Page 20 of Second Time Around
“Having second thoughts?” Will’s tone was sardonic.
“No, it’s so beautiful, I want to admire it a moment.” It was also way out of her league.
She glanced up at Will to find him surveying the scene before them. “I suppose it is, on the surface. But like the ocean, there’s an undertow,” he said.
A young woman with a tray of champagne flutes approached them. Will took two, handing Kyra one before touching her glass with his. “Morituri te salutant.”
“I didn’t study Latin.”
“The slaves who were forced to fight to the death in a staged naval battle for Emperor Claudius greeted him by saying, ‘We who are about to die salute you.’” Will took a sip of his champagne, his movements stiff with tension.
“You’re being dramatic.” Kyra tilted her glass in the direction of the party. “There’s no blood on the grass.”
“Yet.” Will took another gulp of champagne before offering her his arm, along with a tight smile. “Let me introduce you to my parents.”
He led her past serving tables laden with platters of canapés that looked like tiny, colorful sculptures, bouquets of fresh fruit on skewers, and chocolates dusted with gold flakes. Guests called out to him as he passed, but Will just presented a dazzling, distant smile and keptwalking. Finally, they reached a set of wide, shallow steps that led to the stone porch running the length of the house. As soon as they hit the top step, Will put his arm around Kyra’s waist and pulled her in against his side. Startled, she stiffened, but his grip stayed firm. It was then that she understood he was using her as a shield.
An older man and woman stood by the door, greeting guests as they came out through the house. Kyra had time to see that the man had light-brown hair shot with silver while the woman’s hair was pale blonde. He sported a blue-and-white seersucker suit with a yellow bow tie, while the woman wore a linen sheath dress in a vivid green-and-yellow pattern, embellished around the keyhole neckline with tiny gold beads.
“Mum,” Will said, leaning down to brush a kiss on his mother’s cheek. “I’d like you to meet an old college friend, Kyra Dixon.” Somehow he managed to make the word “friend” sound like something much more intimate. “Kyra, my mother, Betsy.”
His mother’s warm smile went stiff as she pivoted to hold out her hand to Kyra. But it was her eyes that made Kyra blink. Will had gotten the deep jade color from his mother. “Lovely to meet you. You graduated from Brunell, then?”
Why did she have to phrase it that way? “I was a year behind Will,” Kyra said, shaking hands. “Thank you for including me in your hospitality.”
“Any friend of Will’s ...” Betsy’s gaze skimmed over her, and Kyra knew the woman had accurately assessed her dress as costing $39.99, making her feel like trailer trash. “Enjoy yourself, my dear.”
Will’s father shook her hand. “Kyra, I’m Twain. We’re delighted to have you here. Will, glad you made it.”
The two men locked gazes.
“Have I ever not, Dad?” Will said.
“You’ve always come,” his father acknowledged. “And it hasn’t always been convenient for you to do so.”
“Thanks,” Will said. “Kyra and I are going to grab something to eat.”
“I imagine it will be a bit different from what you serve at your little fast-food franchise,” Betsy said, those startling eyes projecting nothing but indulgent good humor.
Kyra nearly gasped at the insult. No wonder Will hated to come home. However, his smile was unfazed. “Actually, I shared some of my recipes with your caterer.”
Betsy trilled out a laugh. “Oh, dearest, you’re such a hoot.” She turned to Kyra. “Isn’t he funny?”
“I eat at Ceres every chance I get,” Kyra said, knowing she was digging her own grave. What the hell? She’d never see Will’s mother again. “The food there is delicious.”
Will’s father made an odd sound in his throat, almost as though he were choking on something. Kyra couldn’t read his expression well enough to interpret it.
“You’re a sweet girl,” Betsy said with utter insincerity before turning away to greet the next guest coming through the door.
“I hope you can stay afterward so we can get to know you better, Kyra.” Twain smiled at Kyra in a way that reminded her of Will’s smooth charm. He shifted his gaze to his son. “I’m interested in your move into organic farming. Maybe we could discuss that later. See if we could implement some of your methods here at Arion Farm.”
Will nodded but said nothing as he moved away.
“The opening skirmish is behind us,” he muttered, steering her back down the steps and toward one of the bars set up on the lawn. “I need something stronger than champagne.”
Kyra was still sipping her bubbly, but when the bartender offered her a beautiful pink Cosmopolitan, she decided a stronger beverage was in order after being reduced to postmidnight Cinderella status by Betsy Chase. Will ordered straight scotch and swallowed half of it in one gulp.
“Will, how the hell are you?” A man dressed in plaid madras trousers, a yellow shirt, and a navy belt embroidered with lime-green martini glasses strolled up. He winked at Kyra. “Leave it to my old pal to find the prettiest gal at the party. I’m Farrington Lange. My friends call me Farr. Possibly because that’s where they wish I would go.”
