Constantine regaled them with stories like a king with his court. Harper couldn’t deny the man was compelling. Marjorie even forgot to give Harper hate-filled glances when he was talking. Unfortunately, Carter didn’t forget about Harper. Instead, when Constantine’s stories alluded to the many women he’d known, Carter whispered comments under his breath that only Harper could hear, comments that had her hands clenching beneath the table. She said nothing in return, refusing to acknowledge his presence, though even if she could have pretended not to hear, his beer-and-garlic scented breath was impossible to ignore.
She glanced at Derrick a few times, hoping for some help, at least an encouraging smile, but Derrick, like Kitty, Keith, and Marjorie, had fallen under Constantine’s spell.
Not Russell and Betts, though. They didn’t interrupt him or try to steer the conversation elsewhere, but they shared the occasional lifted eyebrow or quiet laugh as though witnessing the scene as spectators, not participants.
Jenny barely glanced up from her plate.
Finally, when the serving dishes had been emptied of pasta, when the forks had been put down and Constantine had paused for a breath, Betts stood. “Anybody want a cup of coffee with dessert?”
When nobody but Harper took her up on that offer, Betts said, “Or another drink?”
Russell stood beside his wife, kissed her cheek, and said, “I’ll manage the drinks. You get the pie.”
“Who can possibly eat pie after such a heavy meal?” Marjorie spoke to the table but gave Harper a pointed look.
“I’d love some.” Harper stood and began gathering dinner dishes.
Kitty helped, too. “Maybe if you moved more and drank less, Marjorie, you could eat dessert.”
“Now, Kitty,” Betts said, “I don’t need anybody’s help. Marjorie’s our guest.”
Kitty met Harper’s gaze and rolled her eyes. For the first time since they’d sat for dinner, Harper felt a glimmer of amusement. When she reached for Jenny’s plate, she smiled at her. “Want to join us?”
Jenny’s gaze cut to Constantine. His nod was tiny, nearly imperceptible. Jenny pushed back her chair and took his plate.
They headed for the kitchen and started scraping dishes. Jenny went to the sink and ran the water.
“Oh, honey,” Betts said. “I’ll do the dishes if you’ll just help clear the table.”
Jenny’s pale cheeks reddened just a bit. “I’ll just wash the pots and pans, if you don’t mind.”
Betts regarded her with kind eyes, then snatched her apron off the counter. “Wear this so you don’t get your pretty outfit dirty.”
Jenny slid it on and settled in with sudsy water and a sponge.
Harper returned to the dining room to gather more dirty dishes.
“I can’t imagine why you don’t hire help for these gatherings.” Constantine’s remark was directed at Russell, who was carrying a few bottles of beer to the table. “I’m sure your wife would appreciate it.”
Russell laughed. “You know Betts better than that.” He looked at his wife, who was halfway to the kitchen with an empty platter in each hand. “I offered, believe me.”
“My house, my rules.” She winked at her husband and disappeared around the corner.
Harper snatched the remaining dirty dishes from the table.
“Her house?” Derrick took the offered beer, eyebrows lifted. “Did you give it to her?”
“Not even close, my friend,” Russell said. “Unlike me, Betts came from wealth. This was their family’s beach home when she was growing up. Her parents gave it to her when they relocated to Florida.”
“Russell married up, to say the least.” Constantine’s words seemed laced with indulgence, superiority.
If Russell noticed, he didn’t let on. “I married up in every conceivable way.”
From the kitchen, Betts said, “And don’t you forget it!” Then she rounded the corner and kissed his cheek. “And so did I.” To everyone else, she said, “More water? Constantine, you need some Scotch?”
He nodded, and Russell headed toward the wet bar and poured the drink.
Harper took the remaining dishes to the kitchen. She’d never seen such a strong bond between a married couple as the one Russell and Betts shared. Harper’s parents loved each other, but they’d never been quite so in love.
Though Betts had been focused on everyone at the table, her focus had always, first, been on Russell. And he’d been the same way.
So unlike Derrick, who’d not only not sat beside her but who’d barely looked at her all night. Derrick had been too busy sucking up to Russell and Constantine to pay any attention to her. Did he have any idea how he looked to outsiders? How desperate he seemed?
Desperate.
That was the word, the only word to describe what had changed with him in the previous few weeks. Now that she thought about it, it was crystal clear. It was the reason he’d barely spared her a glance all night, apparently hadn’t even noticed how Carter had come on to her. The realization had her stomach dropping for the second time that evening. Because desperate men couldn’t be trusted.
She’d learned that the hard way.
“Would you see who wants pie?” Betts asked.
“Sure.” Harper pushed her worries about Derrick aside and returned to the dining room.
When everyone who wanted a slice of Bett’s apparently famous cherry pie had some—that was to say, everyone except Marjorie and Jenny, who was still in the kitchen—Harper poured herself a cup of decaf and took her seat. She’d offered to help Jenny, but the girl shooed her away. She seemed in no hurry to return to the dining room.
Carter leaned close and whispered in her ear. “What’s this I hear?”
She’d had it with his whispered remarks. Whatever Derrick’s issue was, it wasn’t her problem. She didn’t have to put up with these comments from Carter or anybody. She turned to face him, let her voice rise. “What did you hear, Carter?”
The chattering at the table stopped. She felt their gazes on her, but she didn’t break eye contact with the jerk.
His face flushed, and his smile got tight at the corners. He glanced at Marjorie, and Harper followed the gaze. The woman was glaring at them both.
Harper didn’t have to put up with that, either. She ignored her.
“What’s this?” Derrick’s eyes narrowed as if he’d just realized what was going on.
“I hear you two are sleeping in separate bedrooms.” Carter said it with a hint of humor and an undertone of spite.
Marjorie said, “Oh, for the love of—”
“What about it?” Derrick’s face flushed, and his gaze flicked to Constantine and back to Carter.
“Just thought it was curious.”
Russell’s hand clamped down on Carter’s shoulder. “Doesn’t seem like that’s any of your business, my friend.” He focused on Marjorie. “Are you two planning anything special for your anniversary? That’s coming up, right?”
“Five glorious years in September.” Her expression said her marriage had been anything but, and Harper’s animosity toward the woman shifted to sympathy. Who could blame her with a husband like Carter? “We were considering Florence.”
“Wonderful choice,” Betts said.
Harper focused on Marjorie. “Have you been there before?”
The woman blinked, focused on her, seemed to forget to scowl. In fact, she looked wistful. “When I was a little girl, my father took me. I’ve always wanted to go back.”
Harper was about to ask a follow-up question when Constantine cleared his throat. “Yes, Florence is lovely, all that art. Have you ever been to Mykonos?” And he launched into stories of Greece, which he called his homeland, though based on his accent, he’d been born and raised in New York.
Finally, dessert was finished, the dishes cleared, and Constantine seemed to run out of stories. He pushed back in his chair and stood. “Let’s play cards, shall we?”