Faking Ms. Right (Dirty Martini Running Club, #1)(64)

“Do you like it?” She twisted her hips a little, making all the silver fringes swirl around her.

“You’re both insanely sexy and adorable as hell in that thing.”

“Thank you. I love this suit on you. It’s very debonair.”

“I actually don’t hate it.”

She patted my chest. “You’re a good sport. Let’s go have some fun.”

Fun might be a stretch, but I didn’t object to spending the evening with this gorgeous woman at my side.

We rode the elevator up to the top floor. I traced my thumb along the back of her neck, feeling her soft skin.

She tilted her face up. “How’s my lipstick?”

Looking at those bright red lips made me want to kiss the lipstick right off them. “Perfect.”

With my hand on the small of her back, I led her into what had once been my condo. Now it looked like a glamorous nineteen-twenties speakeasy. Black tablecloths with gold accents. Vases with plumes of black feathers. Shimmering lights draped across the ceiling. A jazz trio played on the stage in the dining room and a guy in costume tended the bar that now stood in my living room.

My dad seemed to appear out of nowhere. He was still in his suit and hat, but had left his cane and cigar somewhere. “Everly, look at you. I knew this theme would be perfect. You look beautiful.”

“Thanks, Richard. This is incredible. I love your suit.”

He draped a white feather boa around her shoulders. “There. Perfect. I have one for all the ladies.”

A waiter approached with a tray of champagne. Dad handed us each a glass, then took one for himself. I was going to need something stronger, but for now, I held my glass while Dad beamed at us.

“A toast,” he said, raising his glass. “To my son and his beautiful bride.”

Everly’s eyes met mine, mirroring the hint of guilt I felt. We clinked our glasses with Dad’s, then drank.

“You two go have fun,” he said. “I’ll stay here and greet the guests. I have more boas to hand out.”

Everly slipped her hand in mine, then downed the rest of her champagne. I liked where she was going with that and finished mine too.

“Bar?” she asked.

“Yes.”

Guests mingled amid the sparkling décor, drinking champagne—there was a champagne fountain next to the bar—or prohibition era cocktails. Ethan and Grant were already here, dressed in matching pinstripe suits. They stood talking to Everly’s girlfriends. Some old friends of my dad had come—people I’d known since I was a kid. He’d also invited some of our neighbors here in the building—people either he or Everly had made friends with. They were so much more sociable than I was. Before they’d moved in, I hadn’t known any of my neighbors.

I handed Everly her sidecar and took a sip of my old fashioned. The bartender was good. Everly glanced toward the door and smiled. “My sisters are here.”

Dad was draping feather boas—a red one and a blue; apparently he had multiple colors—around the necks of two women. One had long wavy hair and wore a bright red dress. The other had to be Everly’s sister. There was a strong family resemblance, although this woman’s hair was darker and cut shorter.

Everly waved them over, then hugged them both. “I’m so glad you came. Shepherd, this is my sister, Annie, and her wife Miranda.”

“Nice to meet you.” I shook hands with both of them, then slipped my hand around Everly’s waist to draw her closer.

“It’s wonderful to meet you,” Annie said. Her eyes flicked back and forth between me and Everly a few times.

Ethan approached with a smile. I could see Grant from the corner of my eye, still chatting—laughing, to be specific—with Everly’s friends.

“Nice party, Shep.” He patted my shoulder.

“Dad outdid himself.”

“He always does.”

I introduced Ethan to Annie and Miranda. After some small talk, Ethan realized he and Grant lived just a few streets away from Everly’s sister, on Queen Anne. When Annie and Miranda mentioned they’d remodeled their house, the three of them launched into an animated conversation about home renovations.

Everly and I wandered around for a while, sipping our drinks and chatting with guests. Dad had either run out of boas, or had decided all the guests were here, because I saw him dancing with Svetlana in front of the stage.

I wondered why she was still pretending to date my father. It had been over two months. Whether or not she believed Everly and I were a real couple, she had to have realized by now that I wasn’t remotely interested in her. If revenge was her motive, she was certainly taking it to an extreme. And if it was money she was after, my dad hadn’t been treating her to the finer things. He couldn’t. They spent more of their time together here than going out, and as far as I knew, he wasn’t buying her gifts. She wasn’t flaunting new jewelry or designer handbags. No fancy getaways.

Was it possible I’d been wrong about her? Maybe she’d been interested in my dad for who he was from the start. Or perhaps it had started as a way to get to me—or get back at me—but she’d developed real feelings for him along the way?

The idea was both disturbing and oddly comforting. I hated the idea that she’d been using my father this whole time. If she hadn’t been, if the two of them had actually found something together, it would save him from getting hurt.