Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“Now, Evelyn, I know you were upset, but we had the Tregar benefit that weekend.”
“So you said.” Such a perfect excuse and bound not to cause offense—my own mother choosing to attend an annual fundraiser over her only daughter’s wedding.
“We RSVP’d last year, before you said you were getting married. I don’t know why you had to plan things so late.” She glances around as though expecting agreements.
“Mom, it’s fine.” The reality is, it’s good she was absent.
“I’m sorry for what happened, though I’m still not really sure what that was. Riley said—”
“You’ve spoken to Riley?”
“Chelsea did,” Mom says. “He told us where you were staying.”
Because he has the hotel address, since he’d asked me to arrange to have his belongings sent from France back to London. Not that they’ll do him any good now that he’s back in the States. He also knows about Oliver. The unicorn. The rest Chelsea and my mom would’ve ferreted out for themselves, hence this visit and apparent approval.
“Chelsea is my daughter,” Todd explains for Oliver’s benefit.
Todd is very proud of his daughter, to the extent that he funds her life choices. Or lack of action, as I prefer to call it. It’s not that she doesn’t work, because she helps out from time to time at an art gallery on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. Muffy has convinced her it’s the best use of her time while waiting for her Prince Charming to arrive, because it’s not like she can spend her whole day drinking cocktails at Soho House.
“It’s good that Chelsea caught up with Riley.” At least, I hope it was good for him, because that had to be a booty call. At least they didn’t see the Pulse Tok. I’d know if they had. I would’ve heard my mother’s screams.
“Poor Riley. It was good of Chelsea to visit him, wasn’t it?” Mom says.
Good for him and his penis.
“How is Parker?” I ask, then turn to Oliver. “Parker is Todd’s son. He’s studying to be a doctor.”
“Very admirable,” Oliver remarks pleasantly.
“A plastic surgeon.” Todd nods, proud. “Great money in that game.”
I note the tiny twitch of my mother’s right eye. Good breeding prevents the talk of wealth, but she understands there are some things she can’t control. Forgive him, Lord, for his new money ways.
“A family with two medical professionals,” Oliver says.
Todd snorts, but my mother cuts in. “What is it you do, Oliver? If you don’t mind me asking?” If I didn’t know her, I’d say she was just being polite. But I do know her. She probably knows where he buys his underwear, along with his net worth.
“Private equity,” Oliver replies. “Some property development, and so on.”
“Smart.” Todd taps his nose. “Fingers in lots of pies. That’s the way to go.”
“Are you renovating?” Muffy asks next, doing that game show–hand thing again. “Not that this isn’t a very beautiful suite.”
“Thank you,” Oliver replies. “We’re not staying at the hotel. We live here.”
Muffy looks confused. She’d probably frown but for her last (lightly done) facelift. “You live in a hotel?”
I almost laugh because the shock of live in a hotel has negated the inclusion of we.
“Yes. Well, I own it.”
I can see Mother dearest is thinking that’s some bougie bullshit. Or maybe she’s running through her mental Rolodex of people who’ve chosen this lifestyle. Will she recount to her bridge partners how it was good enough for Tennessee Williams, Byron, and Salvador Dalí? Cynthia, dear, Evelyn’s young man is a billionaire, after all!
The poor get labeled crazy. The rich, meanwhile, are just eccentric.
“It’s really quite convenient.” I curl my hand around Oliver’s knee, and his fingers cover mine.
“I like to think so.”
She’s shook—so shook she forgets to have her drink refreshed. Then talk turns to dinner plans, and Oliver insists they must stay and dine with us.
“We couldn’t possibly impose. A busy man like you must have plans.”
No mention of me, of course. My profession registers only as a weak blip.
“I insist. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll call down and arrange things.” Oliver stands, leaving us to ourselves for a few minutes.
“Evelyn, he is just lovely.” Muffy folds her hands in her lap, her expression flushed. “Such beautiful manners.” My mother is concerned with status and culture, which I guess makes Oliver look like the jackpot. “Oliver told us you recently dined at Kensington Palace!”
“With at least three hundred other people. It was a thing. An event.”
“Patronized by the royal family, no doubt.”
“I wouldn’t know.” Wouldn’t care. And I’m not about to tell her I’m playing tennis with an elderly peer of the realm next month. I can’t wait to meet the lions again. At a suitable distance, of course.
“Aren’t you going to get dressed?”
“Dressing to dine at home is a little too Downton Abbey, don’t you think?”
“But in a restaurant, Evelyn.”