A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime(50)

I try to smile at him. “What do you mean? I went to the art gallery.”

“That was hours ago.” He squints at me, as if he’s trying to see inside my head. “You were at the gallery all this time?”

I slowly shake my head, but don’t say anything.

“Come with me.” He turns and heads down the hall. I have no choice to follow him, entering the sitting room where my mother waits, dressed impeccably in a sleek black dress, clutching a wineglass in her hand. Her smile is brittle when her gaze meets mine, remaining quiet.

She has never been my ally. I don’t know why I always think she might be. It’s a lost cause.

“How did you get home, young lady?” This is from my father, who has turned to face me, a glower on his face. He’s a handsome man. Slightly balding, gray at the temples. Hazel eyes that are always filled with concern when they land on me. I wonder if he worries about me constantly. Sometimes it feels like that’s all he ever does.

I think about lying, but in the end, he would most likely get it out of me anyway. Is omitting a few facts also a lie? Maybe not. “I rode home in the car.”

He lifts his brows. “Whose car? Because it wasn’t mine. The driver called me in a panic a couple of hours ago, Wren. Saying you never contacted him for pickup. When he went to the gallery, he realized you were already gone.”

“He went into the gallery?” Guilt swamps me. I’m sure it’s written all over my face.

“He drove all over Tribeca, trying to find you, and just happened to see you exit a restaurant with someone.”

I’m light-headed at his words, and I fall onto the couch behind me. “Who?”

Daddy steps toward me, thrusting his phone out so it’s in my face. On the screen is a photo of me and Crew leaving Two Hands together. I’m smiling.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen myself look so happy before.

“Who is that?” Daddy demands.

“Crew Lancaster.” My voice is surprisingly calm.

He frowns, shoving his phone back into his pants pocket. “Wait—Reggie’s son?”

“Yes,” Mother pipes up, “the youngest one.”

“I go to school with him,” I add. “He’s in my class.”

“Hmm.” He glances over at Mother. “Might be a better prospect for her than the boy tonight.”

She nods in agreement.

My mouth drops open.

What are they talking about? Is there something behind tonight’s dinner with the Von Wellers beyond my father wanting to talk to them about business?

“What are you talking about?” I ask when they don’t say anything further. “Crew and I are just—friends.”

“Why was he at the gallery?” Daddy asks.

“I…”

His phone rings, and he immediately pulls it out of his pocket, glancing at the screen before he says, “I need to take this.”

And leaves the room.

The moment he’s gone, Mother takes a fortifying drink from her glass. “Next time, you should text your father. He was worried sick.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, hating that I automatically apologize for everything. I never try to explain myself. Or stand up for myself.

“You know how he gets.”

“I do.” I nod, gathering up my courage to ask the question burning in my mind. “Why did Daddy say that to you?”

“Say what?” She’s purposely playing dumb. I can tell.

“About Crew being a better—prospect.”

She lifts her chin. “We’re exploring all avenues for your future.”

I’m frowning so hard it hurts my head. “What are you talking about? Like—marrying me off to Larsen? Is that why we’re having dinner at their house tonight? Is that one of the avenues we’re seriously exploring?”

Why am I bothering to use the word “we”? Seems to me they were exploring my options, without involving me whatsoever.

“It’s not such a terrible prospect to consider. He comes from a good family. They’re very wealthy,” Mother points out.

“And ours isn’t wealthy? Why do I need to worry about money? I don’t want to get married straight out of high school. I’ll only be eighteen.” Just saying the words out loud sounds ridiculous.

“Calm down. You wouldn’t get married after high school, darling. That’s far too soon. But we want to pair you with someone to ensure your future.” She takes another sip of wine, effortlessly cool, as if nothing ever bothers her.

While I feel like my life is imploding right in front of my eyes.

“What if I want to go to college?”

The skeptical look that crosses her face is obvious. “Do you really want to do that, Wren? Such a waste of time.”

I flinch at her words. Is she implying she thinks I’m dumb?

“I don’t know.” I shrug, feeling defensive. I applied to a few colleges, listing art history as my major. “I might want to take a gap year first. I could travel around Europe and explore all of the galleries.”

“You won’t be able to buy anything though.”

I frown. “Why not? I just bought a painting today.”

“It’s hard to explain.” She drops her gaze, fiddling with the giant diamond on her finger. It’s not her wedding ring. I don’t know where that one came from, but it’s so large it almost looks fake. “You wouldn’t understand.”