Vain (The Seven Deadly, #1)(65)

Simon cleared his throat and took Imogen’s hand underneath the table. “All right. Mom? Dad? Imogen and I are going to be wed.”

I knew it! This news made me giddy inside. I narrowly escaped my own beheading though when Ian stayed me with a hand to my shoulder, preventing me from shouting the congratulations balanced at the tip of my tongue.

Abri quietly lifted her napkin from her lap and laid it across her plate. I guessed correctly that was a bad sign.

“And you thought bringing me here would be the perfect venue for such an announcement?”

Simon sank in his chair, running a hand over his face. “This is hardly the end of the world, Mother. Most people rejoice when their children announce their engagement.”

Abri leaned in closer toward him, balancing herself over the table. “We are not most people,” she gritted between teeth.

“Lovely impression you’re giving our Sophie.”

I subtly shook my head at him. A silent Don’t bring me into this!

“Maybe I should go,” I said, when Abri’s chilling stare sank through me.

I made an attempt to get up, but she locked me in place with a single look.

“No, it would be blasted all over the papers tomorrow if you left our table before we’d even gotten our wine.”

“What?” I asked.

“You seem to be under a mistaken impression. Look around you, Miss Price. There are two paparazzi waiting by the valet as well as a Cape Times journalist in the main dining hall.”

“I see,” I said, not looking to rock the boat. I sat back in my chair, placing my napkin in my lap once more.

“Yes, so even though I’m loathe to have you privy to my family’s discussion, one that, I might add, could be extremely damaging if leaked,” she drilled me with another disparaging look, “you stay.”

“Staying. Got it,” I said, sinking into my chair.

Abri faced Simon once more. “Why now?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “Your half a term away from graduating. Why now?” she repeated.

“Because I love her and I don’t want to wait,” he stated as fact.

I barely bit my “aww” back.

“Something’s amiss,” she said, her nails tapping at the stem of her water glass, the only sign she wasn’t completely in check of her emotions.

Imogen fidgeted in her chair, glancing down at her lap, avoiding eye contact.

Uh-oh.

Simon’s jaw clenched. “I know what you’re implying.”

“And?” Abri asked, considering an obviously nervous Imogen.

“Not that one has anything to do with the other but, yes, Imogen is expecting,” Simon said, dropping the bombshell like he was announcing it would rain on Tuesday. “The only influence that had on my decision was when we would marry, not if.”

Yowza. And aww.

This time even Henrik lost his ever-present “It’s all good” facial expression.

“Not again,” Abri said, falling into the back of her chair.

I turned toward Ian and his face was devoid of color. I placed my hand within his, reminding him I was there. He squeezed my fingers.

“She’s only six weeks right now, Mom,” Simon continued. “We can marry at an undisclosed location and soon. We were thinking somewhere tropical, give the impression we’ve been planning a secret wedding for months. No one will think differently since Imogen has been a fixture in my life for more than two years. In fact, they’ll be expecting it. And in a couple of months, we announce her pregnancy.”

“Well, you’ve thought it all out, haven’t you, son? It’s all nice and tidy, isn’t it? Except you forgot one thing.”

“What?”

“Re-elections are this month and it would need to be immediate. No one would believe we were planning a wedding this close to the end of my campaign.”

“Jesus, Mom. You know what? You’re right. Let’s wait. Yes, we’ll wait and announce it when Imogen is showing and then you’ll really have a scandal on your hands. Listen, we’re only doing this for you because we don’t want to compromise your career. If it were up to us, we’d wait until school was done and the baby was born, then wed in London at the church Imogen grew up in.”

“Do you expect me to be grateful?” Abri whisper-yelled, startling Imogen. “God, this is Ian all over again.”

“Abri,” Henrik said, “enough.”

“It’s,” she began, but Henrik silenced her with a hand on hers.

“I said, enough, Abri.”

Abri looked appropriately chagrined and it made me have a little more respect for Henrik. He wasn’t quite the easy pushover I’d first thought he was. The table got quiet once more when the waiter brought our drinks and took our entree orders.

The meals had arrived and still not a word had been spoken. Surprisingly, none of us were that hungry and we all pushed our food around our plates.

I cleared my throat, inciting the potential ire of Abri, but I didn’t care. “My father’s company owns an island,” I announced to the table. “I can offer you discretion.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO



Long Street in Cape Town was busier than the French Quarter at Mardi Gras. The street seemed littered with people, a sea of heads donning every inch. Cape Town reminded me so much of America it was scary. The only real difference were the accents and occasionally someone would throw out a vibe that was typically Afrikan but other than that, if I’d captured the scene when I’d first arrived and pitted it next to a picture of Fat Tuesday, NOLA style, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. Even the Long Street architecture was reminiscent of New Orleans.