He holds me then, putting his chin on my shoulder. I hate that his mom forces these things on him, but I also hate how Harlin’s handling it. It’s like he pretends it never happened. If I could use the Need I’m sure it would tell him to deal with his grief. But I can’t force the Need to work. It only forces me.
I close my eyes, my fingers tickling the back of his neck. “We should talk about it,” I whisper.
“We’re at a charity ball,” he whispers. “Not really the bare-your-soul type of environment, do you think?” He moves his head so his lips graze my neck. “And all these breasts seem to be staring at me no matter where I am in the room. They’re following me.”
“Idiot.” I laugh, and pull back enough to look at him. I grab his jacket and kiss him, not really able to help myself. We’re making out, respectfully (it is a charity event), when someone clears his throat.
Harlin and I turn, still attached at the lips, and see a serious-looking man in a tux standing there. Sarah’s father.
“Nice to see you, Charlotte,” he says, his voice deep and intimidating. I doubt he means it, and he doesn’t even acknowledge Harlin.
“Hi.” I dart my eyes around for Sarah, but she’s nowhere in sight. She might still be at the bar.
“Have you seen my daughter?”
“Daughter?” I’m the worst liar ever. I stare at Sarah’s tall, imposing father and try to smile. “She’s getting us a table?”
He narrows his gray eyes, and then tightens his mouth. “Is that a question or a statement?”
“Statement?” I’m so blowing this.
He exhales and nods. “Well, then. I guess I’ll see you in the banquet room.”
Harlin grins as Sarah’s father walks away. “You are so subtle, Charlotte. Are you a ninja?”
“Shut up.”
“I’m sure he didn’t find that at all suspicious.”
“Harlin!”
He laughs and kisses the top of my head. “I’ll stop,” he says. “But where is Sarah? You might want to find her before we sit down for chicken with that man. What will you say if he asks you to pass the mashed potatoes?Mashed potatoes?” Harlin finishes, imitating my voice.
I slap his arm and then pull him forward through the ball. He’s right. I should find Sarah before Daddy Dearest sends out security looking for her. Just then I see her father standing in the doorway, watching us.
Great. He’s probably CIA trained and planning to follow me. I’ll lead him right to the bar. “Stop here,” I murmur. Harlin and I pause at an abstract—meaning I can’t tell what the hell it is—painting.
Harlin is staring at the picture like he gets it, a smug smirk on his face. I study him, not caring about any other piece of art in the room. Just then I feel his phone vibrate in his pocket. His jaw tightens but he makes no move toward it.
“Are you going to answer that?” I ask.
“Do you think the artist knew this work was terrible while he was painting it?”
“No. But I’m not asking about that.”
Harlin turns to me, looking serious. “Whatareyou asking about, then?” His eyes are narrowed like he’s daring me to talk about his mother.
“How you’re going to deal with her. You can’t just keep ignoring her phone calls.”
He smiles like it’s a silly statement and turns back to the painting. “Of course I can.”
This isn’t exactly the moment I was hoping for when I decided to come to this event. I wanted a normal night, a night where Harlin and I would be together, all dressed up and proper. But now I just want him to fix things with his mother. I’m tired of him keeping everything bottled up.
Harlin continues to stare at the painting, sipping from his wine glass. “The brush strokes on this are too wide,” he says.
“She’s grieving, Harlin. Maybe she needs you to pull her out of it.”
Harlin pauses mid-sip, and then lifts the glass to finish it off. When he’s done, he sets it on the base of a statue and looks sideways at me. “Let’s get out of here.”
