This wasn't like the quiet, yet extravagant fundraiser I'd attended with Brandon a month ago. That event had been designed to be explicitly under wraps, held in a place where the rich and powerful in New England could gather without the press hanging over them.
The Burnside Hotel, however, was chosen for the exact opposite reason. A press horde clamored around the main entrance, where posh Bostonians were walking up a short red carpet to attend the gala. I didn't see Brandon, but we had already discussed that he would arrive on his own. His rumored announcement was the big news of the evening, coming on top of Miranda's Globe and People features.
Cory was holding a service elevator when we pulled up in the underground parking lot. His eyes bugged considerably when he caught a load of my necklace.
"Jesus!" he exclaimed. "When I said First Lady, I meant Nancy Reagan, not Marie Antoinette."
I touched the jagged edges of the wreath self-consciously. "Is it too much?"
"Abso-fucking-lutely not," Jane said adamantly as she looped an arm through mine. "Captain Manners here clearly doesn't know shit about fashion. Mary would have told Brandon if it were too much, Sky." She glared at Cory. "Would your boss like being compared to an eighteenth-century boy-king? Just wondering."
Just another reason why I was so glad to have Jane in my corner tonight. Cory's face turned the color of a tomato, but he just punched the button of the elevator.
"Sorry," he said as the doors closed.
Jane relaxed. "That's more like it."
Eric just shook his head, bemused, and gave Cory a "what did you expect?" kind of look.
Cory escorted us to a ballroom set aside for the event. Although my name was in the Globe, no one as of yet had published any pictures of me, so Cory had arranged for my name card to read "Ellen Chambers", using my middle name and my mother's maiden name as a decoy.
The room was mostly full already, swirling with black-tie attendees dressed for one of biggest political fundraisers in Boston. I had already recognized several people, including local celebrities, senators, and the governor. I was grateful that Brandon had made sure there would be a few friendly faces in the crowd for me too; it couldn't have been easy to procure tickets for Eric and Jane last minute. Margie must have been on the phone all day.
Across the room, I caught the notice of Kieran, who stood talking to a few men, dressed similarly to them in a sleek black tuxedo of her own. She gave a brief wave and a smile––well, as much of a smile as Kieran was ever really capable of––and returned to her conversation.
"Come on, Ellie," Jane joked as we wove our way to one of the octagonal tables set up near the dance floor.
It wasn't quite the table of honor, which was in the center of the room, but it was close. Brandon's name was on a card at that table, right next to another one I recognized as we passed it: Miranda Sterling.
"Oh, fuck" I breathed as I caught sight of the elegant cursive writing.
Jane leaned over my shoulder, and her eyes widened.
"What the hell?" she asked in disbelief. "Do you think he knows?"
I shook my head. "No. He never would have demanded I come if he'd known. He probably wouldn't have come himself." I pressed a hand to my cheek. "Jesus, like Groundhog Day, but a really awful night instead."
The tall, willowy form of Brandon's estranged wife was nowhere to be seen, but as soon as my eyes landed on the ballroom entrance, the entire frame was occupied by Brandon's broad shoulders. He raised a hand with a smile that was immediately clouded when he caught the look on my face.
Jane murmured something about her and Eric getting drinks and skirted away.
"Hey," Brandon said as he approached. "What's wrong?"
He looked camera-ready in a gorgeously slim-cut tuxedo that wasn't much different from every other man in the room, but Brandon made them all look like shadows. Cory had turned a stylist on him too; he'd clearly had a haircut and a shave in the last twenty-four hours. His usually tousled blond waves were shortened and tamed into something approximating a respectable politician's. Which, of course, was exactly what he was trying to be.
But nothing could tame the color of his eyes, the way they popped in a sea of black tuxedos. I realized at that moment that I'd chosen my dress precisely because it was the same color: the color of the Mediterranean, of a lake on a summer day. The color of the sky.
Wordlessly, I pointed to the small card sitting on the table. Brandon's eyes followed. His handsome jaw dropped.
