Page 33 of Secret Offer
“Gosh. Look at the time,” I say, sliding off my stool as quickly as I can. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Sharp, I have a dinner to get to. Thanks for the drink.”
He grins and raises his glass at me in some kind of farewell toast. “It’s a small island,” he says with a shit-eating grin. “I’m sure I’ll run into you again.”
“We’ll just have to see.”
I wave at my dad as I walk toward the table, and he stands and pulls out my chair for me with a smile. It only takes a second for me to subtly tuck the folded list of my draft picks into his jacket pocket, and he doesn’t even notice. He looks relaxed for once, and I’m happy to see that the island is having a therapeuticeffect. My mother glances up at me and then quickly back down to her menu.
“You look lovely,” my father says. “Blue is your color, Blair.”
“Thanks. How was your day? Did you and Mom get out to the beach at all?”
“We golfed,” Mom says, and now I realize why Dad looks so good. “Who is that young man you were speaking to at the bar? He looks very nice.”
“Oh, nobody,” I say breezily. “Just a guy. Have you two checked out the spa yet?”
We make pleasant small talk while studying our menus, but I’m acutely aware of my mother shooting furtive glances over to the bar. Mason is still there, and I start to wonder if Mom is trying to check him out for herself, which almost makes me laugh out loud. Not that he isn’t objectively attractive, physically speaking. But she has no idea how off-putting he is.
The waiter takes our orders and brings our salads. The conversation dries up, and I find myself staring out the windows at the beach beyond, the unreal cerulean waters, the palms swaying in the breeze.
“Remember that time we spent the summer in Montauk, when the brownstone was being renovated?” I say, still looking out at the waves. A smile plays on my lips. “And when we had to go back to Manhattan, Sophie said she wasn’t coming because she was going to live with the mermaids?
“And Mom, you told her she could stay but only if she got permission to live underwater from the mermaids, so she wrote a letter and threw it in the ocean, and then you ‘found’ her reply letter the next day and gave it to her at breakfast and it said there wasn’t room in the mermaid castle for her but that she could ask again the next year, only we didn’t go back, Sophie and I went to camp upstate instead…”
“What’s wrong, Victoria?” My dad asks this with genuine concern.
I snap out of the memory and look over at my mom, who’s looking at me with an aggrieved look on her face, as if she caught me chewing with my mouth open or I just threw my salad on the floor.
“What?” I say.
She looks down at her plate and her lower lip starts to wobble. “Please, Blair. Must you?”
“Must I what?” I challenge, attitude creeping into my voice. Because I think I get it now. I mentioned Sophie, and we’re onvacation. Not that any time is a good time to talk about my dead sister, but apparently, saying her name while we’re on a family holiday is especially uncouth.
Mom flashes me another injured look and clears her throat. Or tries to. It sounds more like a pained squeak, and my stomach clenches. She wants to pretend Sophie doesn’t exist, as usual.
Dad gets the hint. He pats my hand and tactfully changes the subject. “Did you notice that Ted Polansky is here at the resort, Blair? What are the chances of that?”
“His ERA just dropped below two-point-five,” I say, willing to let the Sophie thing drop. “Not that his Fielding Independent Pitching number is anything to scoff at, but that’s pretty incredib?—”
“He’s very handsome,” Mom interrupts, sniffing as she pulls herself together.
“So what?” I say. “I’m more interested in his stats than what he looks like. Dad?”
He just shrugs helplessly as Mom continues, effectively hijacking the conversation.
“You should try to get to know him while we’re here,” she adds. “You’re still single, after all.”
“Mom.”
I look over at Dad for help, but he’s giving all his attention to his salad now. Mom keeps babbling, off on a tangent about the benefits of dating a professional athlete, and I let out a sigh. As I nod along, stuck listening to her antiquated dating advice, all I can do is pray that this dinner is over soon. I’m probably going to need a drink or two to recover from it. Unless…
I wonder what Sebastian is up to tonight.
14
BLAIR
There’sa knock at my door and my pulse skyrockets.
