He Will be My Ruin
Page 59
“Well, it’s certainly more glamorous than what I normally do on a Sunday night,” Ruby muses, smiling at a server who floats past.
“Thank you for being my date tonight.”
“I’m just lucky this gown still fits, thirty years later!” With her free hand, she smooths the black lace over her hip, adding in a whisper, “With a little help from my friend, Girdle.”
I laugh. “I can only hope to look like you in my eighties. You look lovely.”
“Not as lovely as you.” She nods to the overpriced gold couture dress that Hans threw a fit over when we went shopping earlier in the week, insisting that I buy it or not bother going to the ball at all. “I’m glad you treated yourself to this. There’s nothing wrong with doing that every once in a while, especially when you’re so good to everyone else.”
“Come.” I lead her toward the front. “Let’s go find our table. You get to meet my parents. Just do me a favor and try not to mention anything about Celine or the investigation, okay?”
“I’ll do my best.” She pats my arm. “But if I slip, just tell them I’m senile. They’ll believe it.”
I find my parents sitting next to each other at our customary table, off to a corner near the dance floor, with a prime view of the orchestra. Even after being divorced for fourteen years, they attend functions like this together. “It’s good for the company to see the Sparkes as a unit, even if we’re not” my mother always says.
“Magpie.” My dad stands as we approach. He was in China on business for Celine’s funeral. I haven’t seen him since last Christmas. He looks different. More trim. He’s always been a jogger, but he looks healthier, his complexion clearer. That’s a positive, seeing as he’s sixty. I can’t be sure, but I think his hair has taken on a darker—artificially enhanced—shade of gray than before.
“Daddy.” I don’t know why I always revert to my five-year-old self when I first see my father, as if I’m still waiting on the front steps for his car to pull through the gate after he’d been away for business somewhere. I’d run to meet him and throw myself into his arms, asking him if he was home for a while. Back then, two weeks felt like an eternity.
He wraps his arms around my shoulders and squeezes me tight, planting a kiss on my cheek. “You look radiant.” He pauses, a teasing eyebrow arched. “Who dressed you?”
“Celine’s friend, Hans. He has impeccable taste.”
“Ahh . . . Yes, I see that. It’s nice to see my daughter embracing her beauty every once in a while.”
I roll my eyes. “Dad, this is Ruby Cummings. Ruby, this is William Sparkes.”
My dad shifts his focus to a grinning Ruby, who reaches out to squeeze both his hands.
“You’ve raised an inspiring woman, William. You must be so proud.”
He smiles. “Her mother and I are. Have you met Melody yet?” Dad has two personas—fearless and to-be-feared Sparkes Energy exec and congenial people-pleaser, when politics and charity are involved. Ruby’s getting the latter now, as Dad introduces Ruby to my mom, and I listen to Ruby go through the whole “I lived across the hall from Celine” spiel.
“Your date’s a little old for you, isn’t she?” Dad quips in a low, teasing tone.
“Funny. When did you get into the city?”
“Just this morning. I have to fly to Bangkok tomorrow.”
Disappointment pricks me. “Too bad. I would have liked to have dinner with you, at least.”
“I know, dear.” He squeezes my wrist. “But I’ll be in L.A. for Christmas. Maybe we can actually spend one together. It’s been a while, and I think it’s going to be tough for you.”
“I’d love that.” And I love that he’s actually aware. This holiday will be my first one without Celine, and likely my last one with Rosa.
A striking blonde approaches Dad’s side. He turns to smile at her. “Good, you’re back. Maggie, this is Cindy. Cindy, my daughter, Maggie.”
All it takes is the sight of his arm hooked around her miniscule waist and I realize what’s going on here. My dad’s dating someone. I’ve never seen him with another woman besides my mom, even after this long. And to bring her out to a company event like this . . .
She can’t be more than thirty, at most. My father’s dating a woman my age. One who, if I had to guess, spends more time at the gym, lying around the pool topless, and in the salon than anywhere else.
My father is sixty and dating a woman half his age.
I try to keep my facial expression even, as I remember Jace’s words just the other day, about how I’m easily readable. I don’t want to be rude, even as I wonder if this is what other people felt like when meeting Celine on the arm of her much older “companions.” If they looked at her and wondered why she would date a man twice her age, unless it was for his money.
So is Cindy after my dad for his money, or is she more like Celine? An escort?
The very idea that my father would feel the need to pay for companionship makes me ill.
But . . . no. William Sparkes would never bring an escort to a charity ball.
“Your father has told me so much about you,” Cindy says, offering a slender, manicured hand.
“Has he now.” I accept her hand, all the while casting furtive glances over at my mother. Did she know he was seeing someone—someone he planned to introduce to me? If she did, why wouldn’t she have warned me over lunch last week? Did she think I wouldn’t care?
Dad pulls Cindy’s chair out for her and then, turning, pulls the one on the other side of him out for me.
“Isn’t your date a little young for you?” I force out through gritted teeth, turning his words from earlier as I slide into my seat and distract myself with my napkin.
Trying to decide what I think of this.
He leans in and whispers, “Be nice, Maggie.”
“I’m always nice.”
“I’m happy.”
“I’m sure you are.” Now I see why he’s in such great shape.
Cindy’s preoccupied with conversation on the other side, allowing me to ask, “Seriously, Dad, how old is she?”
“Does it really matter?”
“Is she younger than me?”
