“I’ll take your coats, and your parents are in the music room the last I saw them,” Percy says in what I now recognize as a faint British accent. Shit, they must have imported their butler for maximum effect. “They’ve been awaiting your arrival.”

“We’ll head there now,” Beck says as we both slip our coats off and hand them over. Beck then takes me by the elbow and starts to lead me past Percy. But then he cranes his head and says to the butler, “Oh, and Percy? You’ve got a stain on your shirt there. Mother will have a cow if she sees it.”

Beck points a finger at Percy’s chest and then chuckles when Percy’s head snaps downward to look at the offending stain. Of course, his shirt is pristine white, and once he realizes this, his gaze swings up and narrows at Beck.

Beck merely laughs and says, “Gotcha.”

I can’t help the tiny giggle that pops out as I watch Percy’s lips tip up in amusement even as he tries to glare Beck down. I give the older man a tiny wave goodbye and he gives me a warm smile.

We weave in and out of guests, all dressed in expensive finery and jewels, holding crystal flutes of champagne or delicate china plates with ridiculous-looking hors d’oeuvres the size of a postage stamp. Everywhere I look, fresh greenery is draped, and I swear there’s a Christmas tree in every room.

Beck nods to some people with smiles but doesn’t stop to talk. I know he’s on a mission to get this party over and behind us as quickly as possible.

Which makes me wonder out loud, “Why do you even bother to come to this party, Beck? I mean…you don’t want to be here, don’t like your parents very much. Why suffer?”

“Well,” he says in a low voice as he inclines his head toward me, but still keeping his gaze forward while we walk to the music room. “First, it’s always good to keep your foot in the door somewhat. My father has solid business contacts and I don’t want to burn that bridge, but mainly it’s to keep them off Caroline’s back. They can’t stand to have an estranged daughter and how it must look to their friends and peers. So it pacifies them for me to at least step up to the plate and attend a few functions each year. The next will be my father’s birthday party.”

“If they want to make amends with Caroline, why don’t they just do so? End the estrangement?”

Beck laughs sarcastically and squeezes my elbow. “Because, my dear Sela, that would require my parents to apologize for their terrible behavior toward Caroline and Ally, and they would never lower themselves to do so. They just expect her to get over her snit and start acting like a real daughter again.”

“I know I’ve said it before, but I don’t like your parents,” I mutter.

“The thing that bothers me the most is that they don’t seem to care about their granddaughter. She’s like this dirty little secret or something,” Beck says on a growl, his hand tightening on my elbow reflexively.

Before I can respond, we approach a room with a wide entrance and glass French doors open to either side. I can see why it’s the music room, because it’s got a large black piano in one corner that I’m guessing cost a mint. It’s sparsely furnished with only a couch and two chairs, both done in black leather and sleek contemporary design. The rest of the room is open and clearly designed for parties in mind with plenty of room for people to mingle. But the real focal point is a massive, charcoal-gray marble fireplace that looks like it could hold a football team. A roaring fire is dancing inside, but doesn’t seem to be throwing off oppressive heat, so I’m guessing it’s flued in such a way to be more for show than anything else.

I can tell the minute Beck locates his parents, because he stands a bit straighter and his hand slips from my elbow to my hand, which he squeezes reflexively. I squeeze back and then we’re headed across the room toward a man I easily identify as Beck’s father. They share the same dark brown hair, although his dad’s is going gray throughout, and brilliant blue eyes. Same facial features, strong jawline. He’s his dad through and through. I don’t see any resemblance to the tall, elegant blond woman next to him who wears her hair in a sleek bob that comes just a few inches above her shoulders.

As we approach, Beck’s mom sees him first and lightly touches her hand to her husband’s arm to get his attention. He stops in midsentence, as he was talking to another older couple, and looks down at his wife, then follows her gaze our way. I don’t miss that both of them look first to Beck, then drop down to where our hands are clasped, and then over to me in wary interest.

“Beck,” his mother says in a light, airy tone of welcome. “So glad you could make it tonight.”

Stepping up to his mother, he gives her a light kiss on her cheek. “Mother…looking beautiful as ever.”

His mother preens with the compliment.

Beck turns to his father and merely nods at him. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Beck,” he says in a deep voice, and I’m betting that these two have never hugged in their life.

“And whom have you brought to the party?” his mom asks as she turns her gaze to me in polite interest with a plastic smile on her face.

“This is Sela Halstead,” Beck says as he releases my hand and once again wraps his arm around my waist. “My girlfriend. Sela…my parents…Helen and Beckett North.”

I smile, reach my hand out to his mother, and say, “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mrs. North.”

She takes my hand and gives is a soft shake, still keeping her own smile in place. As soon as she releases it, I offer my hand to Mr. North. His grip is firmer, a complete businessman to the core.

“Mr. North,” I say in greeting.

“Well, welcome Sela,” Beck’s father says before he releases my hand, only to have his mom pounce immediately.

“And where are you from Sela?” Helen North asks me with her chin lifted a little.

“Belle Haven.” And I swear, her nose actually wrinkles up a bit. “But I’m working on my master’s at Golden Gate University and have an apartment in Oakland.”

“She actually lives with me now,” Beck says, and I have to wonder why he feels he must antagonize his mother. Even I, who just met his parents not thirty seconds ago, could tell this would not go over well with them.

Well, at least not with his mother.