Then Connor tensed, murmuring, “Wow.”
I’d been covertly watching Damon and Jessica move farther into the hall, then get intercepted by Lucas, who was smiling and pointing at the closest painting with an enthusiasm I could see even from twenty feet away. He was definitely the most un-Wilcox-like Wilcox imaginable, and I wondered at his friendship with Damon, since they seemed so diametrically opposed in their temperaments. But I looked to see what had attracted Connor’s attention, and realized my Aunt Rachel and Tobias had just entered the gallery.
They both appeared more than a little ill at ease, which, considering they were surrounded by Wilcoxes, was fairly understandable. Behind them came Margot Emory and Henry Lynch, who also looked as if they’d like to be just about anywhere else.
“Holy crap,” I said. “I didn’t think they were really going to show.”
“We’d better go say hi, then,” Connor replied.
I didn’t question why he wanted to go greet my family members when he hadn’t made a move to do the same with his own brother. But as Damon appeared more or less occupied at the moment, it seemed prudent to leave him alone and focus our attention on the McAllister contingent.
Connor took my hand, and we moved toward the entrance to the exhibit space. I managed to get a smile more or less fixed on my face, although my heart had begun to pound and my stomach felt as if it had a flock of sparrows rather than butterflies zooming around in it. Silly, really. I was going to say hi to my aunt and Tobias and two other people I’d known all my life. This wasn’t the same as facing all those Wilcoxes for the first time.
Even so, I had to take a breath as we approached Aunt Rachel. Tobias smiled at us, but her expression was hard to read — strained, yes, but underneath the tension was something else as she gazed around her. Surprise, maybe? It was entirely possible that she hadn’t expected much from Connor’s art, had inwardly thought he must have bought his way into having an exhibition.
“Hi, Rachel, Tobias,” I said, sounding almost normal. “I’m really glad you could make it — all of you.”
Henry nodded, although Margot only acknowledged me with the barest lift of her eyebrows. Probably she’d come along only to provide support for Rachel and Tobias, and not because she cared about seeing Connor’s art.
For the first time, my aunt seemed to really look at Connor — at him, not at the brother of the Wilcox primus. “This is really quite amazing,” she said. “I had no idea you were such an accomplished artist.”
Of course you didn’t, I thought, because you couldn’t be bothered to learn anything about him, except that he was a Wilcox.
“Thank you,” he replied. “I’m — that is, Angela and I are both really glad you could make it.”
“Yes, it’s quite a cozy scene,” came Damon’s voice, and I could actually feel the muscles at the back of my neck tense up.
I wasn’t the only one, either; Connor’s jaw tightened, and both Margot and Henry stepped forward to flank Aunt Rachel and Tobias.
“Oh, now,” Damon went on, “surely there’s no need for you to all be bristling at me like that, is there? We’re all on neutral ground, after all.” But even as he spoke the words, I saw Connor’s cousin Marie and a few others whose names I couldn’t recall converging on our little group. Lucas, however, was staying at the far end of the gallery, chatting up an attractive woman with striking pale hair, clearly a civilian.
Great. The last thing I needed was for all our family members to reenact the rumble scene from West Side Story right in the middle of one of Sedona’s ritziest art galleries. I felt Connor’s fingers tighten around mine, and I cast about frantically for something innocuous to say that would defuse the tension. Nothing came to mind, however.
“Now, now,” I heard a woman say. “Look at all of you, snarling at one another like two wolf packs fighting over the same bone.”
Her voice was vaguely familiar, and I half-turned to see Maya de la Paz approaching alone, although when I looked past her, I saw standing a few feet away some of the tall young men from her clan I recognized from bodyguard duty back in Phoenix. Alex, however, was not among them.
“P-prima?” I stammered, and she smiled at me.
“Hello, Angela. I must say you are looking very well. As for the rest of you” — her gaze moved from the quartet of McAllisters to the Wilcoxes — “this is an art exhibit. There is plenty to look at, and free champagne. Don’t call any more attention to yourselves than you already have.”
For a moment, no one moved. Then Damon let out a clearly forced laugh, and snaked his arm around Jessica’s slender waist. “Come on, darling. Let’s take a look at Connor’s daubs, shall we?”