"What the fuck..." he wondered under his breath as he picked the card up and examined it as if it were a figment of his imagination. He looked up. "I had no clue about this, Skylar. I never would have come if I'd known she would be here."
I believed him, but his obvious concern was reassuring.
"I know," I said. "And it's Ellen, by the way." I nodded at a few of the cameramen setting up in one corner of room.
Brandon's worry, however, dissipated a bit as he took in an eyeful of my outfit. Despite the obvious stress he was under, his mouth quirked with a sly smile.
"You look...wow." He reached out and touched the wreath of diamonds around my neck lightly, then traced his fingers over my collarbone. "I'm glad you wore this."
I touched the same spot. "It's beautiful. Too much, but beautiful."
Brandon shrugged with another shy half-smile. "I'd like to get you one of your own one day. When I know you'll actually accept it."
He cocked his head, looking at me like I was a painting in a museum, a work of art. Slowly, however, his gaze started to heat up with a fire that quickly had me blushing bright red.
"You need to stop looking at me like that," I whispered, even as he picked up my hand and started to run his thumb over my knuckles. From far away, his touch would have looked innocent, but up close, it was anything but.
"Like what?" he asked, making absolutely no movement to stop, neither the touch nor the heated look.
"Like you want to eat me for dinner."
He bit his bottom lip, as if trying to process the comment. Then he released my hand, but leaned in. A bystander might have thought Brandon was telling me a quick secret, but they wouldn't know how his freshly shaved jaw felt when it rasped against my cheek, or the effect of his feather-light touch over my shoulder. It didn't matter that I had just spent the last two weeks straight with the man. Instead of quenching that thirst, it had only made it stronger.
"More like dessert," he rumbled into my ear, which he nipped lightly. "Your pussy's too sweet for anything else."
He stood up straight with a complete shit-eating grin spread that popped his dimples out in full force. I stared at him, my jaw dropped practically to the floor.
Brandon smirked as he dropped my hand, which fell against the silk of my dress like a limp fish. "You want me to reach up your skirt and prove it to you, Red? I could make you lick it off my fingers."
My eyes bugged out even further. "You did not just say that to me in a building full of politicians and donors! There are literally two congressional representatives and an attorney general in this room right now."
"You don't even want me to start on all the dirty things that dress is putting in my head," Brandon said with another sharkish leer. "But now you're not thinking about this anymore, are you?" He held up the card bearing Miranda's name and took a few backward steps toward the ballroom entrance. "I'll be back after I take care of this mix-up. You just keep thinking dirty thoughts about what I'm going to do to you later. With nothing on but that necklace."
With a wink, he spun on his heel and left me clutching the side of the chair. Suddenly unable to stand properly, I decided now was as good a time as any to take a seat at my table when Eric and Jane returned with drinks for all of us.
"Everything okay?" Jane asked, glancing back to where Brandon had gone. She handed me a glass of white wine, which I took gratefully.
"I think so," I said. "He's...taking care of it."
It felt strange to say that when I didn't know exactly what he was going to do. But I was ready to trust Brandon.
"Well, hello there!"
I turned to find Ray and Susan Petersen approaching. I stood up to give Susan a quick, but tight embrace, and she held out my arms to look me over.
"My, my," she said as she looked me over. "Aren't you a vision, Skylar."
"Thank you, Susan," I said. "You look great too."
She smiled, clearly happy with the flowy floral dress that draped over her small, squat form. I gave Ray an awkward kiss on the cheek. He looked as much a grumpy professor as ever in a stolid, if somewhat faded navy suit.
"Brandon is taking care of a mix-up with the guest list," I said as we took our seats. "He has to sit at a major donor table tonight, but I'll be here to keep you guys company."
Ray snorted. "Of course."
"These are my friends from Harvard, Jane and Eric," I said, ignoring the comment. I gestured at Jane and Eric, who both stood up briefly to shake the Petersens' hands.
"All lawyers?" Susan asked kindly as she accepted a glass of champagne from one of the roving waiters while Ray muttered something about a beer.
