Page 40 of Love You Truly

“I know it’s not his fault that Dad screwed around on Mom, but it’s still hard not to take my anger out on him. And I feel like he wants something from us.”

“He wants family. He said that to me and PJ.”

“Don’t be a sucker, Dash. He’s Kingston Corbett’s son. He wants more than that.”

We’re both staring at him when he sees us. I give him a wave. He raises a hand in greeting and looks at my sister before turning back to the bar.

“I think he’s aware you don’t like him.”

“Yeah. No welcome wagon here.”

“Ironic because he is growing the exact grapes we need,” I mention.

“No way. Nope.” Beatrix shakes her head.

“I know. I get it.”

Slugging down most of the wine my sister handed me, I feel it hit my nerves like a balm. I feel only slightly better, and I’m tempted to start on a third drink before Mallory even gets here.

It’s a foreign feeling. I’ve never felt nervous about a woman before, and I tell myself it’s because we’re about to put on a show. A small flame of concern licks at me, but I ignore the voice telling me I’m nervous because this feels like more of a real date than our actual one.

I’m about to reach for another glass of wine when a swish of black fabric catches my eye. In an instant, my entire focus lands on the woman who just walked into the room. Her hair rolls down the front of her dress in shiny waves, and I can see her eyes sparkle from here. She doesn’t see me, so I have a moment to drink her in without censoring my hungry gaze.

A second later, her eyes meet mine, and I school my expression, clenching my teeth and fixing my jaw as I move through the crowd toward her. I realize halfway to the door that I didn’t say a word to my sister. Just left her hanging and disappeared on her.

At least she understands why.

I give myself a few more seconds to take her in before spending the rest of the night pretending I can’t keep my hands off her.

Dark hair falling in loose waves around her face like she had it wound up in a bun until five minutes ago, and now it’s wild and free.

Her eyes are dark, cheeks bright. Lips a deep cherry red.

And that dress. Holy shit. It’s a plain swath of silk hanging from her shoulders by spaghetti straps, and the soft fabric hugs every curve. Her arms hang gracefully by her sides, and somehow, she manages to look utterly unfazed by the attention of every set of eyes in the room, and also like she owns the place.

I could just stand here staring, but I have a job to do, so I weave through the crowd and make my way to her in seconds.

“Hey.” I extend a hand toward Mallory, and her graceful, manicured fingers land in my palm. Wrapping my hand around hers, I squeeze, hoping to reassure her if she’s as nervous as I feel. Instead, a zing of electricity shoots from her palm to mine, and I almost drop her hand.

My eyes shoot to hers to ascertain whether she felt the same thing, but she gives no indication.

“Hi.” Her voice is quiet and breathy as she leans in to kiss my cheek. Purely friendly. We’ll play our parts and ramp up to something gossip-worthy later on, but this is just a cursory greeting. And I hope we’ll be able to keep up the act we’ve planned.

Sure, but as her lips graze my cheek, she might as well be setting fire to my skin with a lit match.

Fuck me. Is she doing this on purpose?

I back away and lock eyes with hers, trying to discern whether she felt close to what I had just experienced. She gives me a closed-lipped smile and moves alongside me into the crowded room. She doesn’t seem nervous, gliding along in heels that make her nearly as tall as me.

Mallory surveys the room, her sharp eyes missing nothing. I follow her gaze, noticing who’s with whom, who seems to be with a date I’ve never seen before, where each of my siblings is, and whether anyone is looking at Mallory and me.

Curling her hand around my bicep, Mallory tips her head against my shoulder like she’s happy to see me after too long an absence. Her hair sweeps past my nose, and I inhale the sweet scent of jasmine and some other flower I can’t place. I don’t really know my flowers, but we have jasmine all over Buttercup Hill, so that one’s a gimme.

“Ready to make an entrance?” Mallory asks, taking us on a winding route through the room that ensures we pass by as many people as possible.

“Ready if you are.” I’m vaguely aware of the people we pass noticing us together. I make a point of running my hand down Mallory’s bare back and the silk of her dress, my hand lingering on her ass for just a moment before settling around her waist.

More than one person tries to be subtle while pointing out the fact that we’re together.

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