Then my mother would freak and kill me.
No. I hadn’t been raised for that.
Slow, deep breaths.
I had been raised to go back in there, to put on a plastic smile, and to dance with Donnie as if Mason had never been in my life. But I couldn’t do that either. My only solution was to pretend to feel unwell and leave. I just hoped Donnie didn’t offer to accompany me to the hotel and stay.
First, I had to calm my racing heart. Slow, deep breaths. Slow, deep breaths. Slow, deep …
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mason’s voice sent my heart into a race again.
I whirled and found him near the closed door, standing tall with his hands inside his pant pockets, his gaze downcast.
Even with the waiter uniform, Mason looked as handsome as ever, as energetic and charming and determined as ever. He had combed his hair tonight, probably to look more professional, but a few strands had fallen over his hazel eyes. I wanted to reach over and fix those strands. No. I wanted to run both my hands through his hair and dishevel it, the way I liked it.
Heat crept up my cheeks and I pushed those thoughts away. “I didn’t think it mattered,” I answered, putting my hands behind my back, hoping it was enough to stop their shaking.
“So, what is it? Are you a politician? Is that why you’re here?”
I pressed my lips together, my mind concocting a lie. But why lie now? “My mother is the state governor. Peyton McClain. I came with her.”
His eyes widened for half a second before frowning. “The one everyone is betting will run for president in a few years?”
“She will run for president.”
“That’s big.”
“Yes, it is.”
A stare showdown began as I willed my heart to slow down. The crackling silence made my breathing shallow.
“What now?”
“What do you mean?”
Mason took a few steps into my direction. “Will you pretend you don’t know me?”
I bit the inside of my cheek and averted my eyes. “It’s for the best.”
“For whom?”
For my mother. Of course, I would never say that out loud. An edge of curiosity gnawed in my chest and I asked instead, “What are you doing here? How come you’re on the other side of the country?”
“I transferred grad schools here. I start in August.”
“But that’s in two, almost three months.”
“I just wanted to come.”
My eyes widened and a heavy feeling—like a stone dropping in my gut—robbed me of air. “You knew who I was, where I was from!”
Mason shook his head, taking a step toward me. “No. I swear I didn’t. This is a huge coincidence.”
“Coincidences aren’t welcome in my life.”
“Believe me; I’m as shocked as you are.”
He did sound surprised and somewhat glad too. This wasn’t right. Crap, Mason was now living close to me, and we met on the West Coast. Was it divine intervention? Should I spend some time thinking about its meaning?
No, no time to waste. In fact, I was stalling. I had to get back before someone noticed my absence.
“I need to go.” I walked around him, but Mason’s hand on my arm stopped me. Warmth spread from his skin to mine. Our eyes met and I gasped from the intensity of his gaze. I had forgotten how breathtaking he was.
“Do you have any idea how glad I am that I found you again?” He pulled me closer to him. “I can’t believe you’re actually here.” He leaned over me, his face close to mine.
The incredible scent of his aftershave—woody and spicy mixed with something else so manly and just his—wrapped around me. My head spun and I involuntarily lift my head toward him.
“Don’t do this,” I whispered.
“Why not?” Disappointment laced his words, but he let go of my arm.
I swallowed the excitement I felt over seeing him again and whispered, “You wouldn’t understand.”
With all my resolve and some more, I returned to the ballroom. I felt dizzy and nauseated. The heavy liquor and candle wax smell didn’t help one bit.
“There you are,” Donnie said, walking up to me.
“I was outside, getting some fresh air.” With the plastic smile on, I let Donnie put my hand on his arm. Without meaning to, I looked over my shoulder and saw Mason in the balcony door, his eyes on my date and me. “I’m not feeling well,” I said, glad I wasn’t lying.
“Do you want to leave?”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that to you. I know what these kind of events mean to a politician.”
Donnie smile widened. “I’m glad to see you care. However, right now, I care about you more. Let’s take you to the hotel.”
I let Donnie guide me out. Now, I had about ten minutes to figure out an excuse to prevent him from staying with me.
Mason
I couldn’t just leave the ball as Charlotte had. No. I had to stay there, serving those pompous people and remembering she was one them. And who was that guy with her? Her boyfriend? Was he her boyfriend during spring break?
Shit, I wanted to hit something. Instead, when hidden in the kitchen, I drank one or two flutes of champagne, and took a deep breath.
I got back to my apartment at four in the morning, but I couldn’t sleep. I turned on my computer and googled Charlotte and her mother.
Thousands of pictures and articles popped up on the screen. Charlotte, from a young age, in several gowns and pencil skirts and shirts, with her hair pulled up and too much makeup. She was always smiling, as if she was as happy as anyone could be. I scrolled through pictures of her debutant ball, her first day in prep school, helping during her mother’s campaigns, and lots of gossip websites trying to match her with other rich guys.
I clicked on Wikipedia.
Charlotte Anne McClain (born December 18) is the daughter of George McClain and Peyton Sofia McClain. She attends the political science program at the University of Richmond, and intends to apply for law school afterward.
So, she was one of them!
Eager to find out more, I kept reading:
Charlotte was born and raised in Washington, D.C.
Her father, George McClain, was an admired soldier in the U.S. Army. After retiring, he joined the Republican Party and became mayor of Washington, D.C., soon after. He planned on running for the Senate. However, he was assassinated in a terrorist attack during an overseas military award ceremony months before the election.
Her mother, Peyton McClain, who had always been active during her husband’s campaign and political life, received his endorsement from the Republican Party. She’s the current governor of Virginia. Charlotte and her mother have lived in the Executive Manson in Richmond since the last election.
Charlotte was twelve when her father died. Since then, she has been raised by her conservative mother. Charlotte has training in classical ballet, piano and violin, horseback riding, and knows French, Spanish, and Italian fluently.
There are rumors that despite her near perfect education, Charlotte doesn’t plan to engage in a political career.
At the bottom of the page, there was a picture of Charlotte and a red-haired girl. They held hands and smiled widely. The caption read Charlotte McClain and her best friend, Tracy Graham.
Best friend? I thought Liana, MaryAnn, and Becca were Charlotte’s best friends. During those six days we spent together, she hadn’t mentioned Tracy, but she mentioned something about Liana, MaryAnn, and Becca being her real friends. Once more, I was reminded that I knew nothing about her.