Jane nodded. "Yes, ma'am," she said. "Just graduated with Skylar. Now we're just waiting on our bar exam results."
"Oh, that's exciting!" Susan replied, clasping her hands together. "I thought about becoming a lawyer at one time. Until I met this old curmudgeon, anyway."
Ray just looked dourly at his wife, but I thought I saw a fond twinkle through his smudged glasses. Jane bit her lip, while Eric stretched an arm back behind her chair.
"Hey there!"
Brandon reappeared at the table and leaned down to kiss his foster parents hello before coming to stand behind me.
"Are you ready for your big night?" Susan asked excitedly. "Do you have a speech prepared?"
Brandon patted his breast pocket. "Right here. Cory and I were up all night finishing it."
He rubbed his forehead, the only sign I'd seen yet that he was nervous. But when he put his hand on the back of my chair, I could see the whites of his knuckles.
"You're going to be amazing," I said, giving him what I hoped looked like a friendly pat on the hand.
He looked down at me with gratitude, and captured my hand briefly with a tight squeeze before anyone in the room could see. Soon the waiters would start to serve dinner, after which would be a few speeches before some dancing. That was when Brandon would be making his announcement. He downed the rest of his drink, which looked like bourbon.
"Careful there, slugger," I said. "You should probably eat something."
"Red," Brandon said quietly as he took another long sip of his drink, "I love you. But I swear to God, baby, you need to let me drink tonight."
Before I could reply, there was a kerfuffle at the ballroom entrance that caught our attention.
"What do you mean, I'm not on the list?"
A woman's voice rang out, clear and sharp, even over the din. Just past the doormen and the woman holding a clipboard, I could see dark hair, porcelain skin, bright pink lips.
My stomach dropped. Miranda Sterling.
Brandon sighed, tipped back the rest of his drink, then set it on the table next to me. "I'd better go deal with this," he said, and stalked off without another word.
Our entire table watched as he entered the fray, and I saw Miranda's eyes, dark and sharp, perfectly lined and mascaraed, as they caught sight of Brandon's tall form. They brightened. Then they found me and turned venomous.
"Jesus," Jane breathed beside me. "If she were Medusa, you'd be stone right now."
I shuddered. Right now, Miranda was scarier than a mythical monster with snake hair.
I grabbed my clutch. "I should probably go."
"Oh, please don't," Susan piped up across the table.
Jane and I turned to find Susan staring at the entrance with obvious disgust.
Susan looked back at me and smiled. "She's just so...so..."
"Horrendous," Ray supplied dryly.
He raised a faint, white brow at me. It was probably the most positive reinforcement I'd ever receive from the man.
"Exactly," Susan chimed in. "Petty and vicious, and she's had Bran practically locked up in that big ugly house for years. She's just mad now that he's finally moving on, whether she wants him to or not. And with someone as lovely as you, no less."
"Susan––" I started. I appreciated the votes of confidence, but that didn't mean me being here was a good idea.
"No, no, no," Susan continued. "Truly. He wouldn't be here tonight if not for you. He always hated the spotlight. You've got to know how you brought him out of his shell."
"She's leaving," murmured Jane, who hadn't stopped watching the scene over my shoulder.
When I looked back, Miranda had disappeared, and Brandon was making his way back toward our table.
"That's done," he said when he arrived, although he still didn't sit down.
I gulped. "Really?"
I hated the fact that I couldn't give him the hug and kiss he clearly needed, but there were already a few members of the press being escorted to a designated area by the ballroom's podium, not far from our table. Brandon nodded with a sweet smile my way, but made no move to touch me. It looked like it caused him physical pain.
"She's on her way home. But just to be safe, you should probably leave after the speech, Red. No doubt she'll tip off the paps that you're here."
I blanched. "Okay."
He looked across the room and waved to someone who was apparently beckoning at him. Cory was standing next to a group of other men in tuxedos, some of whom I recognized from the last, disastrous benefit.
"Time to kiss some donors' asses," Brandon muttered. "I'll be back when I can."
I watched him leave, and the ball of dread in my stomach grew. When I looked back to the table, I found Susan watching sympathetically while Ray stared with obvious disapproval.
