“When are you grown up?” my mother quipped.
My father waggled his eyebrows. “Late at night—”
“Oh stop,” my mother said quickly, her cheeks blushing.
I rolled my eyes. “How is it that I’m an only child?”
Andrew ran into the kitchen and climbed into his chair that had a little booster seat my father rigged for him.
“So, how was your day?” my mother asked, serving me and Andrew spaghetti.
“Good. Nikita asked me to help put on a party for Tony Gallagher.”
My father whistled. “Big time.”
“Did you meet him?” my mother sat in her chair.
“Not today, but she did ask me to help at the party.” I made sure Andrew’s napkin was tucked into the neck of his shirt to avoid getting tomato sauce on it.
“So, they’ll be lots of celebrities.” My father handed me the bowl with garlic bread.
“I suppose.”
“That will be so good for your career, I bet,” my mother said. “Where is the party being held?”
“At Roarke’s.” I turned my attention to Andrew to make sure there was nothing in my expression that hinted at my association with the Roarke family.
“I’d love to take you there sometime, honey,” my dad said to my mom.
My mother waved his comment away. “Why pay ten times too much for food I can make right here at home?”
“Why is it so expensive?” my father asked.
“Part of it is that they have higher-priced items, but mostly it’s the ambiance and brand,” I said.
“I hear it has quite a view,” my father said.
“It is nice.”
“Can you see airplanes there?” Andrew asked.
“Probably. It’s way up high.” All of a sudden, it occurred to me that Roarke’s was Andrew’s inheritance. I remembered Devin talking about going into the family business, suggesting he didn’t have a choice in the matter. He didn’t seem averse to business, but he was annoyed at being told what to do all the time by his father. Is that what it would have been like for Andrew? Would he have a choice in careers if he was a Roarke?
“Did you meet Mr. Roarke?” my father asked.
I flinched.
“Rumor is that he has Parkinson’s,” my mother said.
I shook my head. “No, he wasn’t there.” Was that why Devin was back? Was his father retiring?
“I wonder who’s going to take over?” my father asked. “The son is in Europe, right? Do you think the daughter will run it?”
Why my parents cared, I had no idea. “The son is back,” I said before I couldn’t think better of it.
“Oh. Was he there?” My mother stopped mid-forkful of spaghetti. “He’s a looker.”
I rolled my eyes. “He was there.” Then I turned to Andrew. “Don’t forget to eat your green beans.”