Chapter 18

CHAPTER18

SCARLETT

We’re in the living room, the sun starting to shift lower in the sky, casting golden beams of light upon us through the uncovered floor-to-ceiling windows. My father has made us all drinks, even me, while Mom is in the kitchen ensuring the family chef is making everything to her exacting standards. I was able to convince her that we should stay home instead of going to a crowded restaurant, and thankfully, she agreed.

Tate sits uncomfortably in one of the overstuffed chairs close to the window, while I sit on the love seat opposite him. My father is still standing at the bar, making himself another drink, and I wonder how long he’s going to stand there and continuously refill his glass.

“Here you go.” He hands over a glass to Tate, who’s the last to receive one. He takes a big gulp from it immediately, draining half of it in one go, and I’m stricken at first, until I realize it’s just water.

Tate doesn’t drink. He can’t. And here’s my dad swigging them back like it’s no big deal. That’s almost . . . rude, isn’t it? Poor Tate. Even I’m sipping on some sweet alcoholic drink, and I’m underage.

Determination filling me, I set the drink on the end table and remind myself to get something different later.

“Thank you,” Tate says to my father after he’s swallowed, clutching the glass in his big hand.

I stare at that hand, remembering the sensation of his fingers touching my arm. My freaking arm, for goodness’ sakes. It should’ve been nothing in the scheme of things. Just a quick push of my top’s strap back onto my shoulder, but everything inside of me lit up the moment I felt his fingers on my skin. I was electrified. Focused on that one spot where he touched me and nowhere else.

I don’t remember ever having that kind of reaction when Ian touched me. Or when any boy has touched me.

“Have to admit to you, Tate, that I’m surprised my daughter is interested in you,” my father says out of the blue.

“Dad,” I groan, wanting to run and hide. God, this is so embarrassing.

He sends me a quick look, but that doesn’t stop him from talking. “Admit it, Scarlett. You’ve been so wrapped up in Ian Baldwin the last couple of years, I thought for sure you were going to force him to marry you.”

Ugh, the humiliation. I want to snap my fingers and make myself disappear. Instead, I forget all about my earlier vow and reach for my recently discarded glass, taking a deep swallow from the rum and pineapple my father made me. Now I’m actually hoping the alcohol will make my memory blurry enough to forget this conversation ever happened.

“I have to admit I’m just as shocked as you are,” Tate says, his deep voice washing over me, settling my agitated nerves. “But we just clicked that night. You saw the photos.”

“I did.”

“I think we make a great couple.” Tate flashes me a quick smile, and I smile helplessly in return.

“You do.” My father examines him closely, and I’m impressed that Tate doesn’t squirm. He doesn’t even bat an eyelash. “I just hope this is all on the up-and-up and you aren’t using my daughter for . . . something.”

“What would he be using me for?” I ask, fighting the alarm rising within me.

“I don’t know.” Dad turns to look at me. “Your family name. The fact that you’re my daughter.”

Leave it to dear old Dad to make this all about him. I get why he’s saying it. I do. And I know he doesn’t mean it with any ill intent, but my father has always treated the world as if it revolves around him, and while he can be charming and funny and everyone usually adores him, at the end of the day, I know he’s still in love with himself.

And he fully expects everyone else to feel the same.

“With all due respect, sir, my feelings for your daughter have nothing to do with you,” Tate says with the most sincerity I think I’ve ever heard from him . . . ever.

My heart beats a little harder at his confession. If I hadn’t just signed a bunch of paperwork that legally binds us to a make-believe relationship only a few hours ago, I could almost believe he’s sincere.

Almost.

The room is quiet. I can hear the rattle of ice in Tate’s glass as he drains it, and I clutch my own, wishing I had more.

“Scarlett is beautiful and she’s smart and she’s interesting,” Tate finally says, breaking the silence. “And those few moments I had with her at her party, I have to admit . . .”

He goes silent, and I lean forward, anxiously waiting for him to finish that thought.

“She completely captivated me.”

I stare at him, buying into his entire speech.

