Page 205 of The Art of Almost Losing It
Piper stares at him. “That’s really generous of you. Also, Colette doesn’t deserve it.”
“Of course not, but I don’t want Dani spending more time on her than necessary. I want all of her free time to be spent with me,” he says simply. “And I’m willing to pay for it.”
“Doyou think your mom’s going to like this anniversary party?” I whisper to Graham when I’m lying half on him in bed. “I guess I don’t know her that well. And apparently, I’m not as good at party planning as I thought I was, since I’ve fucked up Colette’s party.”
He kisses my hand.
“The party’s going to be beautiful.”
“Yeah, but will she love it?”
“Honestly?” His green eyes are anxious in the dark. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t eatanything until Mom and Dad get here!” Hannah yells at the younger boys.
I’m putting the finishing touches on the pickle fountain, and it burbles away happily.
Two of Graham’s relatives, I think on his mom’s side, sidle up to me as I’m checking my to-do list one more time.
“So you’re the gal he convinced to go out with him.” The heavyset man chuckles. “We just assumed that, you know, with everything—and given who his father is—he’d have the decency not to put a poor innocent girl through what his mother went through.”
He’s been drinking.
I went ahead and had the bar open for guests as they arrived.
“Since you’re new in this family, we didn’t know if you knew who his real father is.” His voice lowers. “And it’s not my brother-in-law.”
Ah, so on Frank’s side, then.
“Graham has been a perfect gentleman. Don’t worry.”
“If he were a perfect gentleman, he wouldn’t have shown up for this party,” his wife says flatly.
“I think that his mom really wants all her kids here.” I’m in my diplomatic-hostess mode.
“Hmm. I wouldn’t want him here if I were her.” Her eyes flick to Graham, who’s talking to more relatives I don’t know. He’s standing, nodding along and not listening, because he’s looking at me.
I know him well enough now to know when he’s relaxed.
And he’s not relaxed.
“And her poor parents,” the woman continues. “I heard that they just can’t stand to be in the same room as him—especially since he looks so much like his father.”
Her husband adds, “I don’t know why she forces her parents to interact with him, after everything she put them through. We’d never accept that kind of behavior from our daughter. And do your parents know who Graham is?” the man asks pointedly.
“My father’s great-grandfather is one of the founding fathers of the military-industrial complex,” I tell them, “so we weren’t exactly throwing stones out of our glass tower.”
The older woman gives me a sour look.
“You know, we have signature cocktails. Have you tried one yet?” I pointedly direct them to the bar.
“What were they saying?” Graham asks bluntly when he comes over to me.
“You know,” I tell him lightly, “just complaining that they can’t eat yet.”
“Hmm.”
My phone beeps.
