Page 49 of Ella Gets the D
The smile I’ve been holding stumbles when his becomes a scowl. He draws a breath and releases it. “I went to JoJo’s alone, and I came home alone.”
A nervous laugh trips through my lips. “Forget I said anything. It’s none of my business what you do. Or who.”
Tension flares in his voice. “Michelle and her cousin happened to be waiting for a table. I had one, so they joined me.” He sighs and shakes his head. “The next time my sister runs her mouth, come to me first. If you had, you’d know I went to see a band I like and eat lamb chops. I don’t date, but since I can’t breathe in this town without it tying me to a new girlfriend or my latest fuck, think what you want.”
He leaves me on the dance floor, wishing I could take back the hurt I caused so we could sway in the breeze.
Chapter 20
Julian
The path to my exit is a maze of DC elite dressed in their summer finest. Politicians, CEOs, and other trust fund kids vying for more attention. I lower my head and weave through a swarm of back pats and lunch requests before my feet hit the steps to the porch.
Our house is off-limits to prying eyes and explorers desperate to shuffle around our private space. Only the few Claire Brooke deems worthy get an invitation to the in-house affairs she hosts, which are the talk of women’s leagues across the DMV. The guest house is a different story. It’s a place to escape humidity, where social climbers document your attendance. Most are in there now, sipping premium drinks and discussing business on imported furniture.
My fingers pound the passcode into the silver keypad. The first two attempts fail. I rub the back of my neck and force a hard smile at the person walking on the path behind me. Losing my shit in front of company would be a PR disaster my family can’t afford. It doesn’t matter that I’m in the backyard of my childhood home. I’d laugh if it wasn’t so pathetic.
It took hours to fulfill my Brooke duties. I endured enough small talk and handshakes to last an eternity, and, to no one’s surprise, questions about who I’m seeing were the hot topic of the night.
Did you reconcile with Camila? Is she the reason you came back?
When will you settle down?
Forget the deals I closed for the company, or my serving as an in-house translator on more than one occasion. That’s not newsworthy. What is, however, is the player people assume I am, which brings celebrity status or shame to the Brooke name, depending on who you ask. I might not have paparazzi chasing me around, but the way I live in the heads of bloggers and the gossip-hungry is attention I never asked for.
Between elevator pitches and glances was a proposition or two to see my bedroom instead of the boardroom. One woman brought her niece to meet me who became a second shadow. I don’t want to judge that family, but who parades around a twenty-two-year-old with emphasis on her “fertile” and “teachable” qualities? I mean, what the fuck?
Laura, the shy grad student, sat in the chair behind me for a good half-hour. She wouldn’t answer any of my questions, except the one about wanting to be here. Her distant stare was enough for me to call a car to pick her up and take her back to the robotics lab. She didn’t need to stick around, let alone have her aunt play matchmaker.
I’m an OG of well-intentioned ambushes. The level of gymnastics I perform to let people down gently and not disappoint my mother when I refuse a date with her friend’s daughter makes Simone Biles look like an amateur.
My patience set with the sun. Was it too much to ask to go one night without a probe into my love life? Is that why I jumped at the chance to dance with Ella?
The truth is, I waited all day to spend time with her, and I sought her out the second I was free. The pull toward her is off the charts. She’s always in my line of sight, so I can catch the height of her giggles or the edges of her smile.
Holding Ella felt like home. A place without judgment, obligation, or expectation. The soft curves pressed to my body rivaled the warmth of the summer day spread over my skin. Her blue and white dress swayed with her hips, daring for me to bow in worship. With the outdoor lights illuminating our steps, the urge to kiss her was too heavy to ignore.
Until she uttered an accusation folded in yet another question about whose legs I’ve been between.
I open the door when the keypad blinks green and find the cohost of the evening holding a glass of wine in the kitchen.
“Need a break?” The sarcasm in my voice hints at the running joke in our family. My mother keeps a tight ship to preserve every achievement she and my father amassed for this family. Pride flows through her veins, along with the desire to obtain the impossible and tower over adversaries with a gleam in her eye.
The same woman who commands the attention of every room she enters without raising her voice found hers learning the English language after she and her grandmother moved from Haiti.
She examines me with a raised chin and a practiced smile that will never stretch into a grin. “Est-ce que tu t’amuses?”
“Mwen byen.”
A brow raises when I respond in her native tongue. English and French were the primary languages spoken in this house. The latter was to prepare us for the competitive private schools we attended and the world of international law. My mother stopped speaking the Creole she shared with Gran Grann who raised her and lived with us until she died. She’snever mentioned why, but my guess is my mother misses her grandmother. We all do.
The tips of her manicured nails skim her intricate updo, trying to find a hair out of place, one we both know isn’t there. “Are you leaving?”
I nod and walk around the white marble island, where she stands with perfect posture in a black gown more appropriate for a gala than a backyard barbecue. I learned from my father early on not to question her or Morgan’s fashions.
Dark eyes examine the bitter smile engraved in my expression, a mask she knows and wears well herself. Her high-arched brows lower. “Tell me.”
“It’s nothing.”
