Not You It's Me (Boston Love #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,105

My half-sister keeps smiling at me, her sociopathic date keeps letting his eyes roam from my face to my chest — come on, dude, I don’t even have cleavage in this dress — and Chase is getting tenser by the minute.

I’m starting to think it can’t get any worse, when a man walks through the ballroom doors and begins making his way toward the stage, stopping briefly to speak with several attendees along the way. His expensive suit and distinguished appearance do nothing to distract from the fact that he’s a very sick man — his skin has an unnatural pallor, there are deep circles beneath his eyes, and he’s much too thin.

I know instantly that this is Jameson Croft, even before he arrives at our table and takes the seat next to Chase. But, as he gets closer and I spot the fading blond in his gray hair, as I catch sight of his eyes, hard and green, I’m even more started by another thought. A thought so surprising, it catches me off guard.

He looks nothing like his son, Brett, who’s a spitting image of his mother.

In fact… he looks an awful lot like his nephew.

***

The air at our table is tense, to say the least.

Phoebe keeps catching my eye, looking more confused by the minute, and I can’t exactly blame her. I’m pretty confused, myself.

Chase’s jaw is clenched so tight, I’m worried his teeth are going to break. He hasn’t taken a single bite of his dinner, and he’s sipping his glass of soda water like he wishes it were something a helluva lot stronger.

Brett, for once, doesn’t look gloating or gleeful — he looks pissed. He’s gulping down glasses of scotch like he’s actively trying to end up under the table, a dark expression on his face as he looks from me to Chase to the man next to him.

Jameson.

Who, I might add, is the reason for all the tension.

He arrived at the table, gave a stiff nod to Chase, another to Brett, and settled into his seat without bothering to introduce himself to me or Phoebe. Even his wife got little more than a murmured hello. Mere seconds after he sat, a waiter appeared at his elbow with a short-stacked tumbler of clear liquid on ice — which he’s been sipping steadily for the past ten minutes.

If the fact that the family patriarch, who just so happens to be dying of liver cirrhosis, is gulping down vodka shocks anyone at the table, they certainly don’t say as much. They don’t even look surprised — their expressions range from resigned (Brett’s mother) to enraged (Chase) to regretful (the cousins at the far ends, who no one seems to be speaking to).

We eat in total silence, picking at arugula salads with sweet-roasted pecans and pretending it’s not odd that our dinner table is quieter than a monastery. For all I know, it’s not odd, for the Crofts. Maybe every dinner they eat is shrouded in silence and strained conversation. Somehow, I doubt they’re the kind of family who share stories about their days or bicker over the last bread roll in the basket.

Phoebe’s eyes meet mine across the table and she widens them to the extreme in an unmistakable what-the-hell-is-happening-here expression. I shrug my shoulders up in a slight hell-if-I-know movement. She grins and returns her eyes to her plate.

I start to smile myself, until I feel the weight of eyes on my face. My gaze slides to the left, and I find Brett is watching me, a calculated gleam in his ice-blue irises. Instead of flinching and looking away, I meet his stare head-on, raising one eyebrow at him in a cool, composed, what-the-hell-do-you-think-you’re-looking-at gesture. The smug twist of his lips is the only answer I get in return, so I just stuff more arugula into my mouth and pray that the second course is almost ready. Anything, to get me away from this world of silent conversations and strained relationships.

***

Dinner finally ends, but the night’s not nearly over. I’m pushing the remnants of my chocolate cake around my plate, half-listening to the first of many speeches we’ll be forced to endure before we can finally go home.

One of the cousins is at the podium, giving a long-winded summary of the company’s many accomplishments from the previous year.

“Chase.”

He looks at me with eyes that have glazed over, raising his brows in question.

“I have to pee,” I whisper.

He grins. “Gemma, this isn’t kindergarten. You don’t need my permission