WORTHY, Part 1 (21 page)

“It’s kind of like tapas,” Jane remarked, stabbing an asparagus spear with her fork.

“Tapas?” I repeated.

“Oh my God, you don’t know what tapas are?” Jane demanded, aghast. “We are so fucking going.”

“Jane Wharton!” Amelia raged. “I don’t know where you and your brother got your foul mouths, but I won’t tolerate it.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Jonathan complained, looking up from his plate.

“Fuck,” Brock threw in. “Sorry, I was feeling left out.”

“Let’s just all keep in mind that we’re adults,” Collier said, placing his knife and fork on his clean plate.

I smiled behind my napkin. Jonathan did have a foul mouth. I realized that this was probably what a typical Wharton dinner entailed—Amelia yapping at Jane and Jonathan and Collier calmly presiding over all of them. It made me miss my own particular family unit, even if it wasn’t anything like this one.

I eventually found out that tapas were tiny little dishes with big flavor. They were apparently all the rage around the city, restaurants that featured the snacks popping up everywhere.

Through other little fights, teasing, and outbursts, I gradually learned more and more about my dining companions.

Jane had graduated from college a little more than a year ago. She had taken time off to travel, and was still sort of casting around to see what she’d do. She was around my age.

“I think I’ll just go back to traveling,” she said, raising a dark eyebrow at Collier.

“With your own money, if so,” he said mildly. I could tell that he doted on her and would probably gladly fund whatever she wanted to do with herself.

Violet worked as a model, which predictably made me feel insecure. What kind of man had Jonathan been? Whenever she jumped into a conversation, she had the most vapid responses.

“And then the boutique backed out of the event,” Amelia was saying. I was starting to gather that she did a lot of volunteer and society work in her free time, though I’d never ask her outright.

“You should’ve sued them,” Violet added, her voice solemn. “They shouldn’t have backed out.”

“I couldn’t sue them, Violet,” Amelia said indulgently, sipping on her glass of red wine. “It was a charity event. It they wanted to back out, they could back out. There wasn’t a breach of contract, just a breach in manners.”

“I think you should be able to sue for that,” Violet said. “Manners are important.”

“That’s very true, dear,” Amelia said, frowning when Brock turned what sounded suspiciously like a laugh into a cough.

Dessert was a deconstructed strawberry cheesecake in a little shot glass that I washed down with champagne. It was so decadent that I even stole a little bite from Jonathan.

“What’s wrong?” I asked him softly as everyone else laughed about something else. “Too full for dessert?”

“This isn’t my preferred dessert,” he said, giving me a wolfish grin. “I like desserts in the middle of fields after a picnic lunch.”

I flushed and threw back the last of my champagne. Dessert after a picnic lunch was me—the first time we’d made love out at the cottage. It seemed like a thousand years ago and a thousand miles away. It was a bittersweet memory for me, but realizing that Jonathan was thinking about sex with me in the middle of dinner was enough to turn me on.

“Well, this has been a lovely dinner,” Collier said. “I think I’d like a little Irish coffee to wash this down.”

Brock and Jane murmured their agreement, and I realized it was a sign that everyone could get up from the table. Staff members began filing in to take away plates and cups, and I was sad that the eating portion of the evening was over. It had been easy to slip into the background then, but now it was social time again.

Violet giggled as she stood up, teetering on her sky-high heels.

“Careful, there,” Jane said, steadying her with practiced ease. I wondered if Violet drinking that much was par for the course. Hell, I’d had a lot to drink, too—much more than I usually had. Most of it had been to drown the nerves at facing the family in full force.

I took Jonathan’s arm, and he walked us across the floor to another room I hadn’t been in yet. There was a billiards table, as well as a card table. Collier and Amelia lingered in the dining room while the rest of us chose seats and couches. Winston entered with a tray of freshly brewed coffee while Brock located the Bailey’s in the liquor cabinet.

“I think I’m going to float away if I drink anymore,” I said lightly, smiling. “Just a plain coffee for me, please.”

