Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 60965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
They’ll see through me; I know they will.
I’ve always been acutely aware of my public persona. My mother used to tell me it was important for the family name. All my life I’ve known how to hide behind a beautiful face and stay polite even when offended. I know just what to say, and how to act.
But right now? This moment? No. I can’t go through with it. I can’t pretend anymore. Pretending’s what got me into this mess.
“You look beautiful.” Mason’s deep baritone voice sends a thrill through my body. His approval always has, and my natural instinct is to cling to him right now. I want to hide behind him. He could make everything all right or at least that’s the way it would feel.
Even more than that, I so desperately care for him despite everything that’s happened, and that’s what’s breaking me.
“Thank you,” I whisper and then clear my throat, turning my gaze back to the entrance of the Regency Auditorium as the limo stops in front of the building, my fingertips haphazardly grazing the crystals on my dress with nerves that won’t be tamed.
I used to live for this. All the gorgeous gowns and flowing champagne, the photographs and mingling. Now instead of desire and excitement and anticipation, all I feel is dread.
I turn back to Mason just as he places his large hand over mine, and in that moment I remember who he is and what he’s done and why everything has changed. I want to pull away. My body and mind are confused. I feel attacked and cornered, but I don’t know who to blame other than myself.
“It’s going to be all right. You’re fine,” Mason tells me. His voice is a soothing balm, but it’s a lie. A sweet, pretty lie meant to calm me down so I can do as I’m told and act appropriately.
Pulling my hand away from him, I watch his face fall and the divider rolls down slowly; it’s the only sound in the cabin.
“Is this all right, Mr. Thatcher?” Marcus, the driver, asks. I can’t look him in the eye. I swallow thickly, watching the sparkling gowns flow by as women walk past. I know many of them, or at least recognize their faces. Tonight is a fundraiser for diabetic children. Nearly three hundred people will be in the grand ballroom, bidding on donations lined with spotlights and making small talk while sipping champagne and gossiping or bragging.
It’s how these functions run. Who you know and who you talk to can be different, so long as you’re seen with each group of individuals accordingly.
My role has changed from socialite sweetheart who brings the press to that of devoted arm candy. The to-do list hasn’t changed, though: look pretty, smile and be charming. It didn’t seem so bad all these years I’ve been doing this. Even my father used to bring me to events like this as a teen. I loved it. I was proud to come and be a part of the social scene especially when they involved causes like this one.
“This is fine,” Mason answers Marcus and I grip my Chanel clutch as if it will protect me and save me from having to walk out there. “I’ll open her door; thank you.”
“I don’t know that I’m ready,” I whisper to Mason, turning to him and leaning in, acutely aware that Marcus is watching. I don’t have to look up to see his eyes in the rearview mirror assessing the situation to know he’s taking it all in. Everyone is always watching.
Mason searches my face for something, and then the corners of his lips twitch as he reaches his arm around my waist and pulls me in closer to him.
His strength and heat and proximity all make my blood temperature rise, and the anxiety and fear are replaced with something else entirely.
“You’re definitely ready,” Mason says before leaning into me for a kiss. A split second passes before I even question it. It feels so natural, as if I’m the one who intended for it to happen.
As if nothing ever happened. As if the envelope had never been opened and this part of the tale ceased to exist.
I pull away suddenly, sucking in the hot air and pushing back against the leather seat. My eyes flicker to the mirror as I regain my composure, to Marcus’s ever-prying view and immediately the divider begins to move back into place, granting us privacy.
Mason’s hand splays on my back before I can move any farther. “Please stop,” I say. He must know what he’s doing to me.
“Stop what?” he asks as if he doesn’t know that his kindness is worse than anything else. That craving his affection only makes me hate myself more.
I look up through my lashes, not bothering to face him as I hold the clutch tighter with both hands.