The mood of the party was the expected sophisticated refinement his mother cultured and thrived in. Henrik spotted his parents across the room, next to each other, but miles apart like usual. His older brother was at his mother’s side, talking easily with a couple in front of them. The perfect family unit—minus him.
Henrik cleared his throat and resisted the urge to haul ass right back out of there. He lifted his chin and made his way directly across the room. Take them head on and show no weakness. The same applied in hockey. Maybe that was why he’d taken to the game so well.
His mother was the first to notice him, her smile morphing to something close to genuine. “Henrik.” Her flowing voice held some of the warmth that’d come through in sparing bits over his life. “I’m so happy you could make it.”
“Mother.” He dipped to hug her slim shoulders. Her air-kiss landed near his cheek. His actually touched hers, their performance perfected. Her physical appearance had aged in the graceful way money and a good plastic surgeon allowed, helped along by weekly facials and a stylist that kept her honey-blond hair free of gray and in the latest cut. Currently swept up in an elegant bun and paired with a modest cocktail dress in a rich purple, she was the picture of class. “It’s good to see you.”
He turned to his father, who was still engaged in a conversation with another man, his hearty laugh rising over the low conversation. He couldn’t even stop to greet his youngest son who he hadn’t seen in five months. No surprise there.
“Glad you made it,” Soren said, hand extended. The handshake was precise and neutral, exactly like his clean-cut brother. No brotherly hug from him.
Soren’s wife was mingling nearby with a group of women Henrik recognized from the hundred differed social events he’d been dragged to. He assumed his niece and nephew were tucked away on the second floor with the other children and a group of nannies.
“Just luck with the schedule,” Henrik responded.
“All the better for us,” his mother said, brown eyes lingering on him. “It’s really been too long.”
“You’re always welcome to visit me in Minnesota.” An open invitation they’d never accepted.
Her little frown had the perfect hint of remorse. “It’s too bad we can’t get our schedules to work out. How is your season going?”
The smooth transition dumped the visiting topic while showing him exactly how little she cared about his answer. If she gave a damn, she’d know how his season was going.
“Good.” It was all she expected to hear.
“Henrik,” his father boomed, finally deeming it time to greet his son. One that didn’t even include the customary handshake. “This is a surprise.” He sipped his scotch—it was always scotch—gaze never leaving Henrik. He may have been a head shorter than his son, but he still managed to assert his superiority.
“I told Mother I’d be here.” He should’ve been used to the cold reception by now. He usually was. But after the warmth and openness of Jacqui’s family, the frosty reserve of his own was that much more chilling.
His father glanced at his wife, eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. Henrik caught it though, was used to watching every nuance on the man’s face. “She must’ve forgotten to mention it.”
“Didn’t I, dear?” she faked with dripping innocence. “I could’ve sworn I did.” His mother had “forgotten” to mention his visits too many times for it to be believable, yet they all let it pass. It was just one more facade they danced around, like the refusal to mention Emma’s absence or how she’d died.
“Kurt,” one of his father’s colleagues called, motioning him over. “We need your opinion.”
His dad went to the three men without another word to his family. Kurt Grenick held an aura of respect that had been both handed to him at birth and earned through his years managing the family’s investment company. His designer suit was a little wider around his waist, but only enough to account for the natural progression of his sixty-plus years. He still appeared in good health, if one didn’t count the almost constant glass of scotch in his hand.
“Oh,” his mother said, stepping forward. “There’s Nancy. I really need to speak to her.” She laid a hand on Henrik’s arm. “We’ll catch up later.” She too was gone before Henrik could respond.
He turned to watch her glide through the room, the perfect hostess smiling and greeting her guests with a