I bust out of the door and grab the first white-gloved male that’s available. “Blond-haired bombshell, yea high”—I position my hand just below my shoulder—“wearing a pink frothy concoction.”
“Yeah?”
“Where is she?”
“Man, I don’t know. I just drive the cars to and from the garage.” He shrugs me off. I make the rounds, asking each one of the bellmen and valets in turn, but they all can’t remember.
Frustrated, I stand at the top of the stairs, glaring at the night traffic streaming in and out of the circular drive in front of the National Museum of Contemporary Art where the benefit was held. Like Cinderella, Paislee has fled the ball, but she’s left behind more than a shoe. I have her name, and with that there’s no place she can hide from me.
Chapter Eight
Paislee
“Grandma!” I rush through this giant house in search of her. I’m starting to learn my way around here, but I swear I find a new hallway every other day. I come to a sliding halt when I run into my father. I usually try to avoid him at all costs but know it’s inevitable that I’ll run into him occasionally.
The look on his face when he sees me makes it perfectly clear that he’s not too fond of the idea of running into me either.
“Hi?” I say, not sure what else to say. I don’t have any sort of relationship with him. He made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with me when I arrived.
“It wasn't enough that you came back here to try and ruin my family, but now you go and toss your existence into the news?” He scolds me like a child.
I actually do feel a touch bad about that. Not for my dad, but for his wife and kids. Me being here and in the public spotlight made it clear that my father cheated on his family. Even though my grandma has said that his wife is a bitch, I still feel bad for her. It can’t be fun for her to constantly be reminded of my father's indiscretions in the tabloids. You’ll never convince me that my mom knew he was married.
“I didn't know that would happen.” Never in a million years would I have thought people would be writing about me on a news site. They snapped some pictures too. It was why I was in search of my grandma.
The article wasn't the nicest. It gave a short rundown of who I am. Then it went on to post three pictures of me. Each of them featured me with a different man throughout the evening. The columnist guessing who my love interest might be. Another thing I never would have thought anyone would give a crap about. I was wrong.
“You don’t know because you don’t belong in this world,” he hisses out. I’d be lying if I said his words weren't a punch to my stomach. I’m unable to hide my flinch. “It doesn't help that you’re acting like a little—” He’s cut off by my grandma, who bursts into laughter.
“That’s rich coming from you,” she says while still laughing. “Glass houses and all.” She stops laughing. “If you’re not careful you won’t have a house for anyone to throw stones at. Choose your words more carefully when you’re speaking to my granddaughter, and don’t forget she’s your daughter.”
I can tell he wants to lash out at her but decides against it. I’m pretty sure she is the family's foundation. She calls all the shots here. I’m sure she could cut him off easily if she wanted to. From what I’ve learned about my father, I would bet he’s burned through whatever trust he might have had at one time. That’s only a guess, though.
“Father never would have—” The slap is loud. My mouth falls open in shock. Not only did she move fast but she landed a solid hit, putting my father in his place. Sometimes I wonder how the heck the two of them are even related with how much their personalities differ.
“You have no idea what your father would have thought.” My father holds his cheek as a stare-off ensues. I take a step back, wondering if I should go. These interactions make me uncomfortable. They also make me feel as though it’s my fault that they aren’t getting along.
“I have work to get done,” he grits out through his teeth before he stomps away like a child. My grandma turns to face me. The anger on her face is gone as she gives me a soft smile. It's the same way she always looks at me.
“Did you see the pictures? You looked stunning.”
“I saw them, but did you read the article?” I lift an eyebrow at her. She waves it off as if the words mean nothing.
“They are trying to get you to bite so you’ll tell them who you’re dating. Speaking of. When is your date?”
“What date?” I try to play it off. I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t admit that I’d thought about what it would be like to actually go on that date. But then I’d quickly pushed those thoughts aside knowing that no good would come of it.
“The one you bought.” She gives me a look letting me know that she knows that I’m trying to avoid the conversation. Of course she does. She is always a few steps ahead of everyone else. I’m sure it’s a skill she’s needed in order to remain in control of this family. Especially when it comes to dealing with my father and two half-brothers.
“I bought him as a favor. He asked me to help him, and I did. With how scary some of the women there were, can you blame him for approaching a stranger and handing over his credit card? He was desperate, and I just happened to be standing there at the moment.” My grandma gives me a look that tells me she’s not buying what I’m selling, so I decide to try another tactic.
“Come have lunch with me.” I take her arm to lead her toward the kitchen. We veer off to the side and head for the covered outside patio area. She always has tea waiting for us. I love the time we spend together out here. She walks over and takes a seat, and I do the same.
“I would agree with you about not going on the date if you had used his card, but you paid for it yourself, so now you have to go. The Fréreses might take it as an insult.” It suddenly clicks in my head.
“Fréres.” I repeat the last name. I know I saw it on his card last night. “That’s not connected to the wedding dressmaker, right?”
“It is. You’ve heard of it?”
I nod my head. “They have a bridal magazine they release every six months. My mom and I used to always get it and look at the dresses together.”
“It really is a small world,” Grandma says, taking a sip from her tea.
“I don’t know why, but I always had a thing for weddings. We’d look at the catalogs and pretend to plan my dream wedding. I still have them all. I even started making up designs myself.”
Grandma reaches out and takes my hand, giving it a small squeeze. “Well, then. If you want to have your dream wedding someday, you’ll have to start dating.” This is true. The problem with that is Grandma is always trying to set me up with these rich men. All the rich men I’ve met have not been good men. I don’t know how to tell her that is not something I’m looking for. It might insult her, and that is the last thing I’d ever want to do.
“I love you, Grandma, but I’m not going to force a date with a man who begged me to bid on him because he didn't want to go on a date to begin with.”