Page 21 of Sugar Rush (Sugar Bowl 2)

We weave in and out of guests, all dressed in expensive finery and jewels, holding crystal flutes of champagne or delicate china plates with ridiculous-looking hors d'oeuvres the size of a postage stamp. Everywhere I look, fresh greenery is draped, and I swear there's a Christmas tree in every room.

Beck nods to some people with smiles but doesn't stop to talk. I know he's on a mission to get this party over and behind us as quickly as possible.

Which makes me wonder out loud, "Why do you even bother to come to this party, Beck? I mean...you don't want to be here, don't like your parents very much. Why suffer?"

"Well," he says in a low voice as he inclines his head toward me, but still keeping his gaze forward while we walk to the music room. "First, it's always good to keep your foot in the door somewhat. My father has solid business contacts and I don't want to burn that bridge, but mainly it's to keep them off Caroline's back. They can't stand to have an estranged daughter and how it must look to their friends and peers. So it pacifies them for me to at least step up to the plate and attend a few functions each year. The next will be my father's birthday party."

"If they want to make amends with Caroline, why don't they just do so? End the estrangement?"

Beck laughs sarcastically and squeezes my elbow. "Because, my dear Sela, that would require my parents to apologize for their terrible behavior toward Caroline and Ally, and they would never lower themselves to do so. They just expect her to get over her snit and start acting like a real daughter again."

"I know I've said it before, but I don't like your parents," I mutter.

"The thing that bothers me the most is that they don't seem to care about their granddaughter. She's like this dirty little secret or something," Beck says on a growl, his hand tightening on my elbow reflexively.

Before I can respond, we approach a room with a wide entrance and glass French doors open to either side. I can see why it's the music room, because it's got a large black piano in one corner that I'm guessing cost a mint. It's sparsely furnished with only a couch and two chairs, both done in black leather and sleek contemporary design. The rest of the room is open and clearly designed for parties in mind with plenty of room for people to mingle. But the real focal point is a massive, charcoal-gray marble fireplace that looks like it could hold a football team. A roaring fire is dancing inside, but doesn't seem to be throwing off oppressive heat, so I'm guessing it's flued in such a way to be more for show than anything else.

I can tell the minute Beck locates his parents, because he stands a bit straighter and his hand slips from my elbow to my hand, which he squeezes reflexively. I squeeze back and then we're headed across the room toward a man I easily identify as Beck's father. They share the same dark brown hair, although his dad's is going gray throughout, and brilliant blue eyes. Same facial features, strong jawline. He's his dad through and through. I don't see any resemblance to the tall, elegant blond woman next to him who wears her hair in a sleek bob that comes just a few inches above her shoulders.

As we approach, Beck's mom sees him first and lightly touches her hand to her husband's arm to get his attention. He stops in midsentence, as he was talking to another older couple, and looks down at his wife, then follows her gaze our way. I don't miss that both of them look first to Beck, then drop down to where our hands are clasped, and then over to me in wary interest.

"Beck," his mother says in a light, airy tone of welcome. "So glad you could make it tonight."

Stepping up to his mother, he gives her a light kiss on her cheek. "Mother...looking beautiful as ever."

His mother preens with the compliment.

Beck turns to his father and merely nods at him. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Beck," he says in a deep voice, and I'm betting that these two have never hugged in their life.

"And whom have you brought to the party?" his mom asks as she turns her gaze to me in polite interest with a plastic smile on her face.

"This is Sela Halstead," Beck says as he releases my hand and once again wraps his arm around my waist. "My girlfriend. Sela...my parents...Helen and Beckett North."

I smile, reach my hand out to his mother, and say, "It's a pleasure to meet you Mrs. North."

She takes my hand and gives is a soft shake, still keeping her own smile in place. As soon as she releases it, I offer my hand to Mr. North. His grip is firmer, a complete businessman to the core.

"Mr. North," I say in greeting.

"Well, welcome Sela," Beck's father says before he releases my hand, only to have his mom pounce immediately.

"And where are you from Sela?" Helen North asks me with her chin lifted a little.

"Belle Haven." And I swear, her nose actually wrinkles up a bit. "But I'm working on my master's at Golden Gate University and have an apartment in Oakland."