“My daughter is one of the best people I know,” Dad says, pride filling his voice. “She’s kind. Loyal to a fault. Just ask that Ian dipshit. He can tell you all about it.”

They laugh, as if they’re both in on the joke, and I lean back against the couch, fighting the flicker of frustration within me that wants to burst into full flame.

I’m so tired of everyone bringing Ian up like he’s some sort of joke. He never was to me.

Though now that I’ve gained some distance and can look back some, I do realize Ian wasn’t that interested in me.

Not at all.

Not like Tate is pretending to be.

“I don’t think there’s any point in bringing him up in conversation anymore. I’d rather keep him out of our relationship.” Tate levels his gaze at me, sending a quick wink in my direction.

If anyone else had done that, I’d think it was a bit . . . cringey.

Somehow, Tate makes winking attractive.

“Wise move.” Dad raises his glass in Tate’s direction. “You don’t buckle under pressure. I like that about you, Ramsey.”

“Trust me, I’ve had solid training. Being on a reality show when you’re barely sixteen and having people tell you to your face that you’re a shitty singer is good practice for dealing with just about anything,” Tate admits.

“I always thought you were pretty good from what I saw.” Dad wanders back over to the bar, glancing in my direction as he pours himself another. “You want to add anything to this conversation, lovebug?”

More humiliation. He hasn’t called me that in years, so of course he’s going to pull out that old nickname in front of Tate. “I like him, Daddy.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

“Isn’t that enough?” I counter.

“Well, if I could add anything to the conversation, I’d like to say that this entire thing seems to have happened terribly fast.” Mom sweeps into the room, harried yet beautiful and with not a hair out of place. Her white linen pants don’t have a single wrinkle, and her crisp black cotton T-shirt fits her to perfection. She’s casual yet elegant, giant diamonds winking in her ears, a diamond tennis necklace around her neck. I’ve always wanted to emulate her style, yet here I sit in a skimpy summer top I bought last year and never wore with boring denim shorts, like I’m going to a backyard barbecue.

“Sometimes love moves quickly,” Dad says, coming to our defense. “Remember those first few weeks we were together, Gloria?”

She smiles fondly as she approaches the bar, her hand out and accepting the glass my father gives her. “A whirlwind of a romance.”

“How long have you two been together?” Tate asks, sounding genuinely curious.

Either he actually wants to know, or he’s a terrific actor.

“Oh, how long, Fitzy?” Mom turns to him.

He smiles at her. “Almost twenty-five years.”

“That’s great,” Tate says with a nod. “You two have been together a long time.”

“It went by fast,” Mom admits. “Three kids. One just graduated, two in high school. Next thing you know, we’ll be empty nesters.”

“We’ll have plenty to do when they’re gone, Glor.” Dad wraps his arm around Mom’s shoulders and drops a kiss on her forehead.

He may have been embarrassing me only a few minutes ago, but there’s one thing none of us can deny. My dad truly loves my mom. Their relationship is what I aspire to, though I don’t know if I want to be with an egomaniac like my father.

I study Tate, who’s rattling the ice in his glass again like it’s a nervous tic, his gaze locked on my parents as they murmur to each other. He glances over at me, doing a double take when he realizes I’m already watching him, and he offers me a sexy little smirk that sends a zap straight to my core.

Okay. I definitely never felt like that when Ian looked at me.

“Promise me you’ll treat her right.” Dad’s face is stern, his focus returning to Tate once again. He’s even pointing at him. “I know I already told you this, but you better not break her damn heart or make her cry.”

“I would never.” Tate’s expression is solemn, and he swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

Dad’s gaze is hard. Focused. “This has nothing to do with our money, does it?”

“Fitzy,” Mom chastises. We both hate it, yet Dad always seems to make it about money.

“Not at all.” Tate rises to his feet and walks over to the bar, setting his glass on the counter before he turns his back to it. “You compensated me well for my performance. Lucky me, I just so happened to talk to your daughter that night and completely fell for her. Now we’re seeing if we can make this happen.”

“You want this boy, honey?” Dad’s gaze finds mine. He says it like he’s giving him to me.

I nod, unable to speak. I’m afraid I might say something that sounds ridiculously insincere, and I don’t want to risk it.

