Read Online A Love of My Own by E. Lynn Harris - Free Book Online

time.”
    â€œI’ll look forward to it,” I said as I noticed the face of a young girl with small hands covering her nose.
    I toured Veronica and Davis’s apartment in awe. The master suite was larger than my temporary residence and included a thousand-square-foot closet with floor-to-ceiling drawers and a special chilled area for furs and cashmere sweaters. I discovered that he had a staff of six that lived in the residence—a nanny, a chef, and two maids, one for the day and one for the evening, as well as a butler and Davis’s personal valet who was on twenty-four-hour call.
    â€œSo, where did you go to school?” Veronica asked.
    â€œThe University of Alabama and then Columbia Law,” I said proudly. “I also have an MBA from the University of Washington.”
    â€œWhat about prep school?” Veronica asked.
    â€œI attended public school.”
    â€œOh, you poor thing, but you’re from the South, right?”
    â€œYep, a proud son of the new South,” I said.
    I could tell Veronica was not impressed with my education or Southern upbringing, and I suddenly felt like I should repeat my Ivy League law education but decided against it. I was sure Veronica was trying to make me feel ashamed of my public school background, so I raised my eyebrow to let her know she had said something insulting, but I wasn’t about to go off on the boss’s wife in her own house.
    Just as it seemed Veronica was getting ready to ask something else about my background, another white lady with a plump, pleasant face approached us and said, “Madame McClinton, dinner is served.”
    â€œThank you, Marion,” Veronica said as she looped her arm through mine and led me to the dining area. It looked like something out of a British murder mystery, with a long table covered with a white linen tablecloth and adorned with blue Wedgwood china and crystal goblets.
    I listened intently to the guests’ conversation, which mostly included yachts, summer homes, and parties, losing money on technology stocks, and how hard it was to find good personal assistants. When I didn’t join in, there was a friendly silence interspersed with more comments about wealth and the silliest of people, especially black people who actually thought earning a million dollars might make one a millionaire. I suddenly missed Trent and recalled how we would enjoy talking about different guests at events like this, even though I couldn’t ever remember a dinner party like this in Seattle.
    After courses of soup, salad, and tuna tartare, one of the guests complimented Veronica on the food. She took a sip from her wineglass and said, “Thank you, darling. I slaved over a hot checkbook all day.” Most of the guests laughed, and I gazed into my empty soup dish, wishing I hadn’t emptied it so fast.
    Based on the gentleman sitting next to me during dinner, I figured Davis had told Veronica I was gay. He was a tall, brown-skinned man with thick eyebrows that looked like they had been painted on. He told me his name was Mathis, and when I asked if he had a last name, he laughed and said, “I used to before my parents disowned me. It’s a very interesting story and I would love to tell you sometime.”
    I smiled back like I might be interested, and he whispered, “My place, of course. If I can decide which one.”
    â€œMust be nice.” I smiled.
    â€œWhere do you summer?” Mathis asked.
    â€œExcuse me?”
    â€œI mean, do you have a place in the Hamptons or the Vineyard?”
    â€œNo, I just moved back east,” I said.
    â€œThen I’ll have to invite you to one of my soirees this summer at Fire Island,” Mathis said.
    â€œI see you two are getting along wonderfully,” Veronica said. She had left the head of the table and looked pleased with herself and the party as she circled her guests like a socialized vulture.
    â€œOh, Veronica, darling,