The Heiress Club

Chapter 17: Dinner with the Rochesters

Tonight, we have dinner with the Rochesters.

I've worn the wine-red dress. Sparky's in a dapper suit. We're coasting down the street in a borrowed car, the night breeze cool on my face. "Dad," I say, hesitating. "There's something you should know."

"Yeah?"

My mind flashes back to the memory of the trade of questions, of the warmth of the water and the flush it brought to my cheeks. "I traded some information with Jasper. He knows—I told him that I don't know who mom is, and how you met her in China. And he knows that we don't live in Porto Rondo. I told him how we moved from Shanghai to Florence when I was twelve."

Sparky doesn't say anything, but his grip on the steering wheel tightens. Then—

"Okay. Okay. Has he told anyone else?"

I shake my head. It's not that I trust Jasper, but I have the feeling that he's saving the information. For what, I don't know.

"Okay, okay," Sparky says, inhaling deeply. "That's fine. Then you'd better make sure he keeps his mouth shut during the dinner, because I'm telling John and Charlotte all about how Gia Bianchi is having sibling struggles in Porto Rondo."

I nod. Sparky's asking the near-impossible, but then again, he's taught me how to do the impossible.

As we arrive at the restaurant, an open-air fine dining grill, Sparky fixes me with a warning look. "I hope the information you got was worth the information you gave."

I half-smile. Not really, but I did come out one question ahead, thanks to Jasper not watching his mouth. That was kind of worth it.

I look around the tables and then catch sight of Jasper's dad waving at us from a table. My gaze slides over to who sits beside him and my mouth goes dry.

Physical reactions are overrated. Stop doing whatever you're doing, I order my body. It doesn't help. In the low lighting, Jasper could be a prince or a knight, his regal features set in sharp contrast by the flickering candlelight from above. He wears a suit—I've never seen him in a suit. Maybe he should wear one more often. His blue eyes are almost aflame with reflected candlelight.

I will my feet to move. We stride over. I remember to put on a smile, just in time for Charlotte Rochester to introduce herself. She resembles Jasper faintly. I can see something of her in his blue eyes. Her face is beautiful, but I can very barely tell she's had some work done. It would take an expert's eye to notice it—whoever her plastic surgeon is, they're very good at their job. "It's so good to finally meet you!" she says to me, and then turns to Sparky. "You're the one who's been stealing my husband to play golf all this time, aren't you?"

The adults laugh good-naturedly. I manage a laugh too, easing into a natural mask of mild amusement and indifference. That's the most important part. Indifference.

"It's good to meet you, sir," Jasper says, shaking Sparky's hand with a smile. I take vindictive pleasure in the fact that his poker face is worse than mine. It falters for a moment as he turns away from Sparky. He runs his tongue over his teeth, ever-so-subtly. I think that's one of his tells.

Once we're seated, Charlotte leans over the table, her attention fixed on me. "Valentina, was it?"

"Yes," I say, smiling respectfully.

"Well, Valentina," she continues, a mischievous twinkle in her eye, "can you tell me about all the trouble my son gets up to in Arbourne? I have to confess, I'm very curious. He never tells us anything!"

Jasper's eye twitches, ever so slightly. I ignore it. "I can say that he's very well-liked, by nearly everyone, if that counts as trouble," I say. Complimenting someone's children is always a sure way to earn their favour.