Page 88 of A Song for You

The images I conjured of this event in my head don’t do it justice. Black organza fabric sparkles above us as it hangs from the chandelier and drapes across to the windows, giving an elegant, otherworldly feel to the room. Each table is adorned with onyx candelabras of different sizes and vases filled with burgundy roses with the tips painted black.

The entire space glows lavishly from nothing but flickering candlelight. The masks we’ve all donned for the ball hide our identities from all but those who know us well, which brings a freedom to my movements beside Jay.

Yes, Cynthia is here, but she’s busy working the room.

And outside of her, Sophie, and Dexter, no one has any idea who we are. Or, more accurately, they don’t know who I am. Everyone knows Jonathan Hanson. And that’s who he is tonight. Working the room with me at his side, Jay is every bit the future CEO of Hanson Liquors.

“Dance with me,” he murmurs in my ear as a masked man consults him about the fires that are affecting the grains this year. “I’m sorry, Carl,” he says, interrupting the old man’s rantings. “My date has been patient all night, but I promised her a dance.”

The older man turns to me and shakes his head. “Of course. Enjoy yourselves.”

With a warm hand on my lower back, Jay pushes me a little too eagerly toward the dance floor.

I stifle a giggle at his enthusiasm. “I’m fine if you want to continue the conversation,” I tease.

“Shut it, you,” he says as he pulls me into his arms and sways. “I’m not going to lie, Kitten. You in that fucking mask? Damn. I can’t stop fantasizing about you sucking my cock while you wear it.”

“So romantic,” I say, putting my hand to my chest in mock offense.

He laughs. “Please. You’ve already thought of seven different ways you want me to fuck you tonight, haven’t you?”

I burrow into him and hum with a smile. “If we’re bringing toys into the room, those strap-on dildo things look fun.”

Jay pushes back and considers me like he’s gauging my sincerity, and I can’t help but giggle. “No fucking way,” he says as a shudder runs through him.

I laugh harder.

“I’m serious, Catherine.”

“Oh, pulling out the full name. I’m in trouble now, Jonathan.”

“I’d prefer you to call me sir,” he muses, pulling me close as we continue to sway.

“When I’m on my knees?” I tease.

“Fuck, are you trying to get me hard while we dance in a room full of people?”

I so badly want to kiss him. I love getting him riled up. He absolutely loses it. “How much longer?” I whisper.

He scans the room and then looks back at me. “We should stay for another few hours, but fuck it. I’m over it.”

I laugh. “Don’t you have a speech or something to give?”

“Someone else can give the damn speech,” he says in frustration. “I just want my girlfriend⁠—”

A man clears his throat behind Jay. “Jonathan.”

Jay’s hold on me tightens, and his back goes ramrod straight. “I’m sorry, Kitten. Just go with it,” he whispers before turning us to face the intruder. “Father,” he says, holding out his hand to the man.

The other Mr. Hanson does not wear a mask. He has furry eyebrows that take up the majority of his forehead, a Jay Leno chin, and he’s wearing a scowl. “Why don’t you introduce me to your girlfriend?” He enunciates the last word, as if it’s foreign or troubling to him.

Jay keeps his arm firmly looped around my waist. “This is Catherine Bouvier. Catherine, my father, Warner Hanson.”

The whiskey magnate holds out his hand, examining me with keen awareness.

I slip my hand in his and give it a firm shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hanson.”

“Pleasure is all mine. I had no idea my son had a girlfriend. This is…a pleasant surprise,” he says in a tone that indicates that it’s anything but.