“Aw, come on,” Brock said. “Jonathan, don’t tell me that you’re marrying a lightweight.”

Jane shot him a meaningful glare, and we all snuck a peek at Violet. She was drinking Bailey’s straight on the rocks, her eyes narrowed.

“I’m a good drinker,” she declared. “The best.” She tapped her finger sharply against the glass, and it was then that I noticed, for the first time in the evening, that she was still wearing her engagement ring—the engagement ring that Jonathan had given her. How could I not have noticed during the entire night? Was it possible that I had just been that nervous? Or had she slipped it on discreetly in between courses or something? What would the point be?

“Yes, you are,” Jane soothed quickly, standing by Violet and artfully snagging the glass. “Let me have a taste. Yummy!” Jane drained the glass with one swig and then smiled at her. “Let’s play pool or something.”

“I’m really good with balls,” Violet declared. “Just ask Jonathan.”

I was lucky I was sitting down on the couch or I might’ve fallen on my ass. Brock laughed, clearly delighted, as Jonathan inhaled sharply.

“Sweetie, that’s not appropriate,” Jane said gravely, her eyes big. “You shouldn’t say that anymore.”

“Well, it’s true,” Violet said, lurching toward Jonathan and me. Jonathan stood up from the couch warily. “Isn’t it true, doll? Remember?”

She made a grab for his crotch, but Jonathan stepped easily out of the way. Off balance, Violet flailed for a moment, but Jonathan swung back around, grabbing her hand and keeping her from face planting.

Violet stared at their hands for a few moments before whooping with joy.

“See?” she said, holding their attached hands aloft. “See? He chose me, bitch! You just go fuck right off! Jonathan’s mine! He’d never be with someone as ugly as you. You with that ugly face! Just fuck right off!”

I was so stunned that it was hard to breathe, let alone be angry at Violet. She was just drunk, though the shit she was spouting was hateful and hurtful. The funny thing was that, in her rage and triumph, her face contorted into a horrid mask. She might look into the mirror before she accused anyone else of being ugly.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t love you,” Jonathan said, taking his hand out of Violet’s. “I don’t know how much clearer I can be.”

“You did love me once,” Violet said, her shoulders hitching in a sob. “You did.”

“But I don’t anymore,” Jonathan said. “I’m sorry. I love Michelle. Michelle is who I’m marrying. Not you. You need to move on. I’ll never be with you.”

Violet sobbed violently and ran, somehow, in her five-inch stilettos toward the restroom.

“We need to work on your people skills, buddy,” Brock remarked. “And we need to work with Violet on the no-touch zones.”

“She needed to hear the truth,” Jonathan said, shaking his head. “It’s disrespectful to Michelle for Violet to keep trying to hang onto me like that. We’re not together anymore.”

I was simultaneously overjoyed and devastated. Maybe it was all the champagne, but the fact that Jonathan was willing to stand up to everyone for me was a huge deal. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were wronging Violet. All she wanted to do was be with Jonathan, as disgusting as she’d been about it, and that was impossible for her now. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her despite her wretched outburst.

“Do you think I should go try to talk to her?” I asked. The thought was horrible, but I hated to see another person suffer.

“Only if you want to duke it out,” Brock said, “but don’t let me stop you. I think this party would be much improved with a little boxing. What do you say, Jonathan? Violet’s a sneaky little bitch—might try to claw your eyes out—but my money’s on Michelle. Look at those arms!”

“I’ll go talk to her,” Jonathan said. “I caused this mess. I’ll fix it.” He snagged Jane on the way to the restroom to help him, and I couldn’t help but be relieved that I didn’t have to face Violet.

“You walk around a pretty big pair, don’t you?” Brock asked, eyeing me.

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“Balls,” Brock clarified languidly. “I’m saying you have some pretty big balls.”

“I don’t know where I’d put them in this dress,” I said mildly, happy that I’d had enough alcohol to deal with all of this. “So, boxing?”

