Page 124 of Nine-Tenths

Simcoe smiles meanly. "If you'd been raised in a coterie, as proper Favorites are, it would have been part of your upbringing."

Oh. Okay. That's the game we’re playing? Fine.

"Laura’s doing okay." I gesture at where she and Dav are swoosh-hopping back and forth. "Wasn’t she born in American New England before it was annexed? No fancy education there, I bet."

"I make her practice," Simcoe sneers. "She's come a long way from the colonial boor who first attended our parties."

"Aren't you colonial, too?"

"I was born in England." The scales around his hairline encroach a little more on his flesh.

Ha.

Score one for me.

Simcoe relieves a passing waiter of two frail glasses of sparkling wine, and presses one at me. I hold it still when he chimes his flute off mine, and take a sip because he'swatching.

"What do you think?" he asks.

"It's fine."

"It'sFrench," he corrects.

Snob.

"Niagara produces sparkling wines just as good as the Champagne region," I defend.

"Ah yes," he simpers. "I had forgotten Alva had captured himself a pet winemaker."

"Biodiverse viniculturist," I correct. "Two different jobs. Though I don't expect you to know that. I don't imagine you spend a lot of time mucking in with your hoard."

Simcoe sniffs. "Certainly not."

Fuckingsnob.

"I couldn't help but notice the front door," I venture. "Your father was very accomplished."

Simcoe's knuckles whiten on the stem of the flute. "He was. It is a shame illness took him so soon. As I believe your father was also taken?"

Grief stabs at my heart, and I gulp the wine. That was low. Well, what did I expect? I was the one to bring up dead dads first. I deserved that.

I'm about to offer another volley, try to get my own back, when Laura whoops with laughter. Dav’s facing the wrong direction in the line of dancers. Laura tugs him playfully to catch up. It's sweet. I like seeing Dav with someone he's comfortable with. Those almost-dimples are on full display as he laughs at himself.

A plume of smoke escapes the corner of Simcoe’s mouth.

He's jealous, I realize.He's seeing the exact same thing I am, yet he totally thinks that Laura's, what, cheating on him?I don't see it.How insecure is this prick? Whipping Dav for making people happy, curating a night so fancy that half his guests look hella uncomfortable, bragging about the wine to someone he barely tolerates, and now this.

"They look like they're goodfriends," I say, trying to diffuse the rage radiating off Simcoe.

"Indeed," he snarls.

"If you and Dav are such good old chums and all, you can probably trust him to—" I bite my tongue when Simcoe swings around to blaze a glare at me. "Sorry. Guess it's not my place to comment."

"And you would do well to remember it," Simcoe snarls. "You, Mr. Levesque, have a great deal to learn about the expectations of our society. If Alva fails in his duty to bring you to heel, do not doubt for a moment that I willgladlystep in."

Holyfuck, is that a threat?

I think it's a threat.