Dr. Eugene Stanford, and his wife, Maribell. Large plastic surgery practice in Charleston. Donated two hundred and fifty thousand to the Leatherback Turtle Endangered Species event last year,” I say softly in my mother’s ear before pulling back and pasting a smile on my face as the couple moves forward in the reception line.

“Dr. Stanford, Maribell, so nice to see you again,” my mother tells them with a bright smile, shaking both of their hands and expertly using the information I just fed to her. “Thank you so much for coming this evening.”

I glance behind them in line to prepare myself for the next guest while they chitchat about the charity event, ironically being held for wounded veterans. Ironic because the one wounded vet that should be at this event would never be important or wealthy enough to be added to my mother’s guest list. And it’s not like I want him here, especially after our confrontation last night and how much it drained me to be in his arms one minute, and have to pull away from him the next. To see the disappointment and anger in his eyes and feel the sharp sting of his accusations, cutting deeper than any knife possibly could.

Rubbing the watchband on the inside of my wrist, I know I deserved every insult he threw at me, but that doesn’t make the hurt go away. It doesn’t help me rest easy at night knowing he’s sleeping just a few short miles away and I can’t go to him, can’t touch him, can’t kiss him, and can’t tell him why.

A man in a crisp white Navy uniform, walking with a cane, moves forward in line as my mother says her good-byes to the doctor and his wife. I’m spending an evening in a room filled with military personnel and it’s the worst form of torture. I’ve seen at least a dozen men in Marine dress blues come through this line tonight, and each one reminds me of Eli and the one time I got to see him in his uniform. He had just come home from a funeral for the wife of one of his commanding officers. Even though it was a somber event, his face lit up as soon as he let me into his apartment and that uniform was quickly ripped away by my own hands.

Shaking myself out of my thoughts, I lean forward, closer to my mother’s ear once more and speak quietly.

“Lieutenant Anthony Michaels, son of Virginia state senator Brandon Michaels. Wounded in Afghanistan six months ago,” I inform her as Anthony moves forward and my mother kisses both of his cheeks and thanks him for his service.

Running my hands down the front of my dress, I glance at the soft fabric covering my body. It’s a Versace gown the color of emerald green and perfectly matches my eyes. The soft jersey material clings to every curve of my body and drapes around the floor at my feet, a slit up the side showcasing one long leg—the good one, of course. It only has one strap over my shoulder, held together with a gold filigree broach, leaving my other shoulder completely bare. It’s a beautiful dress and it fits me like a glove, but I saw this dress on the runway a few months ago. I know the original style of this dress was intended to be cut short, several inches above the knee. I know my mother had her stylist send it to get altered, because God forbid I ever show myself and my scarred leg in public, around people who respect her.

“No one likes to be reminded of tragedy, Shelby. These people see enough ugliness in their lives.”

The only concession I made tonight was refusing to put my hair in a fancy updo. It took fifteen minutes of arguing with my mother’s stylist before she finally gave up, left the room, and I petulantly curled my long, strawberry blond hair into soft waves framing my face and hanging halfway down my back.

Brushing my hair back over my bare shoulder, my smile quickly dies from my face when I realize it’s more than a little pathetic that my hair is the only form of rebellion I’m brave enough to fight for tonight. I’m here at this charity function, held at my family plantation, because I was told to be. I’m wearing this floor-length Versace dress because it was chosen for me. I’m whispering in my mother’s ear because it’s the job I was forced to take. I feel like my mother’s doll. One she dresses up in a pretty package to hide the truth on the inside.

“Have I told you lately how hot your ass looks in that dress?”

I smile, barely containing an unladylike giggle as I step away from my mother’s side while she’s busy talking, to turn and look at Meredith. Unlike me, Meredith is wearing whatever the hell she wants, her curvy body showcased in a tight red halter-style dress with a deep vee in the front showing off a generous amount of cleavage that have most of the men in this room tripping over their own feet when she walks by.

My mother shoots a quick, annoyed look at the two of us over her shoulder and Meredith raises her champagne glass in the air toward her in a silent toast, giving her a huge, fake smile.

“Let me guess, she’s still pissed I helped you move out into the guest house today?” Meredith asks out of the corner of her mouth, bringing the crystal flute to her lips and taking a sip.

Okay, so I might have managed to perform one more rebellious act today, but that’s only because of the woman standing next to me. Meredith took one look at my face when she walked into the house this morning after she landed, dragged me upstairs, and started packing my things.

To say my mother was flustered when she came home from a few meetings this afternoon and found out from one of the household staff that I’d moved out was the understatement of the year. Luckily, I was in the shower at the guest house when she stormed over and Meredith handled that confrontation. All she had to do was mention her father, and my mother shut her mouth, turned, and walked back to the main house.

