14. FOURTEEN
FOURTEEN
CORY
Kinsley curled my hair for me as I sat at her vanity eating popcorn. I could do makeup, but hair was not my strong suit, and I already knew the evening had enough poorly veiled insults waiting for me. I didn’t want to give my mother any more ammo, at least not as far as my appearance was concerned.
“How’d you get out of going again?” I asked her as she finished wrapping the last chunk of hair around the iron.
“Easy! I told my mother I wasn’t feeling well. I think she’s hoping I’m pregnant already and doesn’t want to add any extra stress.” The inflection she put on the last two words was exactly how her mother would say it.
“ Are you pregnant already?”
She hit me in the shoulder. “No you idiot. You’re the first person I would tell if I was.”
“You mean, besides Hayes.”
“Nope! Including him. Someone needs to help me with my plans for telling him. ”
I laugh. “A simple, ‘Hey babe, I’m pregnant’ isn’t enough?”
Her features went stone cold in the mirror, and she shook her head disappointedly. “It’s like you don’t even know me.”
We laughed because I knew Kins better than she knew herself and vice versa. She sprayed my hair with an obnoxious amount of hair spray before brushing out all the curls she spent the last forty minutes doing. We were apparently going for “Hollywood curls” which weren’t really curls at all so much as they were big waves.
“Okay, go put on the dress! I need the full effect before I compliment you.” She shooed me into her ensuite bathroom.
I slipped into the gown, touched up my makeup, and walked back into the bedroom.
“Wait!” Kinsley screamed, covering her eyes with her hands as if simply shutting them weren’t enough. “Heels! Put them on.”
I smirked at her absurdity, but put on the strappy black stilettos which provided my meager five foot three stature with an extra four inches. I felt like I was walking on stilts.
“Okay you weirdo. You can open your eyes.”
Kinsley squealed anytime I wore a dress, mainly because it wasn’t all that frequent that I wore one, but her eyes never watered like they were in that moment.
And okay, I had more than enough confidence to admit I looked good. The bright, red satin of the sheath dress hugged my curves in all the right places, and pooled to a brush train on the floor. The corseted bodice was covered with a lace applique that carried up to the off-the-shoulder straps. There was a slit that ran dangerously high up my thigh, but had the same lace applique covering the juncture, adding some modesty back.
“You look breathtaking! Garrett is going to die.” She wiped her eyes and reached for her phone. “Is this how moms feel when their kids go to prom? Smile!”
She took a series of photos, some perfectly decent and some extremely indecent because I couldn’t take her seriously, and then walked me downstairs. Hayes was sprawled out on the living room couch watching a baseball game, which was exactly where we’d left him when I arrived. When we walked in he did a double take and then whistled.
“Garrett’s going to lose his mind. Kins, did you take photos?”
And this was why they were meant for each other.
“Yes, she did and before you ask, I don’t need any more.” I grabbed the purse Kinsley was letting me borrow for the night and shoved my lipstick into it.
“But the lighting is better outside, and I mowed the lawn today.”
“He’s right! The lighting would be way better outside,” Kinsley chimed In.
I snorted. “You guys just need to be parents already so you can hyperfixate on someone else.”
“Oh I’m ready! Already got the new balances in a box under the bed on standby.”
“Shut up, you do not.” I couldn’t keep the smile from my face. Knowing Hayes, he one thousand percent did.
A knock sounded and then Garrett opened the front door, letting himself inside. “Hello?”
Hayes leapt off the couch whispering, “I’m going to hide in the dining room. I’ve got to see his face.” He took off running, sliding a little across the hardwood in his socked feet in his hurry to hide.
“You’re a child!” I called after him.
“Who’s a chi—” Garrett’s voice trailed off as he entered the living room and saw me standing there.
A person could have all the confidence in the world, but I’d never believe anyone if they said they didn’t feel at least a little bashful when someone was staring at them as if that person could literally drink them in.
I felt myself blush, suddenly unsure of what to do with my hands.
