“So spill it, Texas,” she demands once we’re seated and I’ve poured two neat shots. “Something’s on your mind.”
“I’m slipping,” I say. “I used to be able to hide my troubles better.”
“Or maybe it’s putting on a good face that gives you away.”
I consider that, and decide that in addition to everything else, Evelyn is a very wise woman.
“Come on. Tell Auntie Evelyn.”
“Tell you?” I smile. “I seem to recall there was something I wanted you to tell me.”
“Oh, hell,” she says, then tosses back the drink. She slides the glass back toward me and I top it off again. “I was just running my mouth off. Don’t listen to me.”
“I do listen,” I say. “And I don’t believe you. What’s going on that I don’t know about?”
The corners of her mouth turn down and she shakes her head in exasperation. “I just hate it when I see a shitstorm coming and know there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.”
“Carl?”
She bats the name away. “Carl can go piss up a rope. No, Damien’s managed to keep his business private for almost two decades. But that’s about to end, and I’m not sure if he even realizes it.”
“Not much gets past Damien,” I say, both because it’s true and because I’m loyal. “But what on earth are you talking about? He’s already done damage control on the Padgett scandal,” I say, referring to recent attempts by a disgruntled businessman named Eric Padgett to implicate Damien in the death of his sister. Damien, thankfully, stopped that rumor cold. “So what else is—” I sit back, suddenly realizing the truth. “The tennis center.”
Evelyn’s head cocks warily. “What has he told you?”
“Pretty much what he told the press. That Richter is an asshole and he’s not going to the dedication ceremony. He didn’t tell me why,” I add, watching Evelyn’s face. “But I have my suspicions.”
Evelyn’s brows lift almost imperceptibly. “Have you told Damien what you believe?”
“Yes.” I shrug. “But he hasn’t told me if I’m right.” I watch Evelyn’s expression closely as I speak. I know that she represented Damien back in those days, before and after Richter’s death. If anyone knows whether Richter abused Damien as a child, it’s Evelyn.
Her face remains passively blank. “But he hasn’t told you you’re wrong, has he?” She doesn’t wait for an answer, but she meets my eyes straight on. “He really has fallen for you, Texas, and I couldn’t be happier. For both of you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that boy looking so good. But goddammit, I wish he’d just show his face at that damn dedication. And I could kick the boy in the nuts for that stunt he pulled last night. He deserves better than to have the press all over his ass like a piranha with a hard-on.”
“Is it really such a big a deal?” I don’t understand why both Evelyn and Damien’s father think that Damien’s statement was such a horrible idea. “Maybe it wasn’t the best move to share with the world that he doesn’t like Richter, but all he’s doing is not showing up to an event. The way he’s being hounded, you’d think he turned down an invitation from the Queen and then insulted her.”
“All I’m saying is that sometimes you have to play the game to avoid a shitstorm,” Evelyn says. “And now I’m afraid the storm will hit dead-on.”
I am completely clueless. “What shitstorm?”
“You ask Damien,” Evelyn says. “As for me, I hope I’m wrong. But I bet I’m right.”
I almost say that I will talk to him again and try to convince him to recant the statement and go to the ceremony. But it’s not true. I would never ask him to do that, and I would never expect him to change his mind. Richter’s memory doesn’t deserve even the tiniest bit of support from Damien, and if a world of shit falls down on Damien’s head, I’ll stand at his side and help him fight it.
“But that’s not what’s been on your mind,” Evelyn says after polishing off the rest of her drink. “Come on, Texas. I’ve been watching you and Damien all night—and most of the time I haven’t been watching you together.”
I conjure a practiced smile, but I know that it must look as false as it feels. “As far as the cocktail party is concerned, I’m simply a guest. Damien and Giselle are doing the host and hostess thing.”
“Uh-huh.” She leans back in her chair, then pushes her whiskey glass toward me with the tip of a finger. I fill it once again. I almost top off my own, too, but considering the way Evelyn is looking at me, I think I need a clear head.
Evelyn ignores the glass, but leans forward on her elbows and peers at my face until I start to feel uncomfortable.
“What?” I finally demand.
“Not a thing,” she says. “Just that I could’ve sworn your eyes were blue. Not green.”
I sag a little. “I’m a bit discombobulated where Giselle is concerned,” I admit. “She’s coming at me from all sides lately, and it’s messing with my head.” I am amazed that these words come so easily. I am much more comfortable living behind my mask, and with the exception of Damien and Jamie and Ollie, that is where I usually stay. With Evelyn, however, it’s far too easy to talk, and I find myself revealing things that I would normally keep locked up. I suppose that should make me uncomfortable around her, afraid that one day she will see too much. But it doesn’t, and I am glad.
“Damien didn’t tell me he was helping Giselle bring the paintings back,” I say. “And I know that’s no reason to be jealous. But—”
“But now she’s at his side instead of you?”
“Maybe. But that’s not really fair of me since I’d be at his side if I hadn’t gotten mad and stormed away. Damien’s giving me space.”
“Ah, a lover’s quarrel. That’s okay, Texas. The drama always increases in the second act. What dastardly deed did he do to bruise your heart?”
Her words resonate, because that is exactly what he’s done—bruised my heart. “He told Giselle it’s me in the painting.” The words sound as heavy as they feel. “And she told Bruce.”
“I see.”
Something in Evelyn’s tone makes me take notice. “What? Do you think I should just get over it? I’ve been telling myself it’s not that big a deal, and maybe it isn’t. But Damien—”