Page 50 of Ruthless Roses

“How about the three of us find some seats on the terrace?” I suggest.

Delphine smiles at me. “That sounds like a great idea while we wait for dinner. Don’t you think, Dad?”

“Right,” he answers, his teeth clenching. “Sure. The three of us.”

I lead us onto the terrace where most of our other guests have congregated. We find seats with Omar and his wife. Another element working against him.

Delphine’s none the wiser to his intense dissatisfaction with the situation. The two of us sit on one side, with Omar and his wife to the right of us and Ernest opposite on his own. The four of us crack jokes and laugh about whatever topic comes to mind.

Ernest sulks, only listening, never contributing. He sips from his mint julep with his attention laser-focused on Delphine. He’s hoping she’ll take pity and suggest they spend some time alone.

I do everything in my power to ensure that’ll never happen.

My hand falls to Delphine’s thigh, giving it an affectionate squeeze. “Phi, why don’t you tell your father about the nursery we’ve put together for Dom?”

Her brown eyes light up, the gold flecks in them shining from the summer sunlight. “Jon says we, but he did ninety-eight percent of the work.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen your nursery,” Omar’s wife says with interest.

“He built the entire thing,” Delphine brags, sneaking me a small smile. “Jon’s taken up carpentry in his spare time. He’s very good at it.”

“It’s a good stress reliever. Hey, Ernie, we should work on a project together—you know I’ve got my own workshop in the basement?” I ask.

Everyone turns to look at him for his reaction. Ernest can barely hold it together. His glare drowns out any attempt at faking kindness. He stares at me from where he sits as if he wants nothing more than to tell me what’s really on his mind.

His grip’s tightened on his mint julep to the point I wouldn’t be surprised if the glass shattered. “Mancino, I believe I already told you my name is not Ernie.”

“What’s wrong with the name Ernie?” Omar asks.

“I happen to like the name,” his wife adds. “Remember, baby, we were thinking of naming our first son Ernie.”

“Yeah, I thought it would go well with our last name. I’ve got an uncle named Ernie. He’s in the lifestyle too.”

“With all due respect, I’d rather not hear about yourlifestyle,” Ernest snaps.

“Dad,” Delphine scolds. “You’re a guest in our home. If it bothers you, then you can always leave.”

Three other voices interrupt our time on the terrace. Sasha and Medjine appear with Stitches walking fast behind them.

“You really thought you were going to date her and then ask me?” Sasha asks loudly.

“Hang on a minute, Sasha,” Stitches says.

“You can have him.” Medjine shakes her head and makes a sound of disgust. “He’s not much my type anyway.”

“I don’t want your leftovers, Medjine.”

“Hey, leftovers?! I’m nobody’s leftovers!” Stitches calls out.

The three continue bickering like this, loud and dramatic on the terrace. Omar and his wife look on with confused interest. Delphine gets up to intervene. I sit back and observe Ernest’s revolted reaction—he can’t believe he’s being subjected to such a circus.

Good thing Stitches got both Sasha and Medjine to agree to participating. Though I think they were reluctant to put too many details out on front street.

“I’ve had enough. I’m done with this,” Medjine says, striding off.

“I’m done too! Get away from me, Francis.” Sasha follows in the same direction that Medjine disappeared down.

Stitches’s jaw drops and he wanders over to where we’re seated. “Did you see that? Women, am I right, Ernie?!”

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