My heart was pounding, not from nerves, but from anticipation.
I spotted my mother first, dressed to the nines as always, holding court with a glass of wine in her hand. My father was beside her, nodding along to someone’s story, his laugh loud and practiced.
I walked up quietly, unnoticed, until the host of the reunion, a local event coordinator, took the microphone to make an announcement.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said with a bright smile. “Before we continue with dinner, I’d like to take a moment to welcome someone very special to Clearwater Shores. Please join me in congratulating the new owner of this resort.”
She turned, gesturing right toward me.
“Mr. Daniel Cole.”
And in that instant, every head turned.
The moment the host said my name, the air seemed to change. A wave of confused murmurss rippled through the crowd, followed by stunned silence.
My mother’s smile froze midsip, her wine glass hovering just below her lips. My father’s eyebrows twitched ever so slightly before settling into that carefully controlled neutral expression he wore when he didn’t want anyone to see he’d been blindsided.
Marcus, on the other hand, looked me up and down as if trying to find something, anything to mock.
I gave a polite smile, thank the host, and walked toward them at an unhurried pace. The only sound for a few seconds was the shuffle of chairs and the faint clink of cutlery.
Then my aunt Lydia, who never missed an opportunity to put me in my place, spoke first.
“Daniel, owner? You must mean part owner, right? Someone like you couldn’t possibly…”
She cut herself off, but her tone was enough to get a few quiet chuckles from my cousins.
I didn’t answer her. Instead, I let my eyes sweep over the crowd, making brief, calm eye contact with each of them.
I noticed my father subtly turning toward Marcus as though trying to silently align himself with his golden child before any conversation began. My sister Rachel gave a small, almost imperceptible roll of her eyes and leaned in to whisper something to her husband.
He smirked.
Finally, my mother stepped forward.
“Well,” she said, her voice light and airy. “This is quite a surprise.”
She touched my arm with her perfectly manicured hand, her grip just a little too tight.
“We didn’t think you’d be able to make it. You’ve been busy, I suppose.”
The way she said busy dripped with condescension, as if I’d been running a lemonade stand instead of a multi-million dollar operation.
I kept my tone level.