Heat flushed through me and I turned quickly to survey the room. He couldn’t be here, could he? Would I even recognize him fifteen years later? At thirty-seven he might have lost his hair, like dad. Or—
“Dexter Daniels!” An avuncular stranger in his mid-fifties grabbed me by the elbow and thrust his palm against mine, shaking my hand vigorously and effectively pulling my thoughts from the black hole they’d been circling. “Gosh, you make me feel like an old man,” he said. “If Joyce McLean hadn’t said it was you, I never would have believed it.” He grinned at me as if I should recognize him, but I was sure I’d never seen him before in my life. “The last time I saw you, you had a bottle of vinegar in one hand and tissues in the other, cleaning the glass in your parents’ shop.”
I exhaled and imagined an invisible shield surrounding me, stopping his words from penetrating, from reaching the places I’d spent so long protecting. This was why Tristan and Gabriel were here tonight. Sure, Tristan liked free booze and the chance to mingle with a ballroom full of women, but he and Gabriel both were here because I’d asked them to be my buffers. “They were good people,” I replied. This was why I’d avoided situations like this for as long as I had. I knew how great my parents were. I didn’t need strangers to remind me, to poke at the open wound created by their absence.
“Talented. And kind. It was a long time ago but the industry still feels their loss.”
“You’re right,” I said. “It was a loss on a personal level but their talent and hard work meant it was a loss for jewelry more generally.” My rehearsed response emerged automatically, not for the first time tonight.
Usually this short, polite exchange would end with a handshake here, but the man, whoever he was, wasn’t going anywhere.
“Do you know what I miss most about them?” he asked. “Your father’s rather rare laugh.”
I smiled—a real smile, not the forced one I’d been wearing all night. My father had been a serious man at work. But not around his family. Our house was full of tickles and laughter.
“It was your mother who was always able to coax it out of him,” the man said.
I nodded, remembering how she’d tell him jokes in the shop, trying to get him to lighten up. “They were a good team.”
“She would say how his stern face made it look like he was being possessed by his father, your grandfather.”
I’d forgotten that. She’d chase me around the shop making scary noises, and inevitably my father’s stern expression would give way to something softer, more familiar.
“You know all the big houses were after your mother—Bulgari, Harry Winston—they queued up to offer her design roles. She could have written her own check. But she only ever wanted to work with your father.”
I tried to keep my surprise from showing. I’d never heard her mention how she’d been offered other roles. I guess it hadn’t been important to her. The only person who ever mattered was my father—and her boys, of course. “My mother was very talented.”
I’d been dreading coming here tonight. I hadn’t wanted to hear the sorrow and sadness in people’s voices when they discussed my parents, or be constantly reminded about how much I’d lost. But hearing about them from someone else’s perspective was gratifying, and reigniting beloved memories was deeply comforting. I’d pushed so much of my past away to stop it from hurting me that I’d lost some of the memories that were important.
“She was. And from what I’ve seen, the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree. I’ve followed your career.”
I still didn’t know who this man was but he seemed to know me well enough. “Can I take your card?” I asked. Perhaps I might have reason to do business with this man at some point in the future.
“Of course,” he said, flipping open his wallet. “You’ve not shown your face much around London.”
“No, sir,” I replied. “I go where my clients are.” It was a lie but a believable one.
“Yes, I was surprised your brother never went into the industry,” he said, holding out his card.
The warmth that had gathered in my belly at his words about my parents turned to ice when he mentioned my brother. The realization that David was here tonight, enjoying the champagne, no doubt at the Sparkle table, pulled the air from the room. I needed space. I needed to breathe in the goodness my parents brought to this room, not the betrayal my brother did.
“Would you please excuse me,” I said, shaking the man’s hand once again. “I’ve just seen someone over there I must speak to.” The girl with the treacle-colored hair was in the corner, looking at one of my favorite pieces.