I turn back to my meal, confronted by curious, round eyes. The little girl is hardly tall enough to see over the table. From here, it looks like two wide blue orbs hanging over a soup bowl. I wink at her and her eyes scrunch up with a smile.
“Why don’t you eat some soup, love?” Poppy suggests, nudging a spoon into her tiny hands. The girl looks down at the bisque and her face screws into a grimace.
“What is it?” she asks in her tiny voice.
“Lobster. Just eat it, Ellie,” Ginny snaps.
Ellie drags her spoon through it but doesn’t take a bite. “I want dinner not wobster.”
My thoughts exactly. I’ll never understand why rich people have to eat in courses for hours.
“It’s coming,” Poppy promises her.
“Are you going to join us?” Malcolm asks Adair, who is still standing in the doorway watching this play out.
I see a tremble roll through her body, hardly noticeable to anyone who doesn’t know Adair’s body like I do. Her shoulders square, her head tilts, pointing her button nose toward the ceiling, but her eyes fall on the empty seat next to mine. She might act high and mighty, but she has no choice. Soon that will be true about more than her seat at the dining table.
“I guess you didn’t get my voicemail about dinner,” Malcolm says, disapproval dripping off him as he surveys her casual attire.
This snaps Adair out of it. “Was I supposed to wear a ball gown?”
She saunters toward the table, yanks her chair back and drops into it without the slightest acknowledgment of my presence.
“We’ve never worn jeans to the table in this house.” It’s a simple observation laced with warning. For a second, Poppy and I lock eyes. We’re two Christians in the Coliseum, and the MacLaines are on the verge of a battle.
“I assumed daddy’s rules died with him.”
Malcolm’s mouth opens, his nostrils flaring, but Ginny jumps in.
“We have a guest,” she reminds Adair, but it’s a reminder for Malcolm as well.
“Yes,” Malcolm says through gritted teeth. “Adair, do you remember—”
“I think so.” Adair shoots a puzzled look my direction as if she’s trying to place me. “Freshman year?”
So, this is how she wants to play it. She can pretend not to know me. Maybe she’ll even sell Malcolm on her charade, but it’s written all over her body in a language I’ve read before. She doesn’t know what to do with me.
My fingers close over my butter knife, but I slip on an easy smile. “Seems like forever. Seems like yesterday.”
“Feels like forever,” she murmurs, picking up her spoon.
“Mr. Ford is interested in MacLaine Media,” Malcolm says, each word heavy and purposeful. By now, the entire family knows that their legacy is on the line. There’s no need to be more overt with his warnings. She knows what they stand to lose.
“It’s Mr. Ford now?” Adair sips bisque from the tip of her spoon with delicate calm.
“Sterling,” I correct her. “Old friends don’t need to be so formal.”
“Cyrus mentioned you were back in town.” Poppy’s interjection is met with a grateful smile by Ginny, whose been watching Adair and me with the paralyzed fear of a deer on the highway. “I told him we must do dinner. I feel terrible he’s not here.”
“Cyrus Eaton?” Malcolm is genuinely surprised.
“My old roommate,” I explain.
I see something click into place in Malcolm’s mind. Does he really think I came around asking about his sister on a whim?
“That’s right,” Adair says. “I’d forgotten you two had a dorm together.”
“Good man,” Malcolm says. “Did you room together all four years?”
“I left during my freshman year,” I say nonchalantly. Next to me, Adair’s spoon freezes midway to her lips. It’s only for a second—a pregnant pause—and then she goes back to her feigned indifference.
“That sounds like a story,” Malcolm says.
“It is.” I recognize an invitation when I receive it, but I’m not about to tell any of them what they want to know. They’re not getting through this that easily.
“I’ve been thinking, Adair,” Poppy continues her attempts at small talk. She’s always been good at sensing tension. “We should have a photo booth. The Clarks had one at their wedding, and everyone loved it.”
“That’s a good idea,” Adair says, side-eying me and then looking away.
“A photo booth for what? Are you and Cyrus getting married?”
“No!” The nervous laughter accompanying this clarification suggests that’s not down to her desires. “My family is hosting a gala for the local animal rescue. Adair has been helping me with a few last-minute details.”
“A gala?” I emphasize the words, so my interest is clear to all parties. “Sounds fun.”
Malcolm immediately seizes the opportunity. “You should come. It will give you a chance to see old acquaintances. If you knew Cyrus, then you’ll know several people there. Being new to town, it might be a way to reconnect.”
“New,” Adair scoffs under her breath. I ignore her.
“Of course,” Poppy says looking flustered, “I’m afraid you have to sponsor a table.”
This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. My chance to dangle my wealth like a prize over the MacLaine family’s heads. “That’s not a problem. I can write you a check right now.”
“Tables cost $7000,” Adair says with a note of challenge.
“Seems like a worthy cause. Naturally, being new in town,” I emphasize the phrase her brother used, “I won’t have a full table to invite.”
“Join our table,” Malcolm says. “We’d love to have you.”
Adair’s spoon clatters into her soup bowl, splashing bisque on the tablecloth.
“I don’t think—” she begins.
But I take advantage of her surprise. “I’d love to.”
I turn my attention to Poppy, not wanting this to undermine my earlier effort. “You can count on me for a table fee regardless. It’s better this way.
