Page 250 of Double or Nothing

“Everything all right?”

I glance at Christopher. Remember what he said. Paste a smile on my face to give him the honour of denial.

“Yes, of course,” I lie. “Everything’s fine.”

Trevor kisses my cheek and joins Dad at the drinks cabinet. Within moments, they are arguing about an old golf score.

Christopher moves closer.

“Thank you for not saying anything.”

“He seems to be doing well.”

“Today is a good day. Others aren’t quite so positive.”

I’m glad I don’t have all that long to dwell on it.

Guests begin arriving shortly afterwards. Flowers. Wine. Handshakes. People who’ve known us since childhood telling me how lovely it is to see Christopher and me together again.

I look exactly as everyone expects. The polished Parker girl with a polite smile.

Christopher remains close enough to suggest possession, without overstepping any boundaries. Kudos to him for that.

My eyes keep flicking over to Trevor, struggling to take in the news. His laughter is rolling through the room. Nobody fusses over him or behaves as though his time is limited.

If only they knew.

It makes the knowledge feel more terrible. Everyone is celebrating while only a handful know that one of the most significant men in the room is dying.

The knowledge dowses out so many flames inside.

My anger.

My judgement.

My ability to tell which parts of Christopher are entitlement and which are grief.

Then Bryce arrives.

I feel him before I see him. I feel his eyes land on me from across the room.

He stands near the drawing-room door in a dark suit, white shirt and perfectly centred tie. Shaved, groomed, pristine.

Seeing him almost breaks me.

Yesterday, he was in a bathrobe all day long. I still feel the pain between my legs from where he and Jack teamed up. The burn of the aftermath is reassuring in a bizarre kind of way.

Today, every part of Bryce has returned to its proper place. He’s gone back into the Parker mould, just like me.

He’s Dad’s Bryce now, not mine.

Professional Bryce.

I hate how his eyes move to Christopher beside me. I recognise the way his shoulders tense up. Hate the way his stare is breaking through the varnish.

Bryce stays near the edge of the room, speaking to Dad’s associates and making himself useful. Every time his attention drifts towards me, I pretend not to notice. It’s far safer this way.

Christopher brings me wine, looking across at Bryce as he talks with Graham Erinson. No doubt about work stuff.