My father smiles, seemingly pleased. “Then you can have him.”

* * *

“Pretty sure your dad is treating me like a pet the family just adopted,” Tate jokes with me as we make our way to the dining room.

“I’m so sorry.” My words aren’t nearly enough. I don’t want Tate feeling like he’s our new pet. “My father is very . . .”

“Interesting,” Tate supplies. Politely, I might add. “He has a unique perspective.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

We enter the dining room, and when I spot the plates on the table, I realize Mom has brought out the family china. Which means she’s really trying to impress Tate, or intimidate him.

Knowing her, probably a combination.

Since there’s only the four of us and the table is for at least eight and can be extended to twelve, Mom and Dad each sit at the head of the table, while Tate and I are across from each other. I give him a look when we settle into our seats, hoping he sees that I’m trying to show him I’m his ally, not his enemy, and he flashes me one of those dazzling smiles of his, the dimple out and everything.

I practically fall into my seat, grateful it’s beneath me. Also grateful I didn’t have a second drink. I have enough of a buzz as it is on only one.

God, I’m such a lightweight.

The first course is brought out—fresh summer salad—and memories hit me of the night we had dinner with the Baldwins and what a shit show that turned out to be. This is much more pleasant. The conversation is flowing and easy. Dad is asking Tate about his touring days with Five Car Pileup, and while that’s a sensitive subject, Tate is answering Dad’s questions with ease, glossing over the tough stuff.

Thankfully Dad doesn’t try to dig too deep, which is what he usually does.

We talk about summer and the weather, and when the main course arrives—grilled shrimp with broccoli and risotto, yum—Tate has all of us laughing, sharing all the weird personal-video requests he’s received.

“Are you still doing that? I’m sure business is booming now, considering all the attention you’ve received,” Dad says.

Tate shakes his head. “I’m on hiatus. Other things are happening with my life right now that are much more exciting than recording happy-birthday messages to twenty-year-olds who used to love me in their teen days.”

Mom arches a brow, sending me a knowing look. “That sounds intriguing. What’s coming up next for you, Tate?”

“Well, I’m in contract negotiations for another record deal.” I can hear the excitement in his voice, see it in his body language. He’s practically vibrating in his chair, and I can’t help but smile at his excitement. “Pretty sure it’s going to go through and I’ll be making my first solo album. They already had me come into the studio for ‘Red.’”

Ah, the elephant in the room. The song that’s about me with the sexual lyrics.

“Oh yes. I heard that.” Mom reaches for her wineglass and takes a sip. “It’s an interesting song.”

“Vaguely inappropriate,” Dad adds, his eyes narrowing on Tate. “Though I do get where you were going with it.”

I want to roll my eyes. Or duck under the table. Anything to stop talking about that song with my parents.

“Will it be a song on your new album?” Mom asks Tate.

“I’m not sure. Probably. It’s doing so well. Hopefully the rest of the album will do just as well.” Tate sounds so unsure, and my heart breaks for him a little bit.

I get the sense he moves through life acting like the whole thing will collapse on him out of nowhere. Like he can’t count on any of it lasting.

“That’s exciting,” Dad says, lifting his glass in a cheers gesture. “Glad I could help out with the reemergence of your career.”

Love how Daddy just took some credit for Tate’s newfound success.

Tate toasts him in return with his water glass, taking a sip before he smothers the smile on his face with his palm. “I guess I owe you one, Fitzy.”

Dad laughs, loving his response. “Nah. That was all you. You were on fire that night.”

“You were,” Mom murmurs in agreement. “All the ladies were screaming.”

“It was a fun night,” I chime in when I realize they’re all waiting for me to say something.

“You recording the album here in the city?” Dad asks. “I know a few producers. Some sound engineers.”

Oh boy, here we go.

“Actually, I’ll be recording the album in Los Angeles.” Tate levels that intense blue gaze of his at me.

“Really? That’s so far. What about you and Scarlett?”

“Well.” He takes a deep breath, that gorgeous smile on his face yet again, flashing it at everyone. “I was hoping she could go with me.”