Beside my mother, my father grinds his jaw, staring back at Mayor Boyd, but seems to cap whatever thoughts are spinning through his head with a long swill of his drink. He holds up the empty glass, and Solange lurches forward, filling it with more wine.
“I still have my baton hanging up in my sitting room. Sometimes, I take it down to see if I still have it.” With a chuckle, my mother sips her wine, staring over the glass in the flirtatious way that I know gnaws at my father’s pride. “I may be forty-two, but I can do a backbend like it’s nobody’s business.”
“Seriously?” Boyd clears his throat. “You are full of surprises, Lady Blackthorne.”
“Please. Call me Laura.”
“The talent in your family is … incredible.” Darla cups me, and I jolt upright, setting my hand on hers and swallowing hard as the erection meant for Solange has made itself known.
My mother couldn’t be more oblivious if she were deaf and blindfolded. “Have you heard Lucian play piano?”
God. No. The moment I stand up from this table, the better half of New England is going to know I’m hard.
Clearly tipsy, my mother hooks her arm in mine and tugs. “Come on, let’s go to the atrium to listen to him play.”
“We’re not going to the atrium.” My father’s voice carries all the annoyance of the evening, and for once, I’m relieved to hear him speak up. “My son toys around with piano, but he’s no Mozart. Certainly not worth uprooting an entire dinner party for.”
“He’s quite good, Griffin, you’ve just never taken the time to notice, is all.”
“I notice more than you think, Laura.” He’s undoubtedly caught on to Mayor Boyd’s interest most of the night. Kind of hard to miss his puppy dog fascination with my mother.
“I suppose you do. Certainly didn’t take you long to learn the help’s name.”
My gaze flits to Solange, whose tight jaw betrays the fake smile plastered to her face.
“Somebody has to treat them as if they’re more than pets.”
My mother releases me and reaches for her glass, shaking her head on a mirthless chuckle. “I’m sure you do.”
“What do you play?” Amelia asks from across the table.
Everyone’s eyes land back on me, and for a split second, I hate Amelia Boyd for putting me in this position.
“Lots of things.”
“Lots of things.” My father echoes in mocking. “You see? No Mozart.”
“You’re right. I prefer Beethoven, Father. It has the structural perfection of Mozart, but more emotion.”
I catch the twitch of my father’s eye, and I’m certain, if we weren’t sitting in a room filled with elite members of society, my father would’ve already backhanded me.
“I’d love to hear you play.” Amelia lowers her head, but lifts her eyes toward me. “Will you show me to the atrium?”
A quick glance toward my mother, who is undoubtedly absorbing the insults of my father, making a case for what will be an explosive argument between them tomorrow, and my father, whose red face is the culmination of embarrassment, anger, and too many drinks, and I nod, pushing back away from Darla’s wandering hand.
I take the lead down the hallway toward the atrium, not bothering to look back at Amelia. I didn’t agree to this for her benefit, but to get the fuck out of that suffocating room.
“You’re so lucky to live in a castle. Like a prince.”
There’s no point in answering her. Whatever this is, it’s only show on her part, as well as mine. I’m certain she was coached by her father prior to arriving, just as my mother continues to coach me before every social gathering.
“You, um … you go to private school?”
With a huff, I spare her a quick glance. Christ, I thought she’d take the cue that being away from our parents meant she didn’t have to do this shit. “Private tutor. I was kicked out of school.”
“Really? For what?”
“Burning the headmaster’s couch.”
Hearing her chuckle behind me, I do my best to hide the smile, recalling Jude and I sitting in his office the following day. I took the fall, of course. My father may be a bastard, but Jude’s is a bastard with a fucking cherry on top.
“That’s great.”
“Great? I was expelled. Now I’m stuck here until I graduate.”
“Well … was it worth it?”
Trying to hide my smile is pointless, as I recall the pissed-off expression on the headmaster’s face. The prick who warned me when the year began that, just because I was a Blackthorne, it didn’t mean I