* * *
Fun.
I pause at the top of the carpeted stairs to look at the ballroom below, my heart pounding in my chest.
Already, there are a lot of people in the ballroom that has been designed to look like it’s on some island, potted palm trees scattered throughout, a golden water fountain with pebbles in the middle of the room, and tapestries designed like sails hanging from the ceiling in between the crystal chandeliers. There are women in flowing designer gowns and