“Give him a break,” Hartford said as she took a glass of champagne from Parker, who was being the perfect hostess.
It was sweet of Hartford to stick up for me and I winked at her, trying to communicate that their joshing was like water off a duck’s back. I appreciated her support, but it really wasn’t necessary. My friends were all incredibly driven, successful people and roasting me was the way they let off steam. It had been the same since we were all teenagers. It didn’t bother me one bit. I knew they didn’t mean it and even if they did, I knew most of what they were saying wasn’t true.
“You’re Arthur Frazer’s daughter?” Andrew asked and my jaw tightened. Sometimes Andrew could be fucking insensitive.
“She’s Parker Frazer. Try talking to her to find out who she is rather than who her father is,” I said, shooting Andrew a warning look. Me, they could pick on. Parker was off limits. “Don’t mind Andrew, Parker. He’s insensitive to anyone’s emotions and completely focused on himself, but I love him just the same. He’s my Lauren-equivalent.”
Parker gave me a small smile and I pushed a glass of champagne into her hand.
“Yes, I’m Arthur’s daughter,” she said.
Andrew nodded. “He’s a good guy. Came across him a few times over the years.”
“You’re right,” Parker replied. “He is a good guy.”
“And he seems reasonable. Why has he made it a stipulation of your trust that you be married? That seems entirely unreasonable.”
Trust Andrew to be so bloody blunt.
“Andrew,” I said, wanting to distract his attention.
“It’s fine,” Parker said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “He did it a while ago. I had a . . . boyfriend that turned out to be a bit of a shit. I think this was his way of encouraging me not to turn my back on a serious relationship.”
This was the first I was hearing about this. I was pretty sure I’d asked her why Arthur had made the marriage stipulation, but maybe I hadn’t. “You were serious with the guy who was a piece of shit?” I asked.
“Yeah. I mean, he proposed and I said yes and I thought he was going to be the man I’d spend the rest of my life with, so I think that qualifies as serious.”
The room was entirely silent now, everyone’s gaze fixed on Parker. My heart was pounding in my chest for reasons I couldn’t fully explain.
“What happened?” I asked.
She glanced over to the kitchen like she was looking for an excuse not to have to answer any more questions. “Turns out that he was after my money. Or my father’s anyway.”
What?
The cooking timer in the kitchen went off. Parker set down her glass and went to see to the food. I followed. “Why don’t you all take a seat at the table,” I called over my shoulder.
Even though we were only meters away from each other, I wanted to be closer to her—for her to know I was there if old wounds had been opened up.
“You okay?” I asked.
“I’m fine,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ears and not meeting my eye. “Can you pass me the soup bowls?”
“I didn’t know you were engaged,” I said, setting the soup bowls beside her.
She shrugged. “It was a long time ago. I’m over it.” There was an edge to her voice that told me that wasn’t entirely true.
I searched for some words to make it better. She deserved someone who was with her because she was funny and kind and a great cook. Not someone who was just after her money. “He was clearly an idiot.”
She nodded and began to ladle soup into the bowls.
“You’re better off without him.”
She nodded again and reached for another bowl.
“If you give me his name, I can make life pretty difficult for him. Impossible even.”
She laughed. “Thank you.” She turned and squeezed my arm. “I appreciate that, but really there’s no need.” We locked eyes and it was a moment of such intimacy that it took me by surprise.
She glanced away first. “You mind putting out the soup?”
“Absolutely. Smells delicious.”
In some ways I felt as if I knew Parker better than I knew most people, but I’d just been reminded that there were a lot of things about her I didn’t know. But the more I found out, the more I wanted to know.
Thirteen
Parker
I’d been engaged a grand total of nine days and was now just minutes away from the first guest arriving for our engagement party.
If only I’d stop sweating long enough to actually put my dress on. If only my heart would stop pounding so I could take a breath. If only I had a shot of tequila.
Someone knocked on the door to my old bedroom in my parents’ house. “I’ll be out in a minute.” It was a lie. I figured I’d need more like forty-five to have a panic attack, recover, reapply my makeup, get dressed, and make it downstairs.