“Of course she’s pissed, but she’ll keep her mouth shut and continue glaring at us throughout your entire stay just in case you might have the urge to tell your father she’s being difficult,” I tell her softly, grabbing my own glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

“Lucky for her, I try to avoid speaking to my father as much as possible, but she doesn’t need to know that.”

Meredith and her father have always had a rocky relationship. Even though he lets her make her own choices in life, he’s never quiet about his disappointment in those choices. He doesn’t understand Meredith’s free spirit and artistic nature. While I’ve been stuck here in Charleston, Meredith has been flourishing as a romance author in New York. The first book she published after we graduated from college soared to the top of the bestseller lists, and every book she’s penned since then has been no different. Her nonstop upward movement since that first book is probably the only reason her father has stopped trying to pressure her into moving to D.C. to work for him as the head of Homeland Security. That, and the fact that she writes under a pen name, never makes public appearances even though two of her books have been made into popular movies, and the whispers and rumors about who she really is continue to increase her fame each time she puts out another book. As long as she continues showing up to his social functions to fake her support for him, her father is perfectly fine to let her be. It’s no wonder he and my mother get along so well.

“Shelby, there are a few people I’d like you to meet.”

Meredith and I both turn to look at Landry as he walks up to us and kisses me on the cheek, before giving a curt nod in Meredith’s direction. Landry, being of mostly the same mind as my mother, isn’t Meredith’s biggest fan either and has made his complaints loud and clear about my moving out into the guest house because of her influence. One would think he’d be happy that I had my own place, so to speak, so the two of us could have some privacy, but one would be wrong. If something upsets my mother, it gets back to him and he has to deal with the backlash. My mother spent the entire evening chewing his ear off about letting me make such a stupid decision.

I should be offended neither of these people seem to think I can make my own decisions, but what would be the point? I can’t and I don’t. I do what I’m told, like a good, obedient daughter. I used to be headstrong and confident, ready and willing to take on the world, and it makes me sick to my stomach that I’ve let that part of me slip away.

“We’re a little busy here, Lando, how about you come back in a few minutes?” Meredith informs him with a cheeky smile, tossing back the rest of her champagne.

Obviously there is no love lost between these two, indicated by Landry’s annoyed sigh when she uses the nickname she gave him years ago that he absolutely hates.

While the two of them quietly bicker back and forth, I take a minute to look at Landry. He looks handsome in his black tuxedo, just like he always does. Hair perfectly styled at the salon in town, nails manicured, clean-shaven, and smelling of expensive cologne. With my four-inch gold heels, we’re exactly the same height. I’ve never had to crane my neck or stand on my toes to kiss him. We’re perfectly matched in every way.

Every way but the one that counts. I’ll never love him. I’ll never be able to give him what he wants. I stand here looking at him, so handsome and well dressed and full of so much love for me, and all I can think about is a man who towers over me, looks just as amazing in jeans and a T-shirt as he does in a uniform and who doesn’t need to bother with fancy cologne because the smell of his body mixed with his soap is the most intoxicating scent I’ve ever experienced. If I had a fully functioning heart, it would be breaking for Landry with the way I’m betraying him with these thoughts of another man. As it is, my stomach is tied in knots every time I look at him and my head is full of regret every time he smiles at me because I can’t give him more. I can’t give him all of me, because the man that has always filled my thoughts, a man I never thought I’d see again, is now alive.

I hear Meredith softly curse beside me and I look over to see her eyes trained on the wide open front door. When my gaze moves in that direction, the gaslight lanterns hanging outside on either side of the door flicker and cast a warm golden glow of light in the doorway and my champagne glass slips right out of my hand.

The feel of liquid splashing against my arm and Meredith fumbling and bumping into me makes me realize her quick reflexes must have caught the glass before it shattered to the floor, but all I can see is the man standing in the open double French doors. The clear, starry night behind him makes a perfect backdrop and I hold my breath as he moves around a few people milling about. His eyes meet mine from a few feet away, and I press my hand to my stomach to quell the butterflies flapping around as I watch his eyes move over every inch of me, from head to toe, as he continues walking in our direction.

“Isn’t that the Eli James fellow from the news?” Landry asks. “I don’t remember him being on the guest list.”

He definitely wasn’t on the guest list. My mother would rather set her hair on fire in front of all these people than invite him to our home. Him being here can only mean one thing and that one thing does not make the nerves taking over my stomach calm down. Eli was never a fan of my mother, even before we started seeing each other. As our relationship advanced and I started trusting him enough to open up about my life, his dislike for her grew tenfold. There’s no way him showing up here tonight is for any other reason than to make her nervous and put her on edge and I know it will not end well. He has no idea that just by being here, my mother could assume I had something to do with it and go back on every promise she made me and ruin everything for him.

