Reunion Beach Elin Hilderbrand (best selling autobiographies .TXT) 📖

hands up like Moses on the mountain, Steve gathers us around for a final pep talk. It’s a family dinner, he says, not red carpet night at the Oscars. No posing and posturing; just relax and enjoy a great meal with our dearly beloved. “And for God’s sake,” he bellows, “make a big deal over the food. Some of you eat like little birds but not tonight. Tonight, you’re ravenous wolves!”

* * *

I’m seated at one end of the table with Bram at the other, so we have to face each other the entire time. As hard as I’ve tried to hide my distress, I can tell that he’s picked up on it. I catch him eyeing me in concern, his eyes troubled. Just get through this, I tell myself. As I’d feared, Nellie Bee was furious to find Jocasta in the guest room I’d promised them. Thankfully, she blamed Jocasta instead of me, assuming she’d invited herself and I’d allowed it rather than cause a ruckus. Having Nellie Bee turn on me now would’ve been more than I could take. But she, too, has picked up on the pain beneath my fake smiles. Just nervous, I told her when she demanded to know what the hell was wrong with me. I could tell she didn’t buy it. Like her brother, she watches me warily.

Steve’s noted the animosity between Bram’s ex-wife and his sister and wisely placed poor Charlie between them again. Across from them, Michael’s seated next to me with Missy closer to Bram. In stark contrast to me and Nellie Bee, Missy and Jocasta are dressed to the hilt. Wanting color, Steve had insisted on approving our outfits, even Bram and Charlie’s shirts. I chose a simple linen top of sage-green with cropped pants, and Nellie Bee a similar outfit in bright blue. Missy’s stylish dress is patterned with sunflowers, but Jocasta steals the show in a stunning coral sheath with a plunging neckline. Despite my despondency, I hide a smile every time Charlie peers over his glasses to steal a glance at his dinner partner’s décolletage.

Once the first course is on the table, Steve gives the go-ahead and the filming begins. We’ve been warned not to look at the cameras or the high-reaching lights around the table, which are hot and blinding. Bram begins with a blessing, asking us to join hands as he offers thanks. Jocasta’s on one side of me and Michael the other; I give Michael’s hand a squeeze but barely touch his mother’s cool, slender fingers, yanking my own away as soon as the amens are said. She throws me a knowing smirk.

Bram introduces the crab bisque by describing how he dropped a crab trap into a nearby deep-water creek to gather the crab. Everyone oohs and ahhs while we try to muffle our slurps. The sous chef removes our bowls and serves shrimp salad as the next course. For the benefit of the unseen audience, Bram explains how to cast a shrimp net, even getting to his feet to demonstrate the dance-like motions. I try not to glance his way but can’t help myself; his showmanship draws me in as it did the first time we met. And why had I insisted he wear the dark-green shirt that makes his eyes like emeralds? As he takes his seat, he gives me a smile, but I quickly look down.

The presentation and discussion of each of the courses carries us through the meal. As our main dish of grilled flounder served with tomato gratin is brought out, Bram goes around to pour the special wine he’s selected to complement it, a lovely Sancerre. We’ve had a different wine with each course, and I’ve already had way more than I usually drink with dinner. Not to mention the cocktails we’d had beforehand. To calm our nerves, all of us are drinking a lot. Everyone keeps gulping it down and holding up their glasses for more.

When Bram gets to my chair, he lays his hand on my shoulder and leans in close to pour the wine. “It’s not nerves that’s bothering you, is it?” he says quietly. It’s that deadly beautiful voice of his that gets me, and I swallow painfully. “Christina?” he says. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear it was genuine concern. Afraid the cameras might catch our exchange, I force a smile. “I’m fine,” I murmur back.

He pours my wine, swirls the bottle, and leans close again. “Bullshit,” he whispers in my ear, then moves on to fill Michael’s glass. It’s then I notice Missy glaring at her husband, her lips in a tight line of anger. So Bram and I aren’t the only ones, I think, which makes me even sadder. Why are relationships so hard to get right? My gaze travels unwillingly to Jocasta, who’s sipping her wine as she cuts her dark eyes around the table, coming to rest on Bram. I try to look away before she catches me staring at her, but I’m not quick enough. She raises her glass of wine to me, and I resist an overwhelming urge to throw mine in her face.

With fresh strawberries in season, Bram presents a spectacular sponge cake piled high with berries and whipped cream as the grand finale. As the wineglasses are replaced with coffee cups, we dutifully exclaim over the dessert. Even though their praise for the cake is profuse, Jocasta and Missy try to pick out a couple of strawberries without getting a smidgen of cream. With a wicked gleam in her eyes, Nellie Bee says, “You’ve outdone yourself, Bram! Can we have seconds?”

“Oh, I insist,” he replies with a wink. Nellie Bee motions for the sous chef and tells him to bring everyone a second helping.

“I couldn’t possibly!” Missy gasps in horror, then catches herself. “But it’s so good, Papa O’Connor.”

“How would you know?” Nellie Bee says with a snort. “You haven’t touched it.”

Michael lets out a guffaw of laughter; Missy throws him a poisonous look, and