Blind Spot - Katana Collins Page 0,84

made her at least two inches taller, she was supermodel beautiful.

I found myself unable to tear my eyes away until I was met with an older version of Tate. Again…tall. His dad smiled warmly, a few lines creasing his otherwise unaged face, and he took my hand in both of his, pulling me in for a kiss on each cheek.

“Ah, this must be Shelby. It’s lovely to meet you,” his father said.

Tate rolled his eyes as his mom approached me next, her face void of any emotion. Was it because another woman was finally competing for her little boy’s attention? Or was it simply a case of too much Botox? Considering what Tate had told me about his childhood, I assumed it to be the latter. She pulled me in for one of those weird air-hugs—the kind where someone clearly doesn’t really want to touch you so they keep as much space between your bodies as possible. Yeah, that was the hug I got from Mrs. Michaelson.

If you’re not comfortable being pressed boob to boob with a person, then a handshake will suffice. I ducked my head to cover my smirk as my mom’s sage wisdom rang in my ears. I studied Tate’s mom carefully. In some ways, she was a lot like mine—at least, back when my mom was married to wealth. There was a time she owned gorgeous dresses and had her hair done weekly.

“Come on over, Shelby,” Tate’s dad said, pulling out a seat at the counter. “We just opened some champagne and are having mimosas before we leave.”

Tate’s mom poured four glasses of champagne, adding a splash of orange juice to two of them. “Do you like Bellinis or mimosas? We’ve got either peach or orange. I, personally, like a good Bellini.”

“Peach would be wonderful, thank you, Mrs. Michaelson.”

She tittered, handing me my glass and tapped the edge. “Oh, sweetheart. Please, call me Tabby.”

I nodded and took a sip of the sweet bubbly.

“So, Shelby,” Tate’s dad went on, “please don’t take this the wrong way, but Tate’s told us nothing about you. Not even your last name.”

I slid Tate a look, raising my eyebrow, and he shrugged with an eye roll. While some girls would have been pissed, I preferred it that way. The way people like the Michaelson’s operated, they’d have an assistant researching everything about me as soon as I gave them my name. They’d know where and when I was born, every address where I’d ever lived, as well as my shoe size. But, thank God, Tate wasn’t like that.

“Um, well…I live right downstairs. Tate and I met the day I moved in. I’m an international business major, and when French was really hard for me, Tate offered to tutor me.”

“So nice of Tatum, wasn’t it?” Tabby looked out the window, her Bellini nearly empty and her eyes glistening with boredom. When his parents looked away, I mouthed Tatum? to him, suppressing a laugh. Tate lowered his brows into a cartoonish scowl. I was definitely going to call him by his full name later. Mercilessly. In front of other people.

“What else? What do your parents do?” Mr. Michaelson asked.

I cleared my throat. God, I hated this question. I wasn’t ashamed of my mom…not at all. But people like this? They would eat me alive and throw my carcass to their dogs for dessert. “Well, my mom was a ballerina before she had me…”

Tabby lit up at that, clapping. “Oh, how lovely. With who? Alvin Ailey? ABC?”

I swallowed. “Back in her prime, she danced in Europe with Donestk. But she remarried after, when I was a kid, and never managed to get back to dancing after that—”

Tabby nodded, eyes wide. “Oh yes. It’s not an easy job being married to guys like these.”

A knot tightened low in my belly. I hadn’t said anything about who my mom was married to. Mrs. Michaelson either just assumed I was like them…or she knew my family history already. Neither scenario would surprise me. “Nope, not an easy job at all,” I said cautiously. If they’d been looking into me, then they probably already knew about my mom’s divorce. “In fact, she went back to waitr—”

“And what about you?” Tabby asked pointedly, cutting me off.

“Excuse me?” I set the champagne glass gently down on the marble counter, running my finger along the base.

“What about yourself? Tate mentioned you volunteer at the tutoring center?”

There was something in the way she stared at me that set my teeth on edge