“No. She’s thirty,” he assures me with a patient smile, and a look that says we’re not talking about this here anymore.
“Thank you for being my date tonight.”
“I’m just lucky this gown still fits, thirty years later!” With her free hand, she smooths the black lace over her hip, adding in a whisper, “With a little help from my friend, Girdle.”
I laugh. “I can only hope to look like you in my eighties. You look lovely.”
“Not as lovely as you.” She nods to the overpriced gold couture dress that Hans threw a fit over when we went shopping earlier in the week, insisting that I buy it or not bother going to the ball at all. “I’m glad you treated yourself to this. There’s nothing wrong with doing that every once in a while, especially when you’re so good to everyone else.”
“Come.” I lead her toward the front. “Let’s go find our table. You get to meet my parents. Just do me a favor and try not to mention anything about Celine or the investigation, okay?”
“I’ll do my best.” She pats my arm. “But if I slip, just tell them I’m senile. They’ll believe it.”
I find my parents sitting next to each other at our customary table, off to a corner near the dance floor, with a prime view of the orchestra. Even after being divorced for fourteen years, they attend functions like this together. “It’s good for the company to see the Sparkes as a unit, even if we’re not” my mother always says.
“Magpie.” My dad stands as we approach. He was in China on business for Celine’s funeral. I haven’t seen him since last Christmas. He looks different. More trim. He’s always been a jogger, but he looks healthier, his complexion clearer. That’s a positive, seeing as he’s sixty. I can’t be sure, but I think his hair has taken on a darker—artificially enhanced—shade of gray than before.
“Daddy.” I don’t know why I always revert to my five-year-old self when I first see my father, as if I’m still waiting on the front steps for his car to pull through the gate after he’d been away for business somewhere. I’d run to meet him and throw myself into his arms, asking him if he was home for a while. Back then, two weeks felt like an eternity.
He wraps his arms around my shoulders and squeezes me tight, planting a kiss on my cheek. “You look radiant.” He pauses, a teasing eyebrow arched. “Who dressed you?”
“Celine’s friend, Hans. He has impeccable taste.”
“Ahh . . . Yes, I see that. It’s nice to see my daughter embracing her beauty every once in a while.”
I roll my eyes. “Dad, this is Ruby Cummings. Ruby, this is William Sparkes.”
My dad shifts his focus to a grinning Ruby, who reaches out to squeeze both his hands.
“You’ve raised an inspiring woman, William. You must be so proud.”
He smiles. “Her mother and I are. Have you met Melody yet?” Dad has two personas—fearless and to-be-feared Sparkes Energy exec and congenial people-pleaser, when politics and charity are involved. Ruby’s getting the latter now, as Dad introduces Ruby to my mom, and I listen to Ruby go through the whole “I lived across the hall from Celine” spiel.
“Your date’s a little old for you, isn’t she?” Dad quips in a low, teasing tone.
“Funny. When did you get into the city?”
“Just this morning. I have to fly to Bangkok tomorrow.”
Disappointment pricks me. “Too bad. I would have liked to have dinner with you, at least.”
“I know, dear.” He squeezes my wrist. “But I’ll be in L.A. for Christmas. Maybe we can actually spend one together. It’s been a while, and I think it’s going to be tough for you.”
“I’d love that.” And I love that he’s actually aware. This holiday will be my first one without Celine, and likely my last one with Rosa.
A striking blonde approaches Dad’s side. He turns to smile at her. “Good, you’re back. Maggie, this is Cindy. Cindy, my daughter, Maggie.”
All it takes is the sight of his arm hooked around her miniscule waist and I realize what’s going on here. My dad’s dating someone. I’ve never seen him with another woman besides my mom, even after this long. And to bring her out to a company event like this . . .
She can’t be more than thirty, at most. My father’s dating a woman my age. One who, if I had to guess, spends more time at the gym, lying around the pool topless, and in the salon than anywhere else.
My father is sixty and dating a woman half his age.
I try to keep my facial expression even, as I remember Jace’s words just the other day, about how I’m easily readable. I don’t want to be rude, even as I wonder if this is what other people felt like when meeting Celine on the arm of her much older “companions.” If they looked at her and wondered why she would date a man twice her age, unless it was for his money.
So is Cindy after my dad for his money, or is she more like Celine? An escort?
The very idea that my father would feel the need to pay for companionship makes me ill.
But . . . no. William Sparkes would never bring an escort to a charity ball.
“Your father has told me so much about you,” Cindy says, offering a slender, manicured hand.
“Has he now.” I accept her hand, all the while casting furtive glances over at my mother. Did she know he was seeing someone—someone he planned to introduce to me? If she did, why wouldn’t she have warned me over lunch last week? Did she think I wouldn’t care?
Dad pulls Cindy’s chair out for her and then, turning, pulls the one on the other side of him out for me.
“Isn’t your date a little young for you?” I force out through gritted teeth, turning his words from earlier as I slide into my seat and distract myself with my napkin.
Trying to decide what I think of this.
He leans in and whispers, “Be nice, Maggie.”
“I’m always nice.”
“I’m happy.”
“I’m sure you are.” Now I see why he’s in such great shape.
Cindy’s preoccupied with conversation on the other side, allowing me to ask, “Seriously, Dad, how old is she?”
“Does it really matter?”
“Is she younger than me?”
“No. She’s thirty,” he assures me with a patient smile, and a look that says we’re not talking about this here anymore.
