Page 117 of The Worst Best Man

“Appearances.”

“Of course.”

“Dad, Jacqueline,” Aiden greeted them. He offered a hug for his father and a stately kiss on the cheek to his stepmother. “This is Franchesca or Frankie if you prefer.”

“Frankie?” Jacqueline eyed her like a wad of chewing gum someone spit on the sidewalk. “Isn’t that… cute?” Her tone made it clear she found it anything but cute.

Frankie ignored the dig. It was hard to take offense to a woman who had been traded in on a younger, hipper model.

Frankie offered her hand to Ferris. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“I’ve heard my son has been smiling for weeks now,” Ferris said amicably. “I assume we have you to thank for that.” Instead of shaking her hand, he lifted her knuckles to his lips.

Oh. Okay, so this is the 1800s.

“I’m sure there are other factors at play,” Frankie guessed.

Aiden slid his arm around her waist. “Not at all. Ah, and this lovely woman is my mother,” he said, offering Frankie up to a lovely brunette in hunter green.

“Cecily, Franchesca. Franchesca, Cecily.”

Cecily was a stunning woman in her early sixties. Her face had yet to show signs of an intervention by scalpel. She was tall, regal, and lovely.

“Franchesca. I’ve heard so much about you. May I call you Frankie?”

If Jacqueline was the frosty Arctic air, Cecily was a Bahama breeze.

Frankie accepted the woman’s hand and shook it.

“And I believe you already know my half-brother,” Aiden said.

Frankie could hear the tension in Aiden’s voice and slid her hand up under his jacket. She wouldn’t be breaking any noses this evening and embarrassing him. At least not without provocation.

Elliot sauntered into the group, hands in his pockets and an insolent expression on his face.

“Franchesca,” he said, running a finger down the bridge of his ever so slightly crooked nose. “So nice to see you again.”

“Hey, Elliot. How’s the nose?”

She felt Aiden stiffen next to her, but then he covered his laugh with a cough.

“He broke it playing polo,” Jacqueline announced firmly. Either she was an idiot or an idiot in denial.

Frankie wasn’t sure who started it, but soon the Kilbourns were all laughing. Not the genuine belly laugh that was contagious around her parents’ dinner table but the stifled, embarrassed “I know something you don’t know” chuckle she imagined was probably common on this side of the East River.

The Kilbourns were a remarkably civilized lot for people who had done so much damage to each other. It seemed as though everyone knew their particular role and was secure in it.

“And you thought my family was weird,” she whispered in Aiden’s ear.

“Why don’t we find our way to the silent auction?” Ferris said jovially, offering an arm to both his ex-wife and his soon-to-be ex-wife.

Chapter Forty-Five

Franchesca let Mr. Fast Feet drag her on another lap of the dance floor. The man was in his early thirties and very energetic. He also had an ulterior motive. If he said, “I think Aiden would really be interested in hearing about this investment opportunity,” one more time, she was going to stomp on his fast feet and go find some tequila.

“You know, I just can’t help but think Aiden would—”

Frankie brought the dance to a halt. “Yeah, you’re not being even remotely subtle. You want to talk to Aiden about something to invest his gazillions in, go to him. Don’t go through me.”