Page 35 of Skin Deep

Her temper flared. Setting down her spoon, she placed her hand on Fred’s knee and squeezed once, hard, to let him know she wasn’t feeling this. He cast her a quick, worried glance.

“Actually, Amy’s sister Meg is a chef,” Fred interjected. Reaching for the bottle of wine, he refilled Amy’s glass, though everyone else had signaled Margaret to do the refilling. Amy was sure that didn’t go unnoticed. “She owns a catering company.”

“Interesting,” Mark interjected. “What kind of cuisine?”

“Is it gourmet,” Rosemary wondered out loud, “or is it one of those food truck situations?”

Food truck situations?

This time Fred squeezed her knee, and she swallowed the vinegar on her tongue.

“The type of cuisine is dependent on the needs of the client,” Amy replied. “She can do anything, though. For my last birthday, actually, one of the things she made was lobster bisque, as it’s one of my favorites.”

“Do you have any other siblings?” This was Frank. He cast her a quick smile of apology, and Amy thawed toward him, just the slightest bit.

“I have three sisters.” Amy thought of them each in turn, of how they’d react in this particular situation. None of them, she knew, would put up with these passive-aggressive putdowns, especially not for a guy. She sat up straighter in her seat, calmly sipping her own glass of wine. “Meg is the oldest. She’s the caterer. Next is Jo, a writer. Then Beth. She’s a mechanic. And then me. The tattoo artist.”

Frederick Sr. furrowed his brow as though something had just occurred to him, but Fred spoke before his father could.

“Do either of you remember Theo Lawrence? That friend Frank and I had in college?” Fred eased back in his chair as Margaret served the next course. “He’s engaged to Amy’s sister Jo. And Dad, I recall you used to golf with someone named Lassiter? His son, Ford, is married to Beth.”

“Theo Lawrence? And Ford Lassiter?” Rosemary turned to look at Amy, calculating. “It seems your sisters have made good marriages.”

They’d made good marriages? Who talked like that?

“Is your sister Meg engaged as well?” Rosemary continued.

“She is.” Amy’s smile was tight. “To a very wealthy businessman named John Brooke. In fact, all my sisters are going to be rich as hell once they get married.”

Rosemary’s upper lip curled with distaste, presumably at the fact that Amy had actually spoken out loud of wealth. “I see. One might think it was your turn. How lucky that you kept in contact with a suitable candidate. Two of them, in fact.”

“Mom!” Fred sat up straight, glaring at his mother. “Why are you being so rude?”

“Protecting my son from people more interested in his bank account than his personality isn’t rude, son.” Rosemary sniffed, pushing away the plate that held her portion of beef Wellington with a nose in the air. “It’s called being prudent.”

“Tattoo artist. In our plaza.” Frederick Sr. scowled at her over the edge of his wineglass. “You’re that Marchande woman that the other tenants signed the petition against.”

“What?” Rosemary looked between her sons and her husband, clearly eager for ammunition. Amy wasn’t overly insulted, because she understood now that this woman had been prejudiced against her since before she had even walked through the door. Rosemary wouldn’t have been polite to anyone she didn’t consider a suitable match for Fred—it was nothing against Amy personally. “I must say, I’m not surprised. The plaza was conceived to create a luxury shopping experience for the wealthy Bostonian, you see. It requires a certain...aesthetic.”

“Mom.” Fred pulled his napkin from his lap and slapped it down on the table, right overtop of his beef Wellington. “That is enough.”

“Your mother isn’t wrong.” Frederick Sr. nodded into his wine. “Who approved the lease for a tattoo shop in the first place? Might have a word with them. Unsavory elements can decrease sales over the entire plaza. And traffic. Not surprised they formed that petition.”

Amy didn’t want to spend even one more moment around these people. These people, who couldn’t see past her choice of career, what she looked like, who her family was.

Had she really expected anything different?

She had not. In fact, she had come prepared. Following Fred’s example, she removed her napkin from her lap, placing it delicately over the congealing gravy of her entrée. Lifting her glass of what she was sure was hideously expensive wine, she lifted it to her lips and drank...and drank...and drank. Once it was empty, she handed it off to Fred, who took it with what she thought was a nod of appreciation. Then she stood, pushing her chair back so abruptly that it wobbled.

“I might not have grown up in a rich area of the city. I might not have a big house, or a huge business, or ties to the Mayflower.” She pasted a fierce smile on her lips and looked at Frederick Sr., then at his wife. “But I have a hell of a lot more class.”

“Class?” Rosemary made an unpleasant sound. “You run a tattoo parlor, dear. I’m surprised you know the word, and I don’t understand why you’re taking such offense at the truth.”

Beside her, Fred slammed his palms on the table, starting to rise from his chair. He stopped when she shook her head.

She didn’t need a knight in shining armor to come save her. She could do this all by herself.

“I did not keep in contact with either of your sons in hopes that one day I’d marry one of them. In fact, I never thought I’d see Fred again until he came wandering into my shop this week, claiming he wanted a tattoo to hide the fact that he’d been ordered to deliver a warning letter he didn’t agree with. So really, you have yourself to thank that he got reacquainted with me.” She glared at Frederick Sr., then turned her attention to Rosemary. “By the way, your sons might be twins, but they are not interchangeable, at least not to me. It’s only ever been Fred I wanted. I’m not the least bit attracted to Frank. No offense.”

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