"You don't look like you're very happy about tonight," Susan said lightly. "You must be upset about that feature in the paper today."
I sighed. "I'm here for Brandon, not myself. Not the Globe either."
"This isn't Brandon," Ray said abruptly. "Susan's right. He's never been one for this kind of attention, and now all of a sudden he wants to run for office?" The older man shook his head. He turned to me. "You did this?"
Confused, I shook my head. "He loves Boston," I said weakly. "Maybe he just wants to help make his city better."
It was hard to argue with what Ray was saying. I hadn't actually known Brandon that long, but in all that time, he had always seemed a supremely private person, never one for crowds or a lot of extra attention. This new venture was the complete polar opposite of everything I knew about him.
Ray just harrumphed. "There are a lot of ways to do that without being a damn politician, like Miranda always wanted him to be," he said. "He's too smart for this."
Susan didn't say anything, but concern was written all over her kind face. Eventually, she gave a small shrug. Before I could reply, my name was called out by not one, but two people.
"Skylar!"
Jane, Eric, and I all twisted in our seats to check for the competing voices.
"What in fresh hell?" Jane mumbled as she caught sight of Jared weaving his way through the crowd.
I frowned. "Jesus, this really is like Groundhog Day. Jared's family is Republican. Why would he be at a DNC event?" I rubbed a hand over my forehead. "When it rains, it pours, doesn't it?"
"Don't worry, chick," Jane said as she pushed back from her seat, yanking at Eric's suit jacket to stand him up with her. "We got this."
They quickly left to block Jared several tables away, but my attention was reclaimed again when the owner of the other voice touched my shoulder. I looked up to find my mother smiling down at me, dressed to the nines in an elegant blue gown.
"Darling!" she cried, leaning in to air-kiss my cheeks. "Look at us. Practically twins, aren't we?"
I just stared, utterly confused. "Janette, what are you doing here?"
"Oh, we were invited last minute. We wouldn't have missed dear Brandon's big night, since we are practically family!"
She turned to the remaining two people at the table. "You must be the Petersens! Brandon has told me so much about you. I'm Janette Jadot, Skylar's mother."
Susan and Ray both accepted Janette's light handshake, both of them too stunned by her sudden presence as their eyes flickered between us. I couldn't move; this certainly wasn't the first meeting of the families I wanted to have with Brandon's foster parents. Not to mention, when had she had this supposed discussion with Brandon about them?
"Janette lives in France," was all I could say. "She's here visiting."
Janette turned to me. "I'm so glad you decided to come tonight," she said. "I wondered if we might sneak away for a quick chat."
I looked around the room, which was now full to capacity. Almost everyone had taken their seats, and the band had started playing some swing music.
"I don't really think right now is the best time," I said. "Maybe we can get coffee tomorrow."
"I'd really like to talk now," Janette prodded, even as she beamed at someone across the room and gave a cheerful wave. "It's rather urgent."
I frowned openly. "Janette," I said, calling her attention back to me.
She looked down brightly, and her smile quickly faded.
"Not now," I said. "It's a big night. Tomorrow. Okay?"
Her jaw clenched for a moment, but then she nodded curtly. "Brunch at our hotel. I'll make a reservation for ten, shall I?"
I murmured my assent, and Janette disappeared to mingle. I didn't see Maurice, but no doubt he was also taking full advantage of the networking opportunities.
Jane and Eric came back just as the food arrived. The chicken marsala tasted like cardboard, and it suddenly felt like, even with my attempt to go undercover, all the eyes in the room were on me. The bodice of my dress felt very tight. I needed to breathe. I needed a break.
"I'm going to the restroom," I said to Jane, who looked at me with obvious concern.
"You need company?" she asked.
I shook my head. "No. I'll be right back."
I pushed back from the table, clutch in hand as I weaved my way toward the bathroom. Brandon was still mired by all the people vying for his attention, with Cory standing beside him like a loyal lapdog. He didn't notice when I left, and I was glad for it.
~