Hard Sell (21 Wall Street #2)(45)

“Ian, right?”

I nod.

“He’s a handsome one. Well, so is that Kennedy, though his parents are somewhat standoffish. Especially his mother. Did you know, we were at the same fund-raiser as they were a couple years ago, and I thought it would be nice if we got to know each other. But let me tell you, that woman . . .”

I tune her out as she prattles on about the evils of Kennedy’s mother, interjecting only the occasional nod and “mm-hmm.”

It’s not that Maureen Cannon is a bad woman. She’s friendly and seems to truly adore her son. But she’s also self-absorbed, a bit gossipy, and, even though it’s none of my business, I just can’t fully embrace a woman who cheats on her husband.

Even if he cheats on her as well.

Poor Matt. I wonder how long he’s known. He mentioned his mom sleeping with his Little League coach, and I can only hope he learned about it long after the fact. It’d be a hell of a thing for a kid to grow up with.

My mother slept around plenty as well, but at least she had the good sense never to get married.

“I’m sorry, I just hijacked our entire conversation,” Maureen says, touching my arm. “Tell me about you. I confess I looked you up, but I didn’t learn much about your people.”

My people?

My tolerance for Maureen Cannon dips a tiny bit lower. I suppose on some level, I should be relieved that she’s bought the facade I’ve built for myself. That she sees me as one of them.

I’m not surprised. I’ve made darn sure people see exactly what I want them to see: a polished, poised, successful woman who wears the right clothes, knows the right people, makes the right small talk.

Still, tonight, the whole thing feels vaguely distasteful. Perhaps because I’m fairly certain she wouldn’t be nearly as welcoming if she knew my real background.

“I’m from Philadelphia.” I take a sip of my wine.

“Oh, Philly!” she says with fake delight. “Do you go back often?”

“No.”

“So your family . . . Are they no longer—”

“Mom.”

I look up in relief as Matt steps into the room, along with Felicia and an older man who’s obviously his father.

If Matt got his mom’s eyes, he got his dad’s everything else. Gary Cannon is the spitting image of what I imagine Matt’ll look like in thirty or so years.

I stand to greet him, and he gives me a firm handshake. “Welcome.”

“Thanks for having me, Mr. Cannon.”

“Gary, please.” He says it with a smile, but my first impression is that he has all of Matt’s looks but none of his son’s charms. There’s a wooden, tired quality about him.

Who knows, perhaps it’s decades’ worth of stress from sleeping with one woman while being married to another?

Matt pours himself a drink from the sideboard as Felicia and Maureen make small talk about Felicia’s daughter’s wedding. The conversation is so sugary sweet my teeth ache.

Matt catches my gaze and rolls his eyes. I give him a quick smile in return. Weird and unexpected as the whole situation is, there’s something oddly nice about being Matt’s partner in all of this.

Not to mention it’s surprisingly comforting to realize I’m not the only one with a background that isn’t Leave It to Beaver perfect.

“Maureen,” Gary says, interrupting his wife’s assessment of the perils of Felicia’s daughter not offering a gluten-free meal option at the wedding. “When are we eating?”

Maureen doesn’t miss a beat at her husband’s rudeness, but her smile is as wide as it is brittle. “They’ve only just gotten here, Gary. I’m sure they didn’t drive an hour and a half to be rushed out of here.”

Matt’s expression indicates he’d like nothing better, but he says nothing as he sips his drink.

“I thought we’d have hors d’oeuvres on the patio. The fire pit’s going, and we just had those new heaters installed. I’ve got a nice baked brie—”

“That’s fine,” Gary interrupts, heading toward the door.

Felicia follows him, patting Matt’s arm affectionately, almost motherly, as she does so.

I glance at Maureen to see if she minds her husband’s mistress acting like a second mother to her only son, but she merely smiles at me. “More wine, dear?”

“Yes,” Matt answers for me. “The whole bottle might be good.”

Maureen lets out a clueless laugh as she heads back into the kitchen.

Matt comes toward me, his face unreadable. “You okay?”

“I’m not going to say this won’t go down as one of the weirdest evenings I’ve ever experienced, but it’s solid entertainment.”

I’m relieved when he smiles. “I should have told you everything. But I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”

“A safe bet,” I say as we follow his dad and Felicia toward the back of the house. “But for future reference, when it’s a real girlfriend who might not be quite so understanding . . .”

“I know, I know. Skip the flowers and go for jewelry.”

“Actually . . .” I lift up and kiss his cheek. “I liked the flowers. A lot.”

I step out onto the patio to hide my embarrassment at my spontaneity. What is with me? I’m acting far too much like an actual besotted girlfriend than a pretend one. It’s very . . . confusing.