Page 104 of Winning Bid

The conversation turns lighter—my cousin George is getting married in a few months, and Mom is heavily involved because they’re having it at our country club. She doesn’t even bother to make jabs about wishing that was what we’d done. She’s on her best behavior, it seems.

Dad, on the other hand, is remarkably quiet. I can’t tell if it’s because he feels insulted to have not been at our wedding or if it is some other reason. But once Mom and June start talking about George’s tablescapes, Dad quietly says, “See? You missed all this fun.”

I snort a laugh. Did Dad just tell a joke? “I take it she’s taken over George’s?—"

“Mm, hmm,” he says, forking his steak. “It is a pity we didn’t have the chance to witness this alleged wedding ourselves, but you were likely wise to skip the fuss.”

“Alleged wedding?”

He looks down his nose at June, who is still distracted by Mom. “Am I to believe you were wed just because she’s in a white dress?”

“Why would I lie about this?”

“To force me into accepting her.”

“Marrying June is something I did for me. It has nothing to do with you.” I smile, shaking my head at him. “Dad, I’m done lying to you about things. No more bullshit between us. That part of my life is over, as far as I’m concerned. I’m not sneaking around with her, and I’m not hiding her away. You’re not going to break us up. She’s my wife. You accept that fact, or you don’t. That’s up to you.” I pause, trying to figure out how to prove it to him in a way he can’t refute. “Also, feel free to look it up in the public record. I can’t fake that.”

He scoffs. “Anyone can fake anything.”

“Okay, Dad. Whatever you say.”

His gaze narrows on me. “You truly married that girl?”

“Yes. And I would have done it sooner if I thought I’d be able to talk her into it.”

That narrow gaze turns to her. “She is comely.”

I laugh. “That’s the nicest thing you can say about her?”

“Did she sign a prenup?”

“No.”

“Then yes.”

I roll my eyes. “Dad?—"

“Fine. She is smart and clever, and she’s been a good partner to you, assuming all is as she says it is. Are you happy?”

“That would be better without the caveat, but I’ll take it for now.”

We get back to our food, and while it is exquisite, the company is lacking. I had so hoped to impress June with Copeland’s and have a romantic supper together. Making it a family affair had not been on my radar. But it is nice to have the air cleared between us. I don’t have to worry about some gossip spilling the beans to Mom, and Dad knows where he stands with me on the matter.

All in all, it could be worse.

Worse doesn’t come along until dessert. June stifles her moans regarding the walnut crème brule, Mom is enjoying an after dinner drink, and Dad notes, “These are not Gretta’s cookies.”

“I know, right?” I tell him, having ordered the cookies myself. “It’s pretty close, but not the same thing.”

“Oh, he says it every time he orders them,” Mom says. “But he still orders them.”

“Because they are the closest I can get without sleeping with her again.”

I drop my cookie at the same time June’s spoon falls into her crème brule. Neither of us speaks, but I wish someone would because all I can see in my mind is my father in bed with a crone.

Mom clears her throat. Ever the diplomat, she says, “I’m sorry, Elliot. What did you say?” Her way of giving him a chance to change his choice of admissions.

But Dad doubles down. “Kitty, you knew about that. We’re all adults here. What is the big deal? It was before we were official.”

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