“I don’t know,” Beck says smoothly. “You tell me, Mother. I’m assuming you know how long Sela and I have been dating.”
His mom just stares at him, completely unable to answer the question. His dad coughs slightly. It was a very pointed reminder from Beck to his parents that they know nothing about him really.
They clearly get the message, because his dad changes the subject quickly. “How’s business going?”
“Very well,” Beck says, and uses the opportunity to present the real reason we came tonight. “Actually, I need to talk to you about a business issue in private. Do you have some time right now?”
“Beckett,” Helen North chides her husband. “It’s a party. You’re the host. No business tonight.”
But I can tell that Beckett North is not only intrigued by his son wanting to discuss business with him, but he’d rather be anywhere but hosting a party tonight. So I’m not surprised when he leans over, pecks his wife on the cheek, and says, “We won’t take long, darling. I’m sure you can manage without me for a few minutes.”
She huffs out her displeasure as Mr. North steps past us both. Beck leans over, gives my lips a soft brush, and whispers so only I can hear, “Good luck. I won’t be too long.”
As I watch them walk out of the music room, I see JT across the room. This isn’t a surprise, as Beck told me he’d be here and wanted me to be prepared in case we ran into each other. While Beck has done a fantastic job of being buddy-buddy with JT at work this week, I’m not under the same requirement to play nice with him. In fact, Beck and I discussed how I should deal with JT, and we both felt that I should proceed with quiet distaste. Anything else may make him suspicious.
JT is dressed in an elegant navy suit and standing with a couple that look to be in their mid to late fifties. The woman has a sexually charged gaze fixed on Beck’s dad as he walks out of the room with his son.
Interesting. I’d bet my bank account, which, granted, isn’t much, that I’m looking at JT’s mother right now. JT and the man I’m guessing is his father . . . well the man who raised him . . . don’t seem to notice where her attention is focused, because they are talking quietly between themselves.
Figuring that I need to make small talk with Beck’s mom, I turn her way, only to find her staring at the woman I believe to be JT’s mom. Her lips are flattened and her eyes are cold as she watches the other woman staring hungrily at her husband.
Well, that answers that question. Clearly Beck’s mom knows about her husband and JT’s mom having an affair.
Very strange and complicated people.
“So, Mrs. North,” I say in an attempt to get her attention. “You’re house is stunning. Beck was telling me a little bit about the architectural style.”
Helen’s gaze slides slowly to me and her eyes don’t warm at all. Rather than prattle on about her home, which Beck sort of assured me was a good conversation maker, she says, “If you’ll excuse me, I have some other guests to attend to. Enjoy your evening.”
And just like that, I’m dismissed.
I’m immediately relieved that I don’t have to engage further with Beck’s mom. My low opinion of her was set when I first saw how Helen and Beckett North failed to celebrate the birth of their son, but it sank to unparalleled depths when Beck told me how they treated Caroline after her rape.
A waiter approaches me with a tray of champagne filled flutes and I gratefully take one, murmuring, “Thank you.” I decide to explore the house a bit while I sip on my drink, thus averting the need to talk with any of these people, because really . . . what could we possibly have in common?
I walk out of the music room, back into the main hall. I see people descending a gently curved staircase of a dark wood polished to a brilliant sheen. I follow them down and emerge into what looks to be a large game room complete with a poker table that seats ten and two pool tables that are currently in use. An old-fashioned phonograph sits on an intricately carved table with a cubed glass case over the top, telling me that it’s worth quite a