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“You know me, show me a bridge—”
“And I’ll hold her hand while we jump,” I interject, then hold out my hand. “Tommy Hillcrest. How the hell are you?” He grips onto my palm with his, and I squeeze with every muscle surfing and Poseidon gave me. Harold pulls his hand away and shakes it a few times with a wince. “Well, yes. Nice to meet you. Tilly, I’m glad you’re here, Tia will be thrilled.”
She barely gives him a second look as her eyes find mine. “Yes, well that’s why I’m here, right?”
“Indeed,” Harold grumbles. “I better get to it then. Nice to meet you, Timmy.” I don’t bother correcting him. Instead, I sort of wave him off and thankfully he takes the hint to walk away.
“Good God that was hot!” Miranda says excitedly in a whisper. “Fuck, can I borrow him for the next board meeting? There are like five guys that like to treat my ass like their personal bongo.”
I chuckle. “Happy to help. Was that really your uncle?”
Tilly sips her drink before answering with a flip of her hand. “Oh, who the fuck knows? I think he’s just an old friend of my dad’s. Doesn’t matter, he’s an asshole.” At that word, Miranda clinks her wineglass to Tilly’s and they share a smile. Hmm, seems like I did the right thing by coming along. My chest puffs out a bit at the thought and we continue our walk around the room.
It was only a few steps before the next person does the same thing. A woman in her mid-thirties with the same silky black hair as Tilly. “Aunt Jemma, nice to see you.”
“Yes, Matilda, wonderful you came. Tia is going to be thrilled.”
When it happens a third time, I shake my head. “They all adore you.”
“It’s all fake, Tommy. They just don’t want Tia pissed off.”
“Yeah, who is Tia? People talk about her like she’s some sort of God.”
Tilly rolls her eyes. “Yeah, tell me about it. She’s my aunt and you will not be meeting her.”
We make our way through the crowd to the bar and each order some drinks. But when I ask for a beer, Miranda shakes her head then interjects. “He’ll have a seven and seven.”
Tilly whispers in my ear before I can complain. “Beer is nitwit juice. She’s looking out for you. Undoubtedly, everyone is already gossiping about you being here.”
“Really? They all seem so nice.”
She’s picking up her drink, an irritated look crossing her face. “It’s all a fucking lie, Tommy. Think of this room as a political rally. It’s all ass-kissing and fake smiles. Hell, it’s a good thing no one except Grayson has any kids or everyone would be lining up to kiss them just to get a photo op for the company newsletter.”
Miranda purses her lips. “Ignore her. She’s just allergic to sugar-coating. Everyone is genuinely happy to see you, Matilda. Especially looking so… infatuated. She’s usually a surly mess at these things.”
Tilly scowls at her sister. “They just like the open bar.”
I barely hear her because I’m still stuck on what Miranda said. Tilly’s infatuated? I straighten my back, unable to contain the pride at Miranda’s words. Taking a quick look at Tilly, I do see what Miranda is getting at. A healthy glow seems to be radiating from Tilly, her smile as she looks my way only brightening her face even more. Yep. Smitten. And Miranda is clearly blaming it on me.
I snake my arm back around her waist and take a sip of the drink. She looks up at me and I squeeze her hip, lowering my voice to say, “You do look happy, Til.”
She glances out at the people all around us, before meeting my eyes again. “I’m not saying I’m glad you’re here. But facing them… it is easier with you around.”
My grin stretches from ear to ear. “I’ll go wherever you want, Til. No questions asked.” She looks ready to laugh the suggestion off, but I’m not about to let her joke this away. I put a finger under her chin and tilt her face to mine. “Tilly, I mean it. If you need me, I’m there.”
Her eyes shine as they fill with moisture. “What if I always need you, Tommy?”
I let go of her chin, snuggling both arms around her waist, my drink sloshing a bit as I press us closer together. “Then I won’t ever leave you.” I say it like it’s a predetermined thing, like it’s the easiest promise to make. Because it is. Her eyes dart between mine, as if trying to figure out if I mean it. I know the exact moment it hits her that I’m serious because her face lights up like it’s Christmas morning.
We stay that way, just staring into each other’s eyes like lovesick fools until a voice calls, “Matilda?”
We both turn around. An old graying man stands before us, looking weary. Bags under his dark eyes and his beard a little unkempt.
“Papa!” Tilly springs forward and hugs him. She’s laughing as they embrace, rocking side to side.
But the man, Papa, doesn’t seem nearly as thrilled. “What’re you doing here, Matilda? I thought…” he shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have come.”
Miranda leans forward and kisses Papa’s cheek. “I asked her to, Papa. Tia insisted.”
