The party is, above all, impressive. Drinks are flowing, a whole twelve-piece band is at the back of the room playing hits from the fifties and sixties. Everyone is having a good time and, thank god, mostly ignoring me.
Even though it’s technically my party, everyone’s too caught up in their own business to do much more than send me a curious glance.
I’m grateful for Daniel, who sticks close by my side. Even though he was raised in this environment, I can tell he’s more comfortable with me, sneaking sips of his champagne and making wry comments that only I can hear.
I can’t help but laugh at the things he says. He’s right – we always did get along.
Fiona sweeps around the room, looking almost indecently sexy in her black Versace gown. Looking around, though, I can see that she has competition for her daring choice of clothes. This group of mob bosses and wives do tend towards the sexy.
There are lot of women’s bodies on display around me, many of them enhanced with plumped lips, breasts, asses. Whatever they felt was lacking.
In comparison, I look demure in my sweeping blue gown. But Fiona picked well – if she had put me in something that showed a lot of skin, she knew I’d feel shy. As it is, the blue velvet gown makes me feel regal.
“You do look amazing,” Daniel says, smiling down at me. “I mean, you were always pretty, Fay. But wow.”
I smile up at him, pleased by his compliment. I knew he wouldn’t say it unless he meant it.
We both watch as Fiona greets new guests, directing servants to take their fur coats and ensuring that they have drinks in their hands within half a minute.
“She’s really the hostess here,” I say, fascinated. “What would your dad do without her?”
“Yeah,” Daniel says, studying her. “She’s definitely taken up that wifey sort of roll.” He shrugs. “But who knows, my dad is fickle. One wrong move and she could be out the door.”
I look up at him, wondering if that’s why he keeps his distance from her, emotionally. How many mother figures has Daniel had in his life who have disappeared in the night, never to be seen again?
Beyond that, where is his real mom? I frown, making a mental note to ask some other time.
Daniel gives me a smile and then clinks my empty champagne glass with his. “Refill?” he asks.
I give him a nod and he heads off to the bar. I tap my foot to the music, enjoying it while I look around at all of the guests. Is my father here yet? Will I even recognize him when he arrives?
A voice rumbles, shockingly close to my ear. “If you like the music,” it says, sending shivers down my spine, “why don’t you dance?”
I turn to see Kent standing behind me, his hands clasped casually behind my back.
He stares baldly down into my face, his own only inches away. My heartbeat ratchets up.
“Um,” I say, working to calm myself. God, why does he always get me so worked up, just by standing next to me? “I’m not much of a dancer.”
He smirks, his eyes traveling over my body, taking in the way I look in this too-gorgeous gown. “Shame,” he says. “That dress was made for dancing. You should let them see you in it.”
I blush. That was breathlessly close to a compliment for Kent Lippert.
“Do you know,” he continues, leaning even closer to murmur a secret in my ear. “I met your mother once, at a party like this.”
I spin to look up at him. “You – you knew my mother?”
“Not well,” he says. “But I remember that she was very beautiful. She had hair much like yours,” he says, his voice wandering with memory as he raises a hand to curl a tendril around his finger. “And she was not afraid to dance.”
I blink at him, suddenly terribly sad to have never seen her like that.
He presses his lips together, studying me. Then he clears his throat and pulls his gaze away, scanning the crowd. “I have word from your father’s people,” he says. “He’ll be here very soon.”
My eyes widen. I mean, of course it was the whole point of the evening, but now that it’s close?
I’m terrified.
Kent clenches his jaw as he observes my reaction. “Chin up, girl,” he says, his voice steady, giving me strength. “Meet him with pride.”
I swallow and nod, trying to embody that. But inside I’m quailing.
Daniel walks back over to me, his steps slowing and his face growing worried when he sees who I’m talking to. When Kent catches sight of him, he nods. “Good,” Kent says, beckoning Daniel closer.
As Daniel hands my glass of champagne to me, his father holds out a black velvet box to him. Frowning with confusion, Daniel takes and opens it. His face falls slack as he sees what’s inside.
My own jaw drops when I see the size of the diamond sitting on the little velvet pillow. At least ten carats, emerald cut, set in an art deco style.
“It would be appropriate,” Kent says, his voice commanding, “for Fay to wear your family’s ring tonight, since you are engaged.”
“Dad,” Daniel says, looking up at him. “This was mom’s ring…”
Kent nods sharply, holding out the box to him. It’s not really an offer.
Daniel sighs and takes the box, lifting the ring from it. He looks at me and cocks his head to the side. My fingers shaking a little, I raise my hand. As Daniel takes it and starts to slip the ring onto my finger, I wonder what this means.
Is this a tacit agreement to the engagement? Or some sort of ploy for when I meet my father? Is Kent trying to mark me as part of his own family, even as I meet my own?
My questions are interrupted, though, by the feeling of the ring sticking at my second knuckle.
Daniel pushes harder, but it won’t budge.
“Um, dad,” Daniel says, looking between us. “I think it’s too small.”
I bite my lip, embarrassed. I guess Daniel’s mom had slimmer fingers than me.
Kent glares at Daniel and then nudges him aside, taking my hand in his own. Deftly, he angles the ring so that it slips over the knuckle, and then presses down. I look up into his eyes as the ring slides home to the base of my finger.
I hold my breath, almost, as I feel my cold hand in his warm one, the weight of his ring on my finger.
He stares back at me, his lips parting slightly, revealing clenched teeth behind.
“Thanks dad,” Daniel says, a little awkward, breaking the tension as he takes my hand out of his father’s grip, holding it gently in his own. He gives his dad a weird look and then turns his attention to the ring.
“It looks good on you, Fay,” Daniel says, looking me in the face and smiling.
I hesitate a little, trying to smile back, and then focusing on the ring. This incredible, gigantic, insane rock on my finger.
It’s beautiful, but…
Before I can consider it any more, the room goes quiet, the band dying awkwardly off as they notice that everyone has stopped dancing and has turned towards the door.
Footsteps echo as a man walks in, a woman in a slinky grey dress only a few steps behind. Following her are at least four guards, probably more, though I can’t see any further behind them to count.
He’s a tall man – as tall as Kent, but older, bulkier. His fine pinstriped suit is tight across the paunch of his stomach, but he has a certain power as he begins to cross the room towards us, surveying the crowd as he goes. The woman he came with moves away to the bar.
I hold my breath as the man walks over to us, his eyes sweeping over me from head to foot.
He shocks me, though, by ignoring me when he finally arrives. Instead, he turns to Kent and puts out a hand.
“Lippert,” the man says, not smiling. Kent accepts the hand, shaking it.
“So glad you could come, Alden,” he says and then silently returns his hands to his pockets. He lets Alden take the lead.
Alden nods and looks back at me. “So. Is this her?”
Kent nods, putting a hand between my shoulder blades. Encouraged, I raise my chin and stand before this man, letting him look at me, feeling, more than anything, like a horse at the market. I wonder, passively, if he’s going to start counting my teeth.
“Alden,” Kent says, “this is Fay Thompson. Your daughter.”