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“I’ve seen how that man looks at you. He won’t forget.” She gives my hand a pat. “I’m going to run and powder my nose. Will you be alright while I’m gone?”

“Yes, of course,” I say distractedly, contemplating her words. Does Madden look at me a certain way?

After thirty more minutes, I’m the only one still sitting at our table. I realize Marie must have fallen into a conversation somewhere between here and the restroom and probably isn’t coming back. I’m tired of sitting around by myself, so I get up and tour the perimeter of the room, looking at the modern artwork on the walls. Noticing a bar across the room from me, I head in that direction, hoping a glass of wine will take the edge off of my irritation. I place my order and just as the bartender hands me my glass, a young man appears at my side.

“Well, if it isn’t Odette Windell, the belle of the ball. Congratulations on your marriage to Madden.” He gives a little bow and flashes a charming smile, showing the dimple in his chin.

“Oh, thank you.” There’s something incredibly familiar about his tall stature, curly brown hair, and blue eyes. “And you are?”

He chuckles. “Christopher Highman. We met briefly at Bennington and Associates back in December.”

Ah. Madden’s old coworker. After seeing Larry in person now, it’s hard to believe he has such a handsome son. Although not nearly as handsome as Madden. I extend my hand. “Oh, of course! Nice to see you again.”

He gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “Surely you’re not all alone this evening? Where is that husband of yours?” He quickly glances around the room in search of Madden.

“I’m afraid so. For the moment, anyway. Madden has a lot of people to speak with this evening.” I look down at my wineglass.

“Well, just my luck!” Christopher takes my glass and sets it on the nearest table, then grabs my hand and leads me toward the dance floor.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t. I promised Madden a dance first.”

“He waited too long.” He winks. “Plus, wouldn’t it make Madden look fantastic if you had the kindness to dance with the son of the man he’s running against?”

I pause. It would reflect well on Madden to behave kindly toward his opposition. And isn’t that my job in this marriage: to make Madden look good? I sigh and nod. “I suppose you have a point.”

And that’s all the encouragement he needs to whisk me onto the dance floor. Much to my chagrin, the next dance is a slow song. Having Christopher’s hands on my waist definitely feels a little strange. He holds me much too close for my comfort.

“So, is Madden as busy as my father with this campaign? I swear he eats, sleeps, and breathes this stuff.” Christopher says with a roll of his eyes.

“He’s very busy with the campaign, yes,” I respond with a tight smile. “He takes it seriously, as he should.”

Christopher raises an eyebrow. “Yes, I suppose that’s true. I should probably cut my father some slack. How did you and Madden end up together, anyway?”

I start a bit at the abruptness of the question but manage to make it look like I tripped over my feet. “We both attended Heartland Academy, but didn’t see each other again until last year.”

“When you bumped into each other in D.C.?” He raises a skeptical eyebrow.

“You seem very familiar with my marriage, Mr. Highman.” What is he getting at?

“Please, call me Christopher. And I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I read about the two of you in that Washington Journal op-ed. It’s a very romantic story.”

I flash a confident smile. “Yes, we bumped into each other at a coffee shop and enjoyed catching up. Madden is so handsome and charming that it didn’t take long to fall in love with him.”

“No, not long at all.” Christopher smirks.

An uncomfortable thought occurs to me, twisting my stomach into knots. Christopher’s line of questioning seems oddly specific. Did Larry Highman send him on a mission to dance with me and collect information about Madden? Or does he know something about us already?

He pulls me a little closer and whispers, “If I were him, I would’ve proposed then and there and not waited another year.”

I pull back in disbelief at his obvious flirtation and throw my gaze around the room, searching for some way out of this dance. My eyes meet the bright, angry blue eyes of my husband from across the dance floor. I very much dislike being on the receiving end of that look. I’ve never seen him angry before.

Christopher follows my gaze and guffaws, eyes narrowing on Madden. “Oh, dear. Someone does not enjoy seeing his lovely wife dancing with another man, does he? I guess he’ll pay more attention to you next time.”

Thankfully, before I can slap Christopher across his smug face, the dance ends and my fuming husband comes marching toward us.

“May I cut in?” Madden growls through bared teeth. I believe he’s attempting to smile.

“Of course! So happy you’ve finally come to dance with your wife. She was awfully lonely when I found her.”