What the hell is he thinking?

By the time he gets to the table right next to my mother where people can pay for their tickets for dinner if they haven’t already done so, a small commotion has begun in the entryway. Everyone knows who Eli James is, thanks to the news blasted across every television station the last few months. Not only is he a hometown hero, he’s a national hero, and his presence here is not going unnoticed. People whisper and point in his direction, a few walk up to him and pat him on the back, welcoming him home and thanking him for his service. I watch in awe as he casually shakes the hands of strangers, his eyes always coming back to mine, until my mother finally notices what is happening right in front of her.

I take back everything about how I thought Eli looked better in jeans and a T-shirt. I’ve never seen him in a tuxedo, and especially not one that looks like it was made especially for him. Unlike most of the men in the room who are wearing bow ties, Eli has paired his black suit with an emerald green necktie and coordinating pocket square sticking out of his left breast pocket. In a sick twist of fate, we look like we match. Like a couple who planned their outfits to complement each other, but I know it’s just a fluke and I won’t allow myself to wonder if he did it because his favorite color is still green. The color of my eyes.

“Mr. James, welcome home,” my mother says, pulling me out of my thoughts when I hear the fakeness in her voice, carrying loudly over the hushed conversation so that everyone can witness what a welcoming and wonderful person she is, when I know just how much she must be seething inside at the sight of him. “I wasn’t aware you were on the guest list, but I’m sure we can make a concession.”

I move forward to stand next to her, feeling like I want to throw my body in between the two of them to protect Eli from whatever my mother might say or do.

“I hope you don’t mind me crashing the party,” Eli tells her, his baritone voice warming my chilled skin. “I’m sure you know this charity is very near and dear to my heart.”

My mother nods, clasping her hands together low and in front of her body.

“The more the merrier, but I regret to tell you the tickets are quite expensive. I’m sure you understand. It’s for charity,” she tells him with a tight smile as a few flashes from the media’s cameras go off.

And there it is. With a polite smile and a sweet voice for everyone who stands around us listening in, my mother just put him in his place by inferring that he can’t afford to buy a ticket to an event that should benefit him. After everything he’s gone through, she has the nerve to deny him entry.

As I try to formulate some valid excuse as to why he doesn’t need to pay for a ticket without making either one of them look foolish, Eli reaches into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulls out a black leather wallet.

“Sorry, I found out about this fancy function a little late, so I didn’t get the memo on the cost. How much is it again?” he asks, flipping his wallet open and waiting for her to respond.

She laughs at him like he’s a silly little boy who just told her a precious joke, adding in a pitying shake of her head

“It’s one thousand dollars,” she whispers dramatically, widening her eyes to emphasize the steep price.

Eli whistles and I have to bite down on my lips to stop a hysterical giggle from escaping. “Wow, that’s pretty steep.”

A few people standing next to him chuckle uncomfortably at his reply.

“It was very nice of you to stop by,” my mother tells him, confident that she’s made her point, made him look like a fool, and is just waiting until he scurries back out the door with his tail between her legs.

“Oh, I’m not leaving,” he informs her, pulling a huge wad of cash out of his wallet and tossing it on the table in front of him. “A thousand, you said? How about I give you six? A donation, of course.”

The woman from the charity gasps loudly when she sees the money, quickly picking it up and sticking it into the lockbox next to her and ripping off six tickets to hand to Eli.

He takes them from her hand and gives her a wink, sticking the tickets and his wallet back into the inside pocket of his coat, his eyes moving over my mother and latching on to mine. My heart stutters in my chest and I feel my palms start to sweat as he keeps his eyes locked on mine and walks past us, finally turning away as he enters the ballroom.

Landry steps away from Meredith and me and goes to my mother’s side. I watch as the two of them share a quick, whispered conversation before my mother quickly resumes greeting people as they enter, pretending like nothing happened, but I know it won’t be that easy.

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck just happened?” Meredith whispers in my ear.

I can’t speak as I turn away from my mother and Landry and watch Eli disappear into a crowd of people, his eyes staying glued to mine as he goes, the fire and determination I see in them burning a hole straight through me, making goose bumps break out on my skin and butterflies swarm in my stomach. I stand rooted in place, watching him shake more hands and smile at strangers until the feel of my mother’s hand clamping down around my elbow and her nails digging into my skin pull my eyes away from him and I feel like I can finally breathe again.

Oh, no. This won’t be easy at all. This will definitely cost me.