Chapter 19
AUSTIN
After dinner, we relocated to one of the sitting rooms. The room was all dark wood paneling, leather furniture, and a fireplace with fake logs that ran on gas.
It was comfortable. Lived in. Like they actually spent time in the room.
Our mansion back in Vancouver had several rooms that were for entertaining only.
Kathy played hostess, pouring expensive liqueur into crystal glasses. The kind of after-dinner drink that was more about ritual than actual enjoyment. The bottle probably cost a few thousand dollars, which meant we were supposed to sip it slowly and appreciate its complexity.
I sprawled on the leather sofa, hands clasped behind my head, trying to look more relaxed than I felt. I wasn’t going to let him intimidate me. Melody sat beside me, straight-backed and proper, holding her glass like it might explode.
She took the tiniest sip. I watched her face try very hard not to react. She hated it. Absolutely hated it.
I had to press my lips together to keep from laughing.
“How is it, dear?” Kathy asked, settling into an armchair across from us.
“It’s lovely,” Melody lied.
“That’s the fifty-year aging process. Armand insists on only the finest.”
“Of course he does,” I muttered.
Dad gave me a look that could have frozen hell. He’d been giving me that look all through dinner. Every time I touched Melody or smiled at her he gave me a look that basically said bullshit.
He wasn’t buying it. Not even a little.
Kathy made small talk for another twenty minutes before finally standing, her smile apologetic. “Well, I hate to be rude, but I have an early morning tomorrow. Melody, it was truly lovely meeting you. Austin, don’t keep her out too late.”
“Goodnight, Kathy,” I said.
Melody told her good night too, and Kathy swept out, leaving the three of us in uncomfortable silence. Melody took another microscopic sip of her drink, her face doing that thing again where she tried to hide her distaste. I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Here.” I reached over and took the glass from her hands. “Let me help you with that.”
“Austin—”
I downed the rest in one go. Expensive or not, it still burned going down. “There. All better.”
“That was mine.”
“And you were suffering. I’m being charitable.” I set both glasses on the side table. “You’re welcome.”
A ghost of a smile crossed her face before she schooled her expression back to polite neutrality.
Dad watched the exchange with calculating eyes. Then he stood, moving to stand by the fireplace, and pushed a button to ignite the flames. Clearly, his intention was to add heat to the interrogation. Maybe literally hold my feet to the flames.
“I’ll be direct,” Dad said. “Because subtlety seems to be wasted on you, Austin.”
“When is subtlety ever wasted on me? I’m the king of subtle.”
“You’re the king of disasters.” He turned his attention to Melody. “Ms. Stephens. You seem like an intelligent young woman.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Which is why I’m confused as to why you’re here. With him.” He gestured at me like I was a particularly disappointing piece of furniture. “Reputations are not things to be played with. And whatever this is?” He waved a hand between us. “I’m not buying it.”
My jaw tightened. “Dad—”
“I have enough idiot sons to know a charade when I see one. This relationship appeared overnight. Conveniently timed with your latest scandal.” His voice was cold, clinical. “You’re using each other. I’m not sure what you each hope to gain, but I assure you, it won’t work.”
Melody’s hands clenched in her lap. I reached over and covered them with one of mine, squeezing gently.
“We’re not—” she started.
“Ms. Stephens.” Dad’s tone wasn’t unkind, but it wasn’t warm either. “I appreciate you coming tonight. Truly. But you should consider very carefully whether you want to associate yourself with someone like Austin.”
“Someone like me,” I repeated flatly. “I assume you mean someone charming, intelligent, hilarious.”
“I mean someone who has spent his entire adult life making poor decisions. Someone who ran from responsibility and has shown no ability to commit to anything beyond his own pleasure.” He looked at me then, and I saw something that might have been disappointment.
Or maybe just exhaustion. “When Austin has his inevitable fall from grace—and he will fall, make no mistake—anyone attached to him will fall with him. I’m not sure you want to risk being dragged down with him. ”
The words stung. Not because they were surprising. But because hearing my father’s disgust and disappointment fucking hurt.
“That’s enough,” I said, my voice low.
“Is it? Because from where I stand, I’m stating facts.” He turned back to Melody. “You seem like you’ve built something real. I’d hate to see you destroy it for whatever temporary arrangement you have with my son.”
“Mr. Bancroft.” Melody’s voice was stronger now, some of that steel I’d seen in the lawyers’ office coming through. “With all due respect, I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions about who I spend time with.”
“I’m sure you are,” he said. “I’m simply offering a perspective from someone who knows Austin better than you do.”
