Page 6 of Not That Into You

“Cynthia.” I stiffen at the sound of my mother’s voice behind me. “Talia’s looking for you.”

“Ah.” Cynthia squeezes my arm. “Duty calls.”

I watch her leave before turning to face my mother. It’s a tossup whether Talia is actually looking for Cynthia, since it’s clear from my mother’s expression she wants to talk to me alone. She looks regal and imposing in her dark blue gown, her hair perfectly styled and incapable of movement.

I scan the top of her head.

“What are you looking for?”

“A tiara. Did you leave your crown at home?”

Her mouth pinches at the corners as her eyes narrow. “You’ve been avoiding me, Cameron.”

Damn right, I have. She’s been casting me meaningful looks all night, and I’m not in the mood for whatever bone she has to pick with me.

“I’ve been circulating, Mother. As requested.”

“I see you went with the Armani.”

My fingers twitch with the urge to straighten the lapel of my tuxedo.

“I thought you were going to wear the Tom Ford.”

I raise my brows, knowing better than to respond. My mother communicates through criticism. She’s never been able to interact with me without first identifying some way in which I’ve grievously failed.

Though, frankly, there’s not much difference between my Armani and Tom Ford tuxedos. I was tempted to wear my blue velvet Gucci, but while my mother’s expression would have been priceless, her ensuing wrath would have erased any pleasure.

I glance across the room at Archie and Grace, my older brother and sister, who are each entertaining a coterie of attendees in suitably conservative formal wear, predictably adhering to the Stanhope standard. They’ve always met my parents’ expectations, while I’ve never been particularly concerned with pleasing anyone other than myself. Which has saved me a lot of heartache since my parents are impossible to please.

“Your father’s party is a week from Saturday. I expect you to arrive at the house no later than three on Friday.”

I groan inwardly. I should’ve known my mother wanted to talk to me about my father’s party, which she’s hosting at their house in the Hamptons. Even though my father hates parties and couldn’t care less about his birthday, my mother spends considerable time and resources planning a birthday bash for him every year. She considers it the party that opens the Hamptons’ summer season, and attendance is mandatory.

“I’ll do my best.”

“You’ll arrive by three.”

I take a deep breath. “Traffic may delay me.”

“Then you better leave early.”

I lift a brow. I won’t be leaving early on Friday, and if I’m lucky, I’ll arrive well after everyone’s in bed.

“Vanessa Threadstone will be there. I’ll introduce you.”

I close my eyes with a groan.

“You will spend time with her, Cameron. Her father is an investment banker, and her stepmother is a doctor. They’re considering donating to Children at Heart.”

My mother volunteers with several organizations. Children at Heart, however, is her favorite, which is ironic, given she’s never showed a fondness for children, and I’ve often wondered if she has a heart.

“Vanessa just moved back to New York from London. She went to Stanford and Wharton and works in finance.”

“Mother.”

“She’s respectable and lovely. You have no reason to complain, and I expect you to entertain her.”

“Mother.”

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