blinking furiously, this time adding a tremble to her voice. “About you getting remarried. So I wouldn’t have had to hear it from your family after I got here tonight.”
I frowned. “I had no idea you were even invited. So no, I don’t have anything to say to you.”
Likely, she’d already told everyone in our circles about how unfair I’d been. Or she’d complained about how I hadn’t taken her back when she wanted—no, demanded—it. Or she’d wished aloud that the new wife and I would split up before our first wedding anniversary. I only regretted that Claire was going to see that prediction come true. Confirmation for her that I was indeed a shitty husband.
But that still didn’t make me care.
Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Well I certainly hope you don’t freeze her out like—”
“We’re done here.” I cut her off before she launched into the blame game again. We’d been divorced over six years. It wasn’t just water under the bridge, that water had flowed out to sea and evaporated into a tropical storm over the Pacific a long time ago. “Bye, Claire.”
When I turned my back on her to head down the hall to the study, I could sense her standing there, staring after me.
Nevertheless, I paused at the door to the study, unconsciously straightening my jacket before entering. Father was seated at his huge oak desk that had once belonged to my grandfather and had, before that, graced the grand study of the ancestral home in Utrecht. The soft red leather creaked as he settled into his chair and gestured with a flourish at the facing seat, a comfortable wingback chair. The sight of it immediately brought back memories of his stern disciplinary lectures as a child. Or the hours of unwanted and unneeded advice spewed at me as a teen. I chose not to take a seat, but I did unbutton my jacket and stuff my hands into my pockets.
He arched a brow and without a word, pulled out a cut crystal decanter and two matching glasses. Specially aged scotch, his favorite. After pouring, he pushed a glass toward me and immediately started sipping at his. I almost laughed at what this image might look like to some outsider walking in—like Kat—and her allusion to the whole Downton Abbey thing. All we were lacking were a couple of Cubans, some fancy silk smoking jackets and posh British accents.
I left my glass on the table untouched while he sipped deeply from his before setting it down and throwing me a speculative glance. Father was in his mid-fifties and heavily favored the European mannerisms and bearing of his aristocratic old world family. Here in Southern California, he was like a living, breathing anachronism. The discrepancy wouldn’t have been nearly as glaring had he taken up residence on the other coast of this country. As it was, formal, uptight and California did not mesh well.
I waited for him to speak. It was how I’d been raised and old habits died hard, even when you really, truly wished to kill them.
He cleared his throat noisily and finally belted out a blunt, “So what’s the real story with this woman. Did you get her pregnant?”
I pinched the flesh at the bridge of my nose to cover rolling my eyes, unsurprised that he’d chosen to lead with that.
“’This woman.’ You mean my wife?”
He handwaved—yeah, literally handwaved, fingers splaying through the air in a dismissive gesture. “You know what I mean. I’m just asking because everyone’s thinking it.”
I cocked my brows. “Oh, they are?”
He half shrugged. “Lots of pointed glances at her midsection. Maybe you hadn’t noticed.”
“I just noticed people admiring a beautiful woman.” It was true that I could have just given him a straight answer and put his—and apparently all the rest of the world’s—fears to rest. But there was no small pleasure to be had from making this man sweat a little.
The paternal figure cocked his head and shot me what I’m sure he thought was a sly glance. “It’s true that your wives are getting progressively prettier, I’ll give you that. Let’s just hope you can make this one stick.”
I ignored the obvious bait. “I’m sure you answered your own question by serving champagne the minute we walked in the door. And of course there was asking her about not touching her wine at dinner.”
Another one of those infuriating shrugs. “Just want to make sure I’m not going to end up a surprise grandfather.”