"She actually lives with me now," Beck says, and I have to wonder why he feels he must antagonize his mother. Even I, who just met his parents not thirty seconds ago, could tell this would not go over well with them.

Well, at least not with his mother.

Helen's eyebrows raise sky-high as she turns to Beck. "Isn't that moving a little fast?"

"I don't know," Beck says smoothly. "You tell me, Mother. I'm assuming you know how long Sela and I have been dating."

His mom just stares at him, completely unable to answer the question. His dad coughs slightly. It was a very pointed reminder from Beck to his parents that they know nothing about him really.

They clearly get the message, because his dad changes the subject quickly. "How's business going?"

"Very well," Beck says, and uses the opportunity to present the real reason we came tonight. "Actually, I need to talk to you about a business issue in private. Do you have some time right now?"

"Beckett," Helen North chides her husband. "It's a party. You're the host. No business tonight."

But I can tell that Beckett North is not only intrigued by his son wanting to discuss business with him, but he'd rather be anywhere but hosting a party tonight. So I'm not surprised when he leans over, pecks his wife on the cheek, and says, "We won't take long, darling. I'm sure you can manage without me for a few minutes."

She huffs out her displeasure as Mr. North steps past us both. Beck leans over, gives my lips a soft brush, and whispers so only I can hear, "Good luck. I won't be too long."

As I watch them walk out of the music room, I see JT across the room. This isn't a surprise, as Beck told me he'd be here and wanted me to be prepared in case we ran into each other. While Beck has done a fantastic job of being buddy-buddy with JT at work this week, I'm not under the same requirement to play nice with him. In fact, Beck and I discussed how I should deal with JT, and we both felt that I should proceed with quiet distaste. Anything else may make him suspicious.

JT is dressed in an elegant navy suit and standing with a couple that look to be in their mid to late fifties. The woman has a sexually charged gaze fixed on Beck's dad as he walks out of the room with his son.

Interesting. I'd bet my bank account, which, granted, isn't much, that I'm looking at JT's mother right now. JT and the man I'm guessing is his father...well the man who raised him...don't seem to notice where her attention is focused, because they are talking quietly between themselves.

Figuring that I need to make small talk with Beck's mom, I turn her way, only to find her staring at the woman I believe to be JT's mom. Her lips are flattened and her eyes are cold as she watches the other woman staring hungrily

at her husband.

Well, that answers that question. Clearly Beck's mom knows about her husband and JT's mom having an affair.

Very strange and complicated people.

"So, Mrs. North," I say in an attempt to get her attention. "Your house is stunning. Beck was telling me a little bit about the architectural style."

Helen's gaze slides slowly to me and her eyes don't warm at all. Rather than prattle on about her home, which Beck sort of assured me was a good conversation maker, she says, "If you'll excuse me, I have some other guests to attend to. Enjoy your evening."

And just like that, I'm dismissed.

I'm immediately relieved that I don't have to engage further with Beck's mom. My low opinion of her was set when I first saw how Helen and Beckett North failed to celebrate the birth of their son, but it sank to unparalleled depths when Beck told me how they treated Caroline after her rape.

A waiter approaches me with a tray of champagne-filled flutes and I gratefully take one, murmuring, "Thank you." I decide to explore the house a bit while I sip on my drink, thus averting the need to talk with any of these people, because really...what could we possibly have in common?

I walk out of the music room, back into the main hall. I see people descending a gently curved staircase of a dark wood polished to a brilliant sheen. I follow them down and emerge into what looks to be a large game room complete with a poker table that seats ten and two pool tables that are currently in use. An old-fashioned phonograph sits on an intricately carved table with a cubed glass case over the top, telling me that it's worth quite a bit of money. The walls of the cavernous room are done in rich wood paneling with dark parquet underneath and silk rugs scattered under the furniture. Large, deeply cushioned chairs of mocha-colored leather are clustered in groups with small tables in between. It's a man's room for sure, with not a single feminine touch to be seen.

I casually wind my way through the party guests and stand against a wall that is covered in prints of various golf courses, as well as other golf memorabilia. Sipping at my champagne, I focus my attention on two men playing a game of pool and settle in to wait for Beck to finish up with his dad. I have no doubt that as soon as he's done he'll come looking for me and will eventually find me down here.

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