"Yes, ma'am. Focusing on cybersecurity."
"How fascinating," she says, sounding interested even though I know she's not. "Such an important field these days, with all the concerns about election integrity and foreign interference."
And there it is, the immediate pivot to politics. My mother never misses an opportunity.
"It's certainly a growing concern," James says, nodding and handling her noticeable topic change way better than I do. "Though my interests lean more toward protecting infrastructure and private data systems."
"Of course." She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "Well, I must greet the other guests. Caleb, be sure to speak with the Richardsons; they've been asking after you. And the Franklins brought their son David tonight. He's finished his first year at Harvard Law."
The message is clear: these are the connections she wants me to develop, the appropriate social circles she wants me to be part of. James is to be tolerated, not embraced.
"We'll make the rounds." It’s easier to agree than argue, a lesson learned years ago. "Is Christopher here tonight?"
Tension flickers across her face so briefly that only someone who knows her well would catch it. "Yes, with his parents. They're by the Monet exhibit, I believe."
My stomach clenches at the confirmation. I'd hoped he wouldn't attend, but of course, he would. His father is one of my father's biggest donors.
"Lovely." My voice is flat. "We'll say goodbye before we leave."
"Do." She touches my arm lightly. "Your father will call later to check in. He's very interested in meeting your... friend."
Still can't say boyfriend. Won't even give him that much. Because in her mind, James is temporary. A phase. Something I'll outgrow once I meet the right Huntington-approved option.
With that, she glides away, leaving a trail of expensive perfume and unspoken expectations in her wake.
"So that's Caroline Huntington," James says quietly. "Exactly as advertised."
"She was actually on her best behaviour." I reach for two champagne flutes from a passing waiter. "Here. You'll need this."
He accepts the glass and takes a sip. "Who's Christopher? I noticed a reaction when you mentioned him."
"Someone from my past," Hopefully that's vague enough to discourage follow-up questions. "His father is an important donor."
James clearly wants to press further, but can tell I don't want to talk about it.
"And the Franklins' son David? Harvard Law, huh?"
"One of my mother's preferred matches. She's been trying to set us up for years."
"Good thing you brought your boyfriend, then," he says with a wink, slipping his arm around my waist with surprising naturalness. "Shall we make the rounds, darling?"
Not being prepared for the endearment, it sends a flush of warmth through me. So in self defense, I ask with a little bite, "Laying it on a bit thick, aren't you?"
"Just playing the part," he says innocently, but there's something in his eyes that makes me wonder if it's entirely a performance.
Or maybe I'm just hoping it isn't.
For the next hour, we make our way around the event like we've done this a hundred times before. I introduce James to a parade of family friends, political associates, and donors, most of whom express polite interest in him before immediately turning the conversation to my father's campaign or my plans for law school.
"So, law school next year?" James asks when we have a second alone.
Nodding, I adjust my cufflink. "Harvard, if all goes according to my father's twenty-year plan."
"Nice… But is that what you want?"
The question surprises me. Few people care what I want let alone ask me.
"Actually, yes. Though not for the reasons my family thinks. They view law as the gateway to politics, the legacy of being a Huntington. But I've found I genuinely love Constitutional Law, civil rights precedents, and the frameworks that protect people."
