This caught him off guard. He blinked once, twice, and cleared his throat, extricating himself from her grasp and sliding a few steps backward, almost running into two waiters carrying silver trays laden with shrimp cocktail.
“I’ll be right there. I”—he pointed over his shoulder, stumbling over his own two feet—“have another question.”
With the grace of a Goofy cartoon, Daniel headed back to the band. Samantha considered waiting, but she decided against it. She’d be more comfortable if she knew what she was getting herself into.
The Ancillary Chamber, as Captain called it, was a small, tacky ballroom off of the main one, dressed up like a medieval temple. Thomas would have wrung the neck of anyone who tried to pull off such a style in Ashbrooke. Houses, like dogs and spectacles, reflected their owners. The couples had moved into this room, where light music and refreshments were served from a long oaken altar running along the far end. Quiet conversation rumbled as the men sized up their competition.
“Piggy!” Sam cringed. Captain hustled his date—a twiggy redhead with crooked teeth and kind eyes—over to her. “Where’s your date?”
“Getting us drinks,” she fibbed.
“Piggy, this is Bernarda. Bernie, this is Piggy.”
“Sam’s fine.” Sam shook the woman’s hand as Captain excused himself.
“Can I leave you two to get acquainted? Some ballots need my attention.”
Bernie narrowed her eyes in confusion.
“Ballots?”
She called after him, but Samantha interjected, sliding in to distract her. All of the official Animos members would be given golf pencils and sheets to be filled out by the end of the night to determine their winner. According to Thomas, a winner usually evidenced themselves well before the night’s end and the clear winner was often decided without the cards, but it seemed they were taking no chances this year.
“So, Bernie,” Samantha said, smooth as sea glass. “What do you do?”
“I’m an assistant housekeeper. I work at Pembrooke. I never thought a guy like Reginald would look my way, but…” Bernie rocked on her heels, swishing her dress. “Wow. I can’t believe I’m here. I’m so happy to—” Her hand flew to cover her mouth. A shadow of shame crossed her face. “Sorry. I’m rambling. I ramble sometimes. It’s a nightmare. Sometimes I start, and I can’t stop, and… Shit, I’m doing it again.”
The human cost of this “game” stood so close to Samantha she could smell her vanilla body spray. There would be so many victims tonight, so many hearts broken and dreams shattered and promises ripped up like a loser lottery ticket.
“It’s okay.” She smiled weakly. “I don’t mind.”
“The champagne makes it worse and Reginald’s been feeding me the stuff all night! He’s so thoughtful, always there with a fresh glass when I—”
Her sermon was interrupted by a familiar voice; rushes of ice slithered down Samantha’s exposed back.
“Hello! Yes, hello, everyone!”
Oh, no.No, no, no, no…
Sam pivoted but had to collapse against a gaudy nearby column for support when she saw. Daniel hadn’t been talking to the musician about strings. He’d asked if he could borrow his guitar. Daniel stood on the low altar with the unfamiliar instrument slung across his chest.
God dammit, he’s going to sing.
She knew that this moment was going to come. She knew ithadto come if she wanted any chance of winning. It was his love songs, his utter, naive devotion to anything true and good in this universe, that made him the perfect Mud Duck. But her heart sank anyway.
“I don’t mean to be rude, and thank you for inviting me to your party, but I thought I’d give the band a bit of a break, if that’s all right.”
It was a new song, fresh and wintry, wrapping her in the same cloak of closeness they’d been cocooned in on the night of her birthday. She found herself thinkingif things were differentso often it felt as if she might rip into a million pieces, chasing those alternate realities.If things were different, she would have listened to his song every day. They would have danced to it at their wedding. She would have sung it to their children.
Nothing was different. This was her life. This was the man she was going to lose.
“He’s your boyfriend?” Bernie said, awed.
“Mm-hmm.”
“You’re so lucky.”
She didn’t answer, but Captain did, with a smiling sneer permeating the praise like sewer sludge.