Why did I have to have hands right now?
I ran them down my satin clad hips. “What do you think?”
His eyes kept roaming me, unable to land anywhere for too long. “I think . . .” He trailed off, clearing his throat and meeting my gaze. “I think you look stunning.”
I sent him a flirty smile. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
And if that wasn’t the understatement of the year. The fit of the tux emphasized the bulge of his biceps, the broadness of his chest, and the narrowness of his waist. I knew, from the way the pants hugged his thighs, that they’d do wonders for his ass. And the red bowtie? Why was a bowtie so much hotter than a regular tie? I now had three different versions of Garrett, all contending for the title of “hottest” inside my head. Police uniform Garrett, backwards hat and jeans Garrett, and now tuxedo Garrett. If they were three separate people, I’d be forming my own harem.
“I called it!” Hayes hooted with laughter, startling both of us out of our moment. “You short circuited his brain, Cory.”
Kinsley shushed him. “You two go and have fun.” When she pulled me into a hug she whispered quietly in my ear, “Don’t let her get to you.”
“I will do my best. Thank you for letting me get ready here.”
“Anytime, babes.”
Garrett shook his head at something Hayes said to him, then held out his hand to me. “Shall we?”
I placed my palm in his and muttered, “Might as well get this over with.”
His hand moved to the small of my back as he led me back toward the front of the house. I looked back over our shoulders at Kinsley and mimed for her to take a picture of Garrett’s ass.
***
“I am so sorry for this,” I offered again for probably the fifth or sixth time since we left Hayes and Kinsley’s house.
We were waiting behind a string of cars in line for the valet my parents had rented for the party—a ridiculous show for my father’s business associates—and I was nervous.
Garrett looked over at me, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against my inner wrist. “Stop apologizing. I’m here for you. I don’t care about anything else. ”
A couple of seconds crept by quietly before he added with a roguish grin, “Plus, it gives me an excuse to wear this tux. Makes my butt look good, don’t you think? Almost picture worthy?”
I burst out laughing. “I have no regrets and make no apologies. I’m keeping them.”
He feigned offense, pulling up to the valet. “Is this what it feels like to be objectified?”
“No, because you actually like it.”
Garrett opened his door and hopped out, passing his keys to a man in a tailcoat, while another man opened my door, and helped me down from the truck. We received a ticket with a valet number on it, which was ridiculous considering there wasn’t a single other truck in the vicinity. Looping his arm through mine, we proceeded to head up the walkway toward the house. Meanwhile, I kept stealing sidelong glances at him, trying to gauge his reaction to all of this.
“You’re not going to scare me off, Cory. Stop worrying about that.”
I took a deep breath and nodded. I just needed a drink to settle my nerves, and I’d be fine. Another tail-coated man opened the door for us, and we stepped into the foyer.
White marbled floors shone under the glow of the gigantic crystal chandelier hanging above our heads. The railing of the staircase was adorned with what was no doubt thousands and thousands of dollars worth of delphinium, hydrangeas, and peonies, all in shades of blues, purples, and whites. Where she even got some of those flowers in the middle of August beat me, but I knew the price tag would make me sick to my stomach. It looked like something out of a wedding magazine. Someone should probably get married tonight so that all of this wasn’t wasted on some stupid dinner party.
A waiter walked by with a silver tray of champagne flutes, and Garrett snagged two, passing one my way.
“Bottoms up?” he offered.
I saluted him before tossing the entire glass back in a few big gulps. I started to speak, but it would’ve appeared our short-lived moment of peace had come to an end.
“Ah, there she is!” My mother swept through the small crowd toward me, making a show of wrapping me in an embrace that felt cold despite our body heat.
“What. Are. You. Wearing?” she hissed each word under her breath just low enough so only I could hear.
“An evening dress, per your request,” I mock-whispered.
She pulled back and glared at me. “You should’ve worn a sleeved dress. You’re showing entirely too much . . . skin.”
