“You threw it,” I whispered, wiping futilely at the stain that looked like a gunshot wound on my chest.
“Don’t be dramatic,” Kevin laughed, a harsh, barking sound. “It’s an improvement. Adds some color to that boring outfit.”
I looked at my father, waiting. Waiting for him to be the officer he claimed to be. Waiting for him to show an ounce of the honor he preached about. He just looked at the stain and curled his lip in distaste.
“Great,” Victor said. “Now you look like a disaster. I can’t have you walking around my party looking like a casualty. Go out to the car.”
“The car?” I asked, my voice tightening.
“Yes, the car,” he barked, pointing toward the exit. “Go sit in the parking lot until the toasts are over, or just go home. I can’t introduce you to General Sterling looking like a soup kitchen charity case. You’re ruining the aesthetic.”
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