . . “Where are you running off to?”
“Getting a drink. I’ll be right back.” And I left.
Was I rude? Maybe, but I needed a breather. This shit was getting complicated and I didn’t like it. I wasn’t sure quite what was going on with him tonight, but I didn’t like how I was feeling.
When I finally made it to the front of the crowded bar I blindly asked the first bartender I could find for a double vodka, straight up.
And when he handed me my drink, and I finally looked up to hand him a tip, I found myself looking into the coldest brown eyes I’d hoped to never see again.
“Thomas.” My voice caught in my throat, barely a breath, but he heard it and smiled. My skin crawled.
“Hello, Natalie, it’s been a long time.”
I instinctively tugged at my dress, pulling it a little higher across my cleavage, a little lower across my bottom. “What are you—”
“—doing here? What the hell does it look like? I’m serving the masses. There are so many drunk women here tonight I might get lucky.” And he waggled his eyebrows at me.