Translation: she can see my tattoos and she’d rather be able to pretend I don’t have them.
Garrett jumped to my defense before I could even open my mouth. “I think she looks particularly radiant this evening.”
My mother plastered on a too excited smile. “Garrett, honey! It’s so nice to see you again. Don’t you just look dashing?”
“Thank you. I took notes from your daughter.”
Annette chose to ignore his obvious offense over her treatment of me and instructed us to follow her to the “parlor.” In reality, it was a family room that my mother had redone so that she could have a space to entertain.
She walked up beside my father and rested a hand between his shoulder blades, interrupting the conversation he was having with a handful of men.
“Robert, look who decided to show up.”
My father wasn’t aging as well as my mother, though I supposed that had more to do with the dozens of appointments Annette scheduled to fight the effects of time, whereas my father simply embraced his age. His dark hair was a little more salt than pepper, and the wrinkles around his dark eyes were deeper. Some extra pounds had gathered around his middle, but he was lucky in the way men often were, and it just made him look on the upper side of healthy.
If Annette and I were standing in a room alone, no one would likely label us mother and daughter. We maybe had the same nose, at least before my mother got hers redone, and we were about the same height, but everything else was my father. Growing up, I hated being told I was the spitting image of Robert Eastwood, but looking at my parents side by side, I’d happily take that comparison than the alternative. I didn’t want to share any resemblance to the fifty-seven-year-old Botox Barbie.
“Cordelia. So nice to see you.” His eyes barely met mine before he occupied himself with taking a sip of his drink and smiling at a man walking by.
My father and I were never close. We never had the opportunity to be with how often he traveled for work, but something told me that even if he had been home more, our relationship would be largely the same. Or maybe it’d be more like mine and my mother’s. It was probably for the best that he wasn’t around.
I offered a tight smile. “Dad.”
My mother jumped in, eager as always to be the center of attention. “And this young gentleman is Garrett Adler. He’s a police officer in the city.”
That got my dad’s attention. He faced Garrett and the two of them shook hands. “You don’t say. You know I golf with your chief every other Tuesday. Great guy. His swing could use a little work, but makes it easy to beat him.”
“I won’t tell him you said that.”
The conversation between the two of them continued, Garrett having no problem connecting with my father or the other men in their little circle.
I was about to steal him away when my mother’s hand circled my wrist.
“Excuse us. We’ll leave you gentlemen to it.” She kissed my father’s cheek and began leading me away.
Garrett shot me a look that asked, Are you okay with this?
I sent him a reassuring smile that said, No, but I don’t really have a choice , and snagged another glass of champagne off a passing tray.
The kitchen held a large island in the center, which was currently covered in various hors d’oeuvres, and surrounded by my mother’s friends. I hadn’t wanted to be alone with my mother, but I wanted to be alone with her and her friends even less.
“Annette! We were just talking about the croquettes. They’re to die for!” a woman, Monique, called as we approached. I hung back, leaning against the counter hoping I could disappear in my bloodred dress.
“Aren’t they delicious? They’re smoked salmon, with potatoes and mozzarella. I’ll send you the caterer’s details.”
Like hell she would. Annette was the queen of gatekeeping any and all successes she had. I also knew for a fact my mother actually hated Monique. The only reason she was invited to these get-togethers was because of her husband’s status amongst some of Boston’s elite.
I spotted a bar cart and turned to make a drink, my champagne flute miraculously empty. A few moments later, and with the world’s most expensive tequila soda in hand, I eyed the doorway that led back to the parlor. Calculations ran through my mind. If I could get around the corner before—
“Cordelia was around here somewhere . . . Oh there she is!” The laugh that slipped past her lips was tinged with malice. “By the bar! What a surprise!” The women laughed like this was the funniest thing they’d heard all evening.
“You don’t want to go back with the men. Come join in on some girl talk!”
I turned, my eyes locking on to Annette’s, and I realized what this was.
Annette Eastwood was in the mood for sparring, and I was about to be her punching bag.