Page 83 of The Price of Scandal

The first course arrived and was ignored by everyone.

“Why can’t she do both?” Mom demanded, accepting the refilled shot glass that Derek slid in her direction. “Weigh in here, dear.” She elbowed my father in the gut. He dropped his phone on the table and tucked his reading glasses back in his pocket.

“What are we talking about?” he grumbled.

“The new pediatric ICU wing,” Derek said.

“Your daughter getting married and starting a family,” Mom insisted with an inelegant snort. She was used to Dad not listening to her.

“Why the hell would she do that?” he harrumphed. “She’s got billions on the line, and you want her to what? Start internet dating?”

The barely touched salads were cleared efficiently and replaced with bowls of clear broth.

“Exactly,” Bethenny said, grinning at me. “Emily has more important things to do.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mom tittered. “What’s more important than love?”

By love, my mother meant financial security. And by financial security, she meant a man with money. It didn’t matter that I had my own. In Venice Stanton’s mind, a woman was one step away from destitution without a husband with a club membership and deep pockets.

Derek pushed more tequila shots at the dean and Mrs. Winters with a charming smile.Just ignore the drunken elephant at the table, it seemed to say.

“So, sis,” Trey began, “How many ounces did you have on you when you got busted?”

My brother had never matured much past fourth grade. And while I admittedly could still enjoy a well-timed fart joke, I had long ago learned the art of not throwing temper tantrums.

I’d told him no, and he was pushing back, completely unconscious of the fact that he was reinforcing my decision.

“Whoa, bro,” Theolonia said, her heavy fake lashes fluttering. “Why are you hashtag hating?”

“Excuse me, Pedialyte,” my father rumbled in her direction. “What the hell did you just say to your sister?” he asked my brother.

My father had no mob connections. I’d checked, hiring a PI when I was a teenager. But he still gave off that scary vibe, and I took the smallest bit of pleasure watching my brother shrivel miserably under his glare.

“Nothing, Dad,” he mumbled. He reached for the tequila.

“You’re damn right nothing. You haven’t earned the right to insult anybody. You’re a fucking sponge, my boy. So until you go out and earn a damn dollar the old-fashioned way, I don’t want to hear you snivel a single word about your sister.”

“Hashtag harsh,” Theolonia said, stroking a hand through her hair.

“Are those extensions?” Mom asked her.

Theolonia blew a bubble and nodded, staring down at her phone.

“When are you going to grow the hell up?” Dad leaned in aggressively. “When are you going to make something out of yourself?”

“He’s just a boy!” My mother argued. “He doesn’t need to rush into a job… or a relationship.” She gave Theolonia a pointed look.

“He’s thirty-three fucking years old, Venice!” my father announced loud enough for the hard of hearing.

The soups vanished, and in their places appeared small plates of chicken and greens. Bethenny and Ed commented loudly about how perfectly wilted the endive was.

The room lighting cast a purple glow, making everyone look a little ill, a little alien.

“Just so you know,” Derek said, his lips brushing my ear. “I’ll now require a burger in addition to that milkshake.”

27

Derek