“What in the—”
“Let him go!” my wife cried out, swatting my hand away. She crouched down, giving everyone in the room a front-seat view to her cleavage, and righted the thing—fine, child—who’d crashed into us, helping him to his feet.
“Are you okay, sweets?” She rubbed his arms.
The child looked vaguely familiar, but since I wasn’t acquainted with any kids, I figured they all looked the same. Like squirrels or Oreo cookies.
The little boy screwed his nose, shaking his head. His right eye ticked twice…no, six times.
Tick. Tick. Tick, tick, tick, tick.
My gut twisted. I stepped back, popping my fingers one after the other.
“Are you lost?” My wife put a palm on the snotty thing’s cheek.
Yes.
The boy cast his eyes down, twitching and buzzing.
“Y-y-yes.”
“Let’s go find your parents.”
She offered him her hand. He took it, when another identical-looking kid sailed on his sneakers in our direction, bumping into the twitchy kid. They both knocked Persephone down. Instead of pushing them out of the way, she laughed her throaty laughter that seemed to have a direct speed-dial connection to my groin and collected them in her arms as if they were eager puppies. They stuck their sticky fingers into her blond curls and fingered her diamond necklace.
“Easy there, little ones.” She laughed.
“I’m not little. I’m a big boy. Tinder!” the second boy cried. “Mommy and Daddy are looking for you.”
“T-Tree. Look what I found. A real princess.” He motioned to my wife.
Tinder?
Tree?
Oh, for fu…
“Fitzpatrick. Fancy seeing you here. What are you doing raising funds for For the Love of Cow?” Andrew Arrowsmith strolled behind his children, leading his wife by the small of her back.
I glanced at one of the posters in the room, certain he was testing me. Sure enough, the words For the Love of Cow were plainly there. Apparently, I’d slid a fifty-thousand-dollar check at the door to support research on how to decrease methane’s effect on depleting the ozone.
Cow’s shit just got a whole new literal meaning.
I stole another glance at Tinder. He was jerking around in my wife’s arms, his throat producing feral sounds I doubted he controlled.
“Don’t tell me you grew a conscience.” Andrew smirked. I had to admit, he wore his newly earned aristocracy well.
“What conscience?” I asked nonchalantly. “I heard the word cow and figured there’d be steak.”
“That sounds more like you.” Andrew’s eyes drifted to Persephone, who was still on the floor, ahh-ing and aww-ing over something his children said.
“She is lovely.”
“I have eyes.”
“Aren’t you going to introduce us to her?”
“No,” I deadpanned.
Unfortunately, part of why I was mildly obsessed with Persephone was due to her impeccable manners. She rose to her feet, extending her hand to my nemesis with a warm smile, introducing herself anyway.
“Persephone Fitzpatrick. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Andrew Arrowsmith, and this is my wife, Joelle. I believe you’ve already met my sons, Tinder and Tree.”
“Oh, they made a grand entrance.” Persephone brushed brown locks from Tinder’s pasty forehead, laughing.
Do not touch his kid.
“I-I-I-I’m b-b-bored. C-Can you play with me, princess?” Tinder tugged at my wife’s dress, still damp from the champagne he made her drop.
I was not jealous of a five-year-old.
I simply wasn’t.
Even if the awe in which my wife regarded him grated on my nerves.
“This place is boring, huh?” She winked at him conspiratorially. “Let’s see what trouble we can find around here.”
“No, thank you. We still have a few people to greet.” Joelle pulled her kids back to her side, struggling to control them. She looked pitifully average, especially next to my wife. Her features boring, her hair too stiff.
Flower Girl gave her a pointed look.
“I think Tinder needs the fresh air. We’ll stay on the balcony, where you can see us. You’re welcome to join us.”
“Sweetheart.” I put a hand on my wife’s arm. “You’re off-duty. Let his parents deal with him.”
She shook away from my touch. “Not everything is a chore.”
I pinned her with a look but kept my opinions to myself. What could I say? That the kid was broken, and hopeless, and any kindness she was going to show him was going to give him cruel and unjustified hope he could one day be normal? Accepted? Loved?
“Please, Mommy.” Tinder fell on his knees. “Please, we really want to have fun for a change.”
“Fiiiiine.” Joelle laughed nervously. “Tree and I will tag along.”
“You never let us play during stuff like this.” Tree looked up at his mother suspiciously. “Why now?”
Joelle snorted, waving her hand around.
“Of course I do, honey.”
The women left with the children. Andrew and I stayed behind, leaning against the bar, watching them. A couple of people who passed us shook his hand and waved at him, ignoring me.
“She really is something.” He scrubbed his chin, following my wife’s elegant movements, undressing her with his eyes.
“Something you better avert your eyes from,” I hissed. “Unless you don’t mind my scooping them out with a dessert spoon.”