“I’m not your son,” Ryan said coldly. He slowly rose to his feet. His hands were icy with rage, and he pressed them to his sides, resisting the urge to take his fists and pummel the other man’s jaw. “I think we’re done here.”
As if on cue, a soft knock sounded on the door.
“Come in,” Gregory barked.
Magdalena the maid appeared in the doorway. “Mr. Holmes, the Worthingtons have arrived, along with Mr. Kildaire and his guest.”
“Make sure everyone is seated correctly,” Gregory said briskly. “And send young Mr. Worthington in here, please.” He glanced at Ryan. “Mr. Evans was just leaving. Take him to the dining room.”
Ryan shot Annabelle’s dad an overly bright smile. “Great chat, sir. Thanks so much for inviting me to dinner.” He made for the door. “Oh, and happy anniversary, by the way.”
The moment he was out of the study, Ryan discreetly released the breath he’d been holding, forcing his body to relax. Yet a gust of rage continued blowing inside him. The f**king nerve of that man. Did Annabelle know what a bastard her father was? Should he tell her?
Trying to steady his breathing, he trailed after the maid. The sound of voices drifted from the dining room, and he heard Annabelle laugh, not quite genuine but still melodic. He slowly unclenched his fists and tried to paste on a smile. He had to get through this dinner. He had to do it for her.
“Did Dad give you a hard time?” Annabelle asked quietly when he approached her.
“No, just the usual ‘what-are-your-intentions’ chat,” he said in a light tone.
She slipped her hand into his, gently stroking his fingers. “I’m sorry.”
So was he. He wished he could tell her what her father had just tried to do, but now was neither the time nor the place. The dining room was as enormous as every other room in the house, boasting a table that could easily seat fifty. Tonight it was a small party, only the Holmeses, the Worthingtons, who looked like complete pricks, and Joe Kildaire, a wealthy investment something-or-other whose date looked like she’d had at least thirty-five plastic surgeries.
Fuck, what was he doing here?
He snuck a sidelong glance at Annabelle, admiring her gorgeous profile, but not even the sight of her could dim his panic. He looked around the room, from the gleaming crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling to the perfectly set table with an endless amount of silverware and wine glasses.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out he didn’t belong here.
And he never would.
Chapter Seven
Ryan looked miserable. Annabelle felt terrible as she watched him pick at the filet mignon on his plate, his dark head bent slightly. He’d barely said a word since his talk with her dad, and she could tell he felt like an outsider as the guests chatted with her parents at the dinner table. He’d only raised his head a few times since sitting down, each time to send a scowl in Bryce’s direction.
Annabelle wanted to scowl too. Bryce had strolled into the dining room with her father, pulling her into his arms for a warm hug as if nothing had happened between them. She had to admit, he did look good in his pin-striped black suit, with his blond hair perfectly cut. His chiseled features focused on her every few seconds, and he kept shooting her endearing little smiles. She had no idea what he was up to, but she didn’t like it, whatever it was.
“So, are you enjoying your vacation, Annabelle?” Bryce asked pleasantly, lifting his wine glass to his lips and taking a long sip.
“Yes, San Diego is beautiful,” she replied in a polite voice.
“Not as beautiful as you look tonight, I’m sure,” he teased.
She noticed her parents exchange a pleased look. She stifled a sigh. Why was Bryce acting like Mr. Charming all of a sudden? He’d dumped her, for Pete’s sake.
The dinner dragged on. Bryce continued to flirt with her, Ryan continued to sulk, and Annabelle’s parents chatted with the Worthingtons and Kildaires as if nothing was out of sorts. By the time the small catering staff Sandra Holmes had hired cleared the dinner plates and brought dessert out, Annabelle was ready to tear her hair out. She tried to draw Ryan out of his shell, but he barely paid any attention to her.
His blue eyes became instantly alert, though, when Bryce suddenly cleared his throat and stood up. “All right, I think it’s time to put an end to all the tension,” he said cheerfully, holding the stem of his wine glass.
The adults at the table looked intrigued.
“Sandra, Greg, I know you were both upset to hear that Annabelle and I broke up,” he said to her parents, “but I want you both to know that Annabelle and I have seen the error of our ways.”
Huh?
Beaming, Bryce went on. “I’m happy to announce that the wedding is back on.”
As Annabelle’s mother clapped her hands together in delight, Bryce walked around the table to where Annabelle was sitting and reached for her hand. A sick feeling rose up her chest, settling into a lump in the back of her throat. What the hell was he doing?
“Stand up, sweetheart,” Bryce urged. “Let’s toast to our happiness.”
“What? No, Bryce, this is not—”
Without letting her finish, he took her arm and pretty much forced her to her feet. Annabelle’s gaze sought out Ryan’s, but he refused to meet her eyes. His broad shoulders were as stiff as a board and she noticed a muscle in his jaw twitching. Oh God. This was a disaster.
She opened her mouth to object again, but Bryce broke out in a long, bullshit toast about happiness and marriage, and everyone at the table raised their glasses, clinking them together in celebration. Annabelle had never seen her parents look happier, and she could have sworn she saw a flicker of satisfaction in her father’s eyes, as if he had known this was coming. Bryce’s parents got up and hugged her, expressing their joy that the two “children” were still getting married.