I wonder if he even realizes that she knows he’s a liar.

Probably not. Men—especially men who think of themselves as important—tend to be oblivious to what is happening in their personal lives unless it is directly affecting them. And I don’t mean affecting them like they are arguing more than normal with their spouse. I mean, affecting them like they might have to pay spousal or child support.

“How is Shelly doing?” I ask my mom quietly, ignoring Matthew, who I can still feel hovering near us.

“Good. She’s starting treatments soon.”

“That’s good.” I don’t bother asking her about the whole news story that came out. My mom learned when my dad got into politics that you can’t trust the media, so she rarely believes anything that comes out unless there is evidence to back it up. And if Shelly hasn’t spoken to her about it—which she probably hasn’t, because good Southern women don’t talk about their marital problems—then Mom won’t bring it up to her.

When Shelly starts heading toward the bar with Billy right behind her, I glance over to where I last saw Dayton and find him heading in our direction, his eyes on Matthew and his jaw clenched.

“Someone isn’t happy,” Molly whispers.

My heart pounds, and a tingle slides down my spine when he steps up next to me and rests his hand on my lower back. The touch might look innocent to everyone else in the room, but I feel the possessiveness in it.

“Mom, you remember Dayton, don’t you?” I prompt, hoping to cut through the tension I can feel building around me when Matthew bristles.

“I do. It’s so nice to see you, Dayton.” Mom gives him her cheek, and he bends down to kiss her there. “How have you been? How’s work?”

“I’ve been good. Work’s busy.”

“I bet.” She laughs, then looks at Matthew, and her brows draw together ever so slightly, like she’s sensing something from him. “You know Matthew, don’t you?” Mom asks, and Dayton doesn’t even bother looking over at my ex-husband when he replies.

“We’ve met.”

“Dayton.”

When he turns at his name being called, I do the same and find Billy coming up behind us. I fight the curl of my lip. Any respect I had for him is long gone—not only because he’s a cheater, which is absolutely disgusting, but because he was willingly going to cause my father harm in order to save his own ass.

“I should have known you’d be with Francisca.” His eyes drop to me, and he smiles while bending to touch his lips to my cheek. “How are you?”

I try not to shudder in revulsion. “Okay, you?”

“Living the dream.”

I’m sure he believes he is. Douche.