Page 68 of Calamity Rayne Knocked Up

Everything was presented with such flair. If the intention was to impress, they succeeded, but the company was too stuffy and pretentious to truly make the night enjoyable. However, the chocolate soufflés and crème brûlée at the end made it all worthwhile.

Each course had been expertly paired with a selected fine wine, which I couldn’t taste. A local sommelier visited each table to describe the vintage. When I declined a taste, people looked at me questioningly. Did the rich not follow the no drinking while pregnant rules or did they just not realize my situation?

“Rayne’s pregnant,” Hale eventually announced.

The table responded with a tepid round of golf applause. It felt strangely like an old Victorian novel where pregnancy wasn’t en vogue. But I had never been in style with these people anyway.

After dinner, rumors of my condition got out and men flocked to Hale to praise his virility. Hale possessively kept a hand on my back at all times. I felt a little like a cupcake in one of Chef Dubois’ display cases as the men ogled my baby bump. Thankfully, no one tried to touch me.

Diamonds and crystal flutes sparkled under the chandeliers as the women in designer dresses moved about the ballroom, mingling with other females. It all seemed very segregated, with the men taking their after-dinner drinks in the atrium while the wives and girlfriends waited around, serving as much purpose as the floral centerpieces.

I was getting bored. “Why aren’t people dancing?”

“It’s not that sort of event,” Hale explained as he sipped his brandy.

“Why not?”

Hale traced a finger down my spine. “Are you not enjoying yourself?”

I shivered under histouch. “It’s a little boring. No one’s doing anything.” Maybe this was what sobriety felt like. I’d never attended a function like this without a minimal buzz. It was like watching paint dry.

He glanced at the group of men playing instruments in the corner. The atmosphere screamed elegance and sophistication, but the vibe was more along the lines of a somber royal funeral. Despite the lavish welcome, exquisite decor, crystal stemware, polished silver, and meticulous attention to detail, these people didn’t seem to like each other very much.

The women watched each other with judgmental stares, and the men competitively tried to outdo each other by casually mentioning yacht size and acreage. The old geezers circled young females like dirty vultures, and the mothers encouraged their barely legal daughters to fawn over men old enough to be their grandfathers.

It was like an auction for gold diggers and daddies. Speaking of which, my gaze scanned the crowd for Remington. I spotted Odette talking to a woman in her seventies, but no Remington.

“Where’s your father?”

Hale briefly glanced about the ballroom. “I haven’t seen him since dinner.”

I searched the crowd for him, and spotted McKinsley. She seemed to be blending in fine with the socialites.

I decided it was an excellent time to use the restroom. “If a server comes around, can you order me a water? I’ll be right back.”

Hale stood and took my arm. “Do you want me to go with you?”

“No, I’ll be fine.”

I wandered toward the quieter wing of the house, certain there must be at least fifteen bathrooms in this place. The further I drifted from the ballroom, the more peaceful the house became. When I found an empty library with vaulted ceilings and ancient books lining the walls, I went inside.

A slender door in the corner led to a small powder room. I took my time freshening up, not expecting a line for the bathroom this far off the beaten path.

When I exited the bathroom, I stilled, startled that I wasn’t alone. “Hi.”

“Hello.” The man had jet-black hair and eyes dark as coal. “I’m afraid I don’t know you.”

“I’m Rayne, Hale Davenport’s wife.”

“Ah. My apologies. The New York wedding.”

“Yes. Were you there?” I winced. Was that a rude question? “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name and…it was a big guestlist. Mostly Hale’s friends. And now I’m rambling.”

“I’m Xander. And I’m sorry to say I missed the wedding. Scheduling conflict.”

“Xander. That’s an interesting name.”

“It’s short for Alexander. Alexander Landry.”

---