Matt pointed a thumb at his chest. “I’m her favorite.”
“Come on now, enough of that,” Naina replied as she turned and continued down the hall. She blew off the remark, but I knew it was true.
It was two days before Christmas and I was about to meet Matt’s dad, his brother, his stepmother, and his vindictive ex-girlfriend/soon-to-be sister-in-law. I was happy to have something to carry into the room; it felt like a shield against whatever was waiting for us in the grand living room. Matt yanked the bottle of Prosecco out of my hands—so much for my shield—and entered the room ahead of me, holding his arms out wide, his chest up, bottle dangling from his right hand. “Merry Christmas, family. I’m here!”
I saw Matt’s dad and stepmother standing near a floor-to-ceiling window that looked out onto a huge backyard and sparkling pool. His father was wearing a dark suit and tie. His stepmother wore a beige pencil skirt, white blouse, and a glowing set of pearls. She was the polar opposite of Aletha, with her blonde hair, cut into a flawless bob and her taut, medically altered skin.
His dad had the distinguished looks of a man who spent a lot time in front of the mirror, but his smile was genuine, like Matt’s. From the couch rose a figure, who I knew without a doubt was Alexander. He was in a stark white suit, pink dress shirt, and no tie. The three top bottoms were open, revealing his tan, hairless chest. His hair was lighter than Matt’s and plastic looking from gel.
He reached Matt in three strides. “Matt’s here and late as usual,” he said, cheerily. Taking the bottle from Matt’s hand, he examined it. “And look, everyone, he’s brought us a bottle of poor man’s champagne. Whaddya say? Maybe we can roast the pig with it.”
Was he for real? My god.
My gut clenched and my heart dropped at the thought of Aletha giving Matthias the bottle and Matt knowing how they would receive it, but not having the heart to tell her . . . or me. It must have been why he took it from me at the last second.
Ignoring his brother, he stepped out of the way and took my arm. “Everyone, this is Grace.”
I waved awkwardly and then his stepmother approached. “Hello, darling. I’m Regina.”
While I shook her hand, Matt’s father walked up to Matt and hugged him wordlessly, then he turned his attention to me. “Hello, Grace, lovely to meet you. I’ve heard about you and your music.”
I swallowed, wondering what he had heard. “Thank you, sir. Nice to meet you.”
“Please, call me Charles.”
The urge to say, How ’bout Charlie? struck me, and I laughed nervously. “Okay, Charles.”
Alexander stood back until I saw a black-haired women enter the room from the other side. She was beautiful, in a girl-next-door kind of way. Long, sleek hair with bouncing curls at the ends. Big brown eyes, surprisingly warm. I smiled as she approached but then noticed her Joker grin, big and fake, with a hint of mischief. Her movements were feline as she slinked toward us. “Matthias.” Her voice was haughty.
“Hi, Monica. This is Grace.”
Her creepy, closed-mouth smile was back as she slowly looked down to my boots then back up to my face. I stuck my hand out to shake hers but it dangled there, helplessly. Finally, she took it. “Nice to meet you. You look like his type.”
“Uhhh . . .”
Monica looked back to Matt. “Does she speak?”
“Kids, let’s take this into the dining room,” Charles interrupted. I was grateful.
The six of us sat around a large, shining black table laid with silver serving pieces and crystal champagne flutes. Matt and I sat across from Alexander and Monica while Regina and Charles capped each end of the table. Naina moved quickly and gracefully in and out of the room, setting dishes on the table.
Charles announced that the food was prepared by Chef Michael Mason. I leaned over and whispered to Matt, “Who’s he?”
“Who cares?” Matt said out loud, but no one acknowledged him.
Regina and Monica were having a conversation about some designer who was working on Monica’s wedding dress, while Charles droned on to Alexander about the firm’s latest contract negotiations. They basically ignored us for the better part of the meal, and I should have been thankful. By the time dessert came around, and Monica and Alexander had had a few flutes of champagne, they turned their undivided attentions on us.
“So, you play the cello?” Alexander asked.
“Yes.”
“Oh.” Monica’s voice was filled with knowing. “You’re the cello player?”
“Yes,” I said again. I saw worry etched on Matt’s face. He was staring hard at Monica, trying to read her tone.
Her saccharine smile and fake laugh sent a cold shiver through me. She looked at Alexander but pointed to me. “This is the one?” Her eyes darted to Matt’s dad. “The one you bailed out, right Charles?”
“Excuse me? Um . . . bailed out? I don’t know what you mean,” I said, barely getting the words out above a whisper. Who was this meek, stupid girl I had become around these people?
“Nothing. This isn’t lunchtime conversation, Monica.” There was an edge to Matt’s tone.
I pushed my chair back from the table. “Restroom?” I asked to anyone who would rescue me.
“Down the hall, second door to the right,” Regina said.
When I stood, I swayed, dizzy from the champagne. Matt got up but I quickly moved past him down the hall. I could hear his footsteps behind me. I went into the bathroom and tried to close the door but Matt’s big steel-toed boot was jammed in the opening. “Wait. Let me in.”