“I’m a promoter,” he said. “You ever want to slip on a bikini and call the rounds, you let me know. You seem like you have a good body. Violet used to do it before she and Jonathan started hooking up. He put a stop to that right away.”

“What makes you think he’d let me do it?” I asked in spite of the fact that I was finding the conversation pretty distasteful. The way Brock looked at me made my skin crawl, his eyes never pausing in their perusal of my body.

Brock shrugged. “Seems to me everything’s changed since you came into the picture,” he said. “Jonathan’s a different man, Violet’s suddenly available, and you’re here to stir the pot. I’m just going to sit back and enjoy the ride. I like a good show, Michelle.”

“I’m sure you do,” I said, patting his shoulder even though it grossed me out. I’d meant to patronize him, but that still couldn’t stymie my shudder at coming into contact with him.

Violet, Jonathan, and Jane came out of the restroom, Violet dabbing at her eyes.

“Isn’t that sweet?” Brock said, lifting his chin at them. “Like I said, Michelle, my money’s on you. You look like a fighter to me, and I have an eye for fighters. It’s what I do for a living. But I meant what I said about Violet. She’s scrappy. And sneaky.”

“She just looks really sad,” I said. All that hard work at the spa for her makeup to to melt off so dramatically.

“Oh, Violet, honey, have you been crying again?” Amelia cooed, sweeping into the game room. “What did I tell you about that?”

“That things are going to get better,” Violet said, sniffling cutely.

“That’s right,” Amelia said, putting her arm around Violet’s bare shoulders. “Things are going to get much better. I promise you.”

Was I the only one who caught Amelia’s cutting glance directed my way? On the surface, her caring for Violet only seemed like simple affection. But either I was reading too much into it, or Amelia meant something concrete by “things are going to get much better.” And the only way things would get better is if I got out of the picture.

“So we’ll meet for lunch soon, all right?” Jonathan confirmed, offering Violet another tissue. “Lunch as friends, remember.”

“Yes, all right,” she said, nodding emphatically. “As friends.”

“See?” Amelia said, hugging Violet to her. “Better already.”

Jonathan rejoined me, and it was all I could do to smile tightly before walking away from the scene with him.

“What do you mean you’re meeting for lunch?” I asked. “I thought you just told her to give it all up.”

My heart was pounding so hard that I was sure everyone could see it thumping beneath the skin of my chest. I realized that I was furious, that somehow Violet had arranged her chess pieces into an advantage over me. I thought I’d only been playing with Amelia, but I knew now that was wrong. Everything was wrong.

“What was I supposed to do, baby?” Jonathan asked softly. “She was weeping like she wouldn’t stop. All I said was that I’d go over some of the boxes with her. That’s it. I didn’t know how else to get her to stop, Michelle.”

“You eventually stop crying,” I said, my voice morose. “You have to eventually stop. I feel like she manipulated you into going out with her.”

“She manipulated me?” Jonathan asked, frowning. “I don’t know. She seems kind of … ditzy.”

“You told her things were over, and now you all have a lunch date,” I said. “That’s master planning, right there.”

“Are we having our first fight?” Jonathan wondered aloud, peering down at me.

“I don’t know, are we?” I countered lamely. “I thought that we were moving forward, Jon. You going out to lunch with Violet seems like backpedaling to me.”

“Why don’t you come along?” he asked. “That way, you can see that I only agreed to it out of pity. She’s sort of simple, baby. Pretty, but not much inside. I’m not sure what I—what the old me, anyways—saw in her.”

Nothing sounded more miserable than being a third wheel on a lunch date with my fiancé and his former fiancée. My face must have said as much because Jonathan kissed me.

“This doesn’t change anything, Michelle,” he said. “Believe me. Believe this.” He fingered my engagement ring, reminding me of the weight of its promise. “This is what’s happening, baby. This means you’re mine. We’re getting married no matter what. Do I need to prove it to you?”

“I’m wearing the ring,” I said tiredly. “There’s nothing else to prove.”