Chapter 22

Jane

The heavenly prepared food was tainted by the gnawing feeling in my skull and chest; how was I supposed to tell Michael this? Tonight was supposed to be our first dance. Our first foray into the public light.

He wouldn’t understand if I told him. And it scared me. Frightened the hell out of me.

But I knew that I had to do it.

When the waiters removed the plates and cleaned the mess we’d made, the ballroom floor was cleared of it’s tables and chairs. Everyone started picking out their partners; while this happened Michael and I only had eyes for each other, the heat between us connecting through an invisible, fiery spear.

Michael picked himself up first, and I followed suit. We met each other at the corner of the table, and he grabbed my hand with an economic grace. “You ready?” He asked, those perfectly cut lips curling into a fiendish smirk. “Because if you’re not, I’ll give you that push.”

“Michael--”

He put a finger to my lips and pulled me closer to him. “You’ve done great so far,” he praised privately. He seemed so proud of me, the words just struggled to come from me. “Now. You shine.”

I felt a part of me wilt away. If he only knew what was going on right now, would he really want to do this with me? I know that I can trust him with anything, but could he even forgive me?

He took his finger from my lips, and I followed him to the center of the room.

Every step towards the center filled me with a quiet pressure. My heart tapped against my breast bone, already preparing to move to a relentless pace once the dancing begins. It was like I could feel the weight of each eye on me, the cut of each thought that they might have of me.

Michael put his hand tightly on the small of my back and the music began with an alarming swell of string and brass, pulsing and pounding throughout the room. He hooked his other hand through mine, and began to lead me in our practiced waltz motions. Everyone moved in near perfect synchronization with us. It was kind of intimidating in the moment. I had to focus on every movement that I made, every breath. It was like I was reliving the nights we spent in private, but this time they truly mattered.

Don’t screw up. Do not screw up. It skirted across my mind. Just focus on him, and you. It’s only a dance.

You can do this.

Michael spun me around after a quick change in musical meter. Relying purely on the muscle memory that he instilled in me, I reflected his actions near flawlessly, and it stunned me how I was able to keep up. He pulled me back into his embrace, and we moved to the left, the music nearing it’s end. He beamed at me, giving me a glimpse of those perfectly white teeth. “Last step,” he gently reminded, his eyes telling me that he was going to kiss me long and deep.

Feeling the heat in my cheeks, we gave a final bow and he almost lowered me down right to the purple floor, my spruced up hair spilling against it. My leg went to his waist, and my hand gripped tight the pocket of his muscular back.

Michael was able to hold me effortlessly in our embrace, and with the music cutting off, we did as most of the partners did. He picked me up and pulled me into a painfully deep kiss. The electricity sent waves of pleasure through me, and I felt that familiar tightness between my legs.

Shit, he was starting to make me wet in a public place.

We finally broke the kiss, and he ran his fingers against my hair affectionately. “That was pretty good,” he praised, “I think the press might just buy this act.”

It’s not an act any more. But he might regret that tone.

Might regret me.

“I love you,” those were the words that came out of my mouth. but they weren’t the ones in which I wished to speak.

He smiled at me. “I love you too, Jane,” before I knew it, a man with shoulder length brown hair came through the entranceway at a brisk, rushed pace. The man was wearing a gray local college hoodie and sweat shorts. He was heading straight towards us, a sense of urgency etched on his plain, if not handsome face. There was some kind of drink in his hand from one of the national gas stations.

I removed myself from Michael’s grasp, only keeping us connected at the hand. I shifted my eyes between the two quickly, a pounding beginning in my heart, and a nervous gnawing beginning in my head. “Is he looking for us?”

“No,” Michael replied softly, paying more attention to his acquaintance than to me. “He’s got to be looking for me,” he explained, lifting his chin at the man in recognization. “That’s Tim.”

Tim strode over towards us, stopping at Michael’s side and whispering something in his ear. I noticed then, that it was a Mega Gulp of cola in his grasp, as he looked over to me to say hello, but he was too concerned with something else.

Michael’s jaw tightened, and his Adam’s apple twitched with silent fury. “I need to check this out,” he told me, letting go of my hand and motioning with his head for me to come with.

As the music began to play once more, and all the different partners looked for their new respective suitors, the three of us stormed through the small sea of people, out into the room adjoining the charity gala. When we got out there, a number of people were gathered around one of the many big TV screens. The hall was spacious and had crisp, cool lighting, with warm colors of red, black and brown; a number of traditional oriental plants hanging from the ceiling in planters. At the twelve foot bar table off to the side, most of the men and women - all in clothing more expensive than I could ever afford - were glued to the television.

