Page 28 of Vow of Revenge
Syrah really didn’t understand my intentions, the idea of living within a budget. I knew poverty, heartbreak and gratitude. Unfortunately, Syrah only knew how to use Cal’s bottomless credit card.
I felt his gaze return to me. “Will you be attending the Gala this year?” Cal sipped his usual McGrath whisky from a crystal tumbler.
“Yes, of course. It’s the only time of the year when I enjoy getting dressed up!” I quipped.
“Who will be accompanying you?”
“Are you asking if I’m bringing a date?”
He peered over the cut glass in his hand. “That’s exactly what I’m asking. Are you?”
My tongue clicked. “Of course not! I’m more than happy to attend as my own person without hanging off the arm of some man.”
His eyes rolled upwards, but I knew he was secretly pleased at my inner strength.
“And you, my dear?” Cal’s attention flipped to Syrah, who was staring at the illuminated screen on her phone.
“Freya snagged me some tickets. I’m thinking about it.” She kept her eyes low, avoiding his gaze in the hope she didn’t give anything away. She was a terrible liar.
Cal leaned forward and set his palm on her knee. “I’m sure Danny will be more than happy to escort you?”
Syrah pushed her spine deeper into the leather seat, sighing heavily. “I’m going to break it off with him. I’m just not that into him anymore.”
“Syrah, you’ve been dating him for over a year. He’s the heir to a fortune and a steadfast reliable man. I was hoping he’d ask you to marry him?” Cal’s tone hardened.
“He’s boring,” she replied sulkily.
“Boring? Real relationships need to be worked at. They aren’t all butterflies and shooting stars.”
“You and Mum have a great relationship. You were made for each other. He’s made for someone who enjoys watching paint dry at a cricket match,” she groaned.
“Your mother and I had to cast our own mould and made it work the best we could. Relationships aren’t easy, Syrah. Have you discussed this with Danny?”
“No. It’s dead in the water. Over. A waste of my time. Now, can we please stop talking about Danny the dull?”
Cal was right – butterflies and shooting stars weren’t real, they were just flutters of the unknown, dampened by familiarity as time creeps on. I didn’t care for the pretence of romance. It was overrated, but what I did enjoy was getting down and dirty with Kaleb last night. I crossed my legs, the memory of his mouth on me still fresh.
Perhaps all I needed was more carefree sex… with more moody broody hot guys? I’m sure I could find a sexy guy to fool around with at the Gala.
“I have to leave promptly today; however, I’ll arrange for another car to take you shopping. I’m guessing you both need new gowns for the Gala?” A subtle smile graced his thin lips, kindness twinkled in his eyes.
“Oh yes! That sounds like a plan.” Syrah beamed. Her solemn gaze swiftly melted at the idea of spending money.
The car rolled to a halt outside Cal’s favourite restaurant, Bonne Chance. We always visited the quirky French bistro when he was in town. My father was a creature of habit. He liked what he liked, and he stuck to it. I’d never had a bad meal and the staff knew us by name, or to be precise, they named us ‘The Beaumont Beauties.’ I hated it. My toes curled with embarrassment every damn time. Cal thought it added to the rustic family charm.
“Monsieur Beaumont. What a pleasure to have you dine with us today.” We were greeted by Maurice, a pristinely dressed gentleman in a grey pinstripe suit and a flare for the dramatic. He clapped his hands multiple times when Syrah and I came into view. I could feel my cheeks heat as he snatched my hand and twirled me under his arm. “Ahhh. Welcome, Beaumont beauty!”
With a flick of his wrist we were escorted to a conservatory at the rear and seated at a round table dressed in fresh cream linen. A hefty glass cube sat dead center, crammed with vivid pink roses reflecting in the polished cutlery and glassware.
Once seated, Cal ordered a whiskey for himself and a bottle of champagne for Syrah and I. He always ordered our family brand but never drank it. He said it made him cranky and lose focus. Being a businessman ball crusher required mental clarity and strength at all times.
Cal’s gaze dropped to my shaking hands. “Where’s your bracelet, Freya?”
His eyes were examining my bare wrist, where my mother’s bracelet used to rest.
“Oh my God!” It was gone. The silver chain had vanished. Suddenly a wave of realisation swamped me. It must have fallen off last night. “It’ll be in the bathroom.” I sucked in my lie and saw Syrah’s eyes bug.
“As long as you know where it is. What’s your latest article about, my dear?”
