Page 13 of Married With Lies

His voice now rises above the blend of voices and laughter, echoing all the way from the media room. Anyone else would be accused of shouting but Asher Wingate’s everyday volume is a booming baritone. Impossible to ignore. At the moment he’s bragging about a recent high profile trade to snag the best goalie in the league.

The Dukes are the core of my father’s personality. His pride and joy. I’ve been dragged to more hockey games than I can count and always found them confusing. I mean, I understand the basics. But what’s so exciting about watching a bunch of grown men chase a little disc back and forth? It seems pointless. Maybe I would have learned to enjoy the game if there wasn’t such a strict behavioral code for the owner’s suite.

No reading.

No yawning.

No texting.

No dumping Dr. Pepper all over your sister’s dress after she calls you a stubby, chipmunk-faced loser.

That’s what it means to be a Wingate in New York. People are always watching. Had I married Grant, my permanent fate would have been corner Wall Street offices, cocktail events and yacht clubs.

There’s nothing wrong with those things. Many people spend their lives longing for them. But I was assigned a role that I failed to fulfill. I have not been forgiven.

While moping, I’ve somehow backed all the way into the alcove off the dining hall. It was once a favorite reading spot of mine and yet I don’t feel the slightest bit nostalgic. Maybe it’s because I’ve nearly tripped over a Christmas tree, a prickly miniature twin of the giant in the foyer. Or maybe it’s because my stomach is gurgling and begging for something more substantial than five stuffed mushrooms.

It really is tough to strategize when hungry. I need to sharpen my wits if I’m going to evade the orbit of Grant Gallant and then figure out how to butter my father up so that he gives me the large loan that I need to save Bright Hearts.

Might as well feed my stomach before I return to scheming. Long tables covered with trays of stacked appetizers have been set up in various locations all over the ground floor as guests coast from room to room. The catering staff briskly weaves among the fray and discreetly replaces silver trays before they are even half empty.

Peeling myself off the alcove wall, I start scanning the food options. I’m about to make a grab for a tower of tiny individual veggie and bean salads when I think I see the back of Grant’s head ten feet away. He was always particular about his dark blond hair, keeping it just long enough to slick back and cover a thinning spot on the crown.

Rather than wait for the head to turn around, I veer to the right, toward the dining room. The long center table has been temporarily replaced with rows of black tables and matching chairs. A tall silver vase filled with fresh poinsettias sits in the middle of each table and more Christmas trees, festooned with ribbons and dripping with twinkling lights, stand watch in the four corners of the room.

It's all very pretty but the best part is how the entire opposite wall is lined with tables holding a variety of sinful looking desserts. I’m a total dessert junkie and will never apologize for my sugar weakness. Earlier today, Number Four (sorry, I mean Arlena) made me promise to try the five tiered vegan white chocolate fountain.

And there it is, smack in the center of the sugar cornucopia. I’m halfway across the room to meet my destiny before I spot something unusual. And yet familiar.

Seeing Cale Connelly in this house used to be nothing special. I can’t remember when he moved in next door to live with his uncle.

The Amato property was surrounded by thick wrought iron fencing and now and then I would try to peer through the dense hedges, curious about why I was told to keep away from that house.

I never saw anything interesting. Just a lagoon-sized swimming pool, a large stone fountain that gurgled water in all seasons except winter and occasional groups of black-suited men who never smiled.

It wasn’t until much later that I learned the meaning of the name Richie Amato. Last I heard, Cale works for his uncle and the days when he was my brother’s best friend are long gone.

Though I was much younger and far outside their social circle, I was fascinated by Baylor’s friendship with the boy next door. Even when he was a teenager Cale seemed almost like a grown man to me; tall and serious and another quality that’s harder to describe.

Cale had presence. If he was in the room, you couldn’t help but notice, and not just because he was absurdly good looking.

He still is, more than ever. The years have added to his muscles, sharpened his jaw and given him an air that is altogether rakish. He and my brother are sitting alone and having a conversation.

They don’t look like two men who used to be inseparable. They look more like two men who can hardly stand to be in the same room for five minutes. Baylor’s posture is tight and his movements are fidgety. He flashes a smile and it looks even more bogus than usual.

Cale seems more at ease, leaning back in his chair, his sharp eyes gazing at my brother with an expression that I can only describe as wolfish. I get the feeling he sees Baylor’s discomfort and enjoys the idea that he’s the cause.

I have no clue why Cale showed up here out of the blue and I don’t much care. Cale and I probably never exchanged more than a handful of sentences. I feel no obligation to wade into their tense interaction and say hello.

Bypassing their table, I take my time to select the best options among the tiered trays of delights and arrange them on a scalloped white plate. Arlena would no doubt be pleased to see the way I’ve drowned three plum-sized strawberries in the white chocolate fountain.

There are plenty of other guests buzzing around, delicately selecting food. A woman hovering to my right glances at my piled plate.

“Leave some for the rest of us.” She giggles. The twinkling Christmas tree lights bounce off her floor length silver gown.

“I’ll try,” I say. “Nice outfit you’ve got on.”

“Thank you so much. Bought it on my last trip to Paris.”

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