“You think you know me?” I was on my feet now, anger coursing hot through my veins. “You haven’t known me since I was twenty-two, Dad. Since before I left. You decided who I was back then, and you’ve never bothered to update your opinion.”
“Because you’ve never given me reason to.” His expression didn’t change. Didn’t soften. “Cash tried to help you. You should have let him.”
I waved the comment away. “Cash tried to control me. There’s a huge difference.”
“Cash tried to save you from yourself.” Armand moved toward the door, done with this conversation.
“But you’ve always been too stubborn to accept help when it’s offered.
” He paused at the doorway, looking back at Melody one last time.
“Good night, Ms. Stephens. I do hope you’ll think about what I said. ”
Then he was gone.
I stood there, fists clenched, trying to get my breathing under control. My father’s words echoed in my head, each one a familiar wound reopened.
“Austin.” Melody’s voice was soft. She stood, coming over to me. “Are you okay?”
“Peachy. Let’s get out of here.”
We didn’t speak as we walked through the estate to the front door. My car was waiting like an escape vehicle. And I couldn’t wait to speed away.
I pulled my keys from my pocket. Melody’s hand caught my wrist.
“Give them to me,” she said.
“What?”
“Your keys. Give them to me.”
I blinked at her. “Why?”
“Because you’ve had too much to drink, and I’m not letting you drive.” She looked into my eyes seriously.
“I had two glasses of wine and half a glass of that terrible liqueur.” I shuddered. “Like drinking shoe polish.”
“And a cocktail before dinner, and another glass during appetizers.” Her expression was firm. “You’re not driving anywhere. Either I drive or we call a car.”
“Melody, five drinks is basically rich-person sober—”
“Austin.” She held out her hand. “Keys. Now. Before your dad comes out and finds something else to be a judgmental prick about.”
I chuckled, knowing she was right, and dropped the keys into her palm. “Fine.”
She slid into the driver’s seat and then stared at the gear shift with something close to terror. “Shit, it’s a manual.”
“You can’t drive stick?”
“I can drive stick! I just haven’t in a while.” She adjusted the seat forward. Way forward. Her legs were considerably shorter than mine. “Okay. Clutch, brake, gas. I remember.”
I got in the passenger side, already grinning. “Sounds like you need a drink to relax.”
“That’s not funny. Shut up and help me.” She started the car. That much she managed fine. But when she went to put it in first gear, there was a horrible grinding sound.
“Oh god oh god oh god,” she groaned over and over.
“Clutch all the way down,” I instructed, trying not to laugh. But her face was all scrunched up in a really cute way and I was having trouble looking away. “All the way. There you go.”
She managed it, barely, and we lurched forward about three feet before the car jerked to a stop. She stalled it.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice high-pitched with stress. “Let’s just get an Uber.”
“It’s fine. Try again. Remember, you need to give it gas as you release the clutch. Slowly.”
She started the car again. This time we made it ten feet before another grinding sound and another lurch.
“I’m sorry!” she actually shrieked. “I’m destroying your very expensive car!”
Probably, I thought but didn’t say. “You’re fine. You’re doing fine.”
She was laughing now, that hysterical nervous laughter that made her shoulders shake. “This car probably costs more than my townhouse and I’m grinding the gears.”
“Come on. Third time’s the charm.”
She took a deep breath and started the car again. This time, she managed to get us out of the circular driveway and onto the actual road.
And then promptly stalled again at the stop sign.
Her shriek of horror made me double over laughing.
“It’s not funny!” But she was laughing too, that beautiful laugh that transformed her whole face. “Stop laughing at me!”
“The sounds you’re making are hard not to laugh at.”
“I’m traumatized!”
“You’re adorable.”
She turned to look at me, her cheeks flushed, hair slightly mussed from running her hands through it. “I’m a disaster.”
“A beautiful disaster.” The words came out softer than I’d intended.
“Okay,” she said, turning back to the wheel with renewed determination. “I’m doing this. I’m driving your stupid fancy car or I’m destroying it.”
“That’s the spirit.”
The car shook as she eased off the clutch and then we were actually driving. Sort of.
“You’re doing great,” I said.
“I’m doing terribly and you know it.”
“Just keep it in fourth and we’ll be fine,” I said.
“Oh my God!”
“What?” I asked, sitting up and looking around.
“How in the hell am I supposed to drive in the city! There will be stopping and going. Lots of stopping and going! One hill and we’re screwed.”
I laughed. The transmission was going to be a mess after this but fuck it. A few grand was worth it to make her smile and laugh. It was sexy and adorable, and damn, with her features highlighted by the dash lights, I was certain she was the prettiest woman I had ever seen.
Suddenly, I wasn’t laughing anymore.