They were watching the news, which had the image of Police Chief David Wight Keller making a public announcement outside of his precinct at night. I didn’t know his age, but by his weathered face I wagered he was close to sixty now; he was dressed up in full uniform, including cap, and a plethora of pins, stripes and other commemorative honors. “Thank you everyone for coming on such short notice,” he began, his voice grim and full of old-school authority.

The press were all chattering and snapping pictures outside of view, with a number of officers standing watch beside the Chief. “We were submitted documents by an anonymous and trusted source earlier, and because of the large scale of these crimes, we are publicly declaring to launch a full investigation into the Smoak corporation. In particular, Jonathan Pendragon Smoak and various other named associates.” My heart sank in my chest, and just as I knew they would, the press exploded with questions, all of them talking over one another and no doubt furiously jotting this information down. “Please,” the Chief boomed, “now is not the time for questions. All that I am here to do is let the public know that we are taking these matters very seriously. With the information provided, we are already in the process of detaining Jonathan Smoak for tax evasion, fraudulent charges – what appears to be a Ponzi scheme – and various other crimes that I do not have the heart to speak out loud.” He took a heavy breath, and the people around us in our room all looked towards Michael. Or at least, it seemed like they were.

Michael watched in paramount horror and disgust, while Tim could only cross his arms and keep his head down to the floor.

“I encourage anyone that has information to step forward, and that you take serious consideration in the trust of this company as we all move forward. Deputy Harold Barrington will be with you shortly.” With that the Chief put up his hand, never smiling, and walked away.

Ligotti’s Mob wasn’t messing with me about the things that Michael’s father was doing.

When I spoke Michael’s name and he didn’t immediately respond, I knew that his fury was well and full in him. After watching the screen for a while longer, while I silently hated ever fiber of my being, he finally turned to face me.

The anger and disappointment that danced in his eyes, the twitch of rage in his nose. His whole aura exuded a sense of broken trust. A sense of dread at what he would have to say next. “Jane,” he clipped, his jaw clenching. ”Did you do this.” Tim turned to look at me now, adding the weight of his own gaze; it paled to the powerlessness that Michael made me feel.

“Michael, I--”

“I said,” he barked, not caring for who heard how he wished to speak. “Did you do this.”

Anger was starting to swell in my chest now, lightning raking fingers across the bottom of my feet. “I did it to save you,” I told him, straightening out my spine. “I did it because I know that you’re a good person--”

“How can you call that helping me, Jane.” Michael pointed to the TV, and it looked like he might start rubbing at his temples. “There’s no fucking way that can be true,” Michael hissed, and then said it once more beneath his breath, putting his hand down. Everyone was definitely watching the three of us now.

“They were going to flip someone else,” I tried to explain, wanting nothing more than to just die inside from being too afraid to tell him earlier. He wasn’t supposed to find out like this. Shame wracked over me. “There were papers revealing a lot of your private history. History and details that not many people could even have.”

“From who,” Michael pressed. “They’re corrupt,” Michael added, that look on his face still processing the idea of his father and company being drug through the mud. “They’re corrupt and they were lying to you. Bluffing. Not one thing up there was true,” there was a great pain in his voice now, and some degree of doubt. But he didn’t want to believe.

“No, no they were not,” I argued. “They wouldn’t tell me their name,” I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from getting too heated. Part of me wanted to run out crying, and another part wanted to stand my ground. “They said it was a close family friend. I told them, that if they kept you out of the damage, that I would do it,” I tried to swallow the pebble in my throat. “I didn’t accept the money.”

Michael’s nose flared and his face became a mask of internal discordance. “I can’t be around you right now,” he hesitated, an undercurrent of fury cutting through.

It hit me like a ton of bricks to hear him say that. My lips tightened to a purse, and I fought at the urge to ball my hands into fists. “Maybe you shouldn’t be around me at all,” I roared back, turning my back on him and carrying myself as far and fast away as I could.

When I made it to the elevator, I hammered at the button several times, hoping beyond hope that it would summon the thing faster. Every second that ticked felt like a wrong one, that I was frozen in the hell of my own choices.

The doors opened, and a low bell chimed from above. A gaggle of guests poured from the elevator, and I made my way through them, not even waiting for them all to get out. I finally made it to the back, and when they were all gone, I hit the button for the first floor.

That was when the tears started threatening to come.

I didn’t want to look weak in front of him.

I just couldn’t.