My black-clad savior strides toward me, passing the sheen of a water feature wall glistening behind the country club logo. He holds one fluted glass of champagne and one stout glass of what looks like soda water. I gesture as I tentatively take the champagne.
“Does it bother you if I drink?” I ask.
He tilts his head as if touched by the sentiment. “Of course not. Alcoholism is a disease that doesn’t run ineverybody’sgenetics.”
I smile and take a tentative sip before tugging him down to share my wide chair. “Come sit with me, fake boyfriend.”
“Kate, my butt is not going to fit?—”
“This chair is plenty big.” I squirm to the side. “And quit talking about your butt.”
“But you like my butt.”
I laugh as Brandon maneuvers me onto his lap. My bare legs drape over the knees of his tuxedo pants, and a flush rises in my chest.
“There.” He sweeps a long strand of my hair to the side and presses a kiss to my forehead. The flush in my chest grows wings. Every time this man touches me, it feels anything but fake. There’s no waythatkiss was for show.
“Awwwhh! You guys are adorable.”
Liza’s voice makes a rock drop into my stomach.
“Thanks, Liza,” I say.
Many crawling hours later, the evening begins to draw to a close. If it weren’t for Brandon’s hushed game of “Guess the stranger’s backstory,” I wouldn’t have survived. There are a surprising number of mistresses, spies, and taxidermists attending this event. And still none of them would make sense as H.Y.
I yawn, and Brandon takes notice.
“We could probably slip out now, couldn’t we?” he murmurs.
“Maybe,” I say.
Our opportunity presents itself ten minutes later when the thinning crowd parts to create a straight path to the front doors. Hand in mine, Brandon all but jogs toward our freedom. I do my best to keep up with quick, ladylike steps.
My parents materialize in our way, flanked by an unknown face I couldn’t care less about. A scowl twitches in my facial muscles, but I try to smooth it away for the stranger’s sake. It’s not his fault my parents suck.
Liza and Cam appear out of nowhere, as if they had been hot on our tails.
“Girls! I’m happy we ran into you!” Dad says.
Ugh. He’s using his performance voice, and my itch to get out of here smarts into a full-blown rash. Whoever this person is, he’s important to him.
Liza, ever the diplomat, shakes the strange man’s hand with a smile.
“This is Elizabeth. She’s the one wrapping up her medical degree.” Dad smiles, silver glasses shining. “And this is her fiancé, Cameron. He works in finance.”
The boulder-like man with a thick mustache shakes their hands with renewed interest. His beady eyes flit to me, something like recognition lighting them up.
“So this must be the lawyer, then.” He grins with a set of teeth too large and perfect to be real. “I’ll say, young lady. When your father called my admissions office years ago to ask me to watch for your paperwork, I almost said no out of spite. Only to punish him for beating me so badly in golf the week before.” He chuckles. “But, of course I wouldn’t let my vendetta dim your bright future. What law firm are you at?”
My mouth feels like a sock. Dad’s pointed stare orders me to play along. Mom’s tittering laugh is both nervous and amused. My ears are steamed with shame, and it makes anger roil in my gut.
Brandon’s hand presses against the small of my back—a silent communication that I’m not alone. But it’s also as if he knows I want to fight my own battles and don’t want to be saved like a damsel in distress.
I lift my chin an inch, pasting on a smile that feels more like the baring of teeth.
“Actually, I’m not a lawyer.”
The man’s bushy brows pinch as he turns to Dad’s mortified expression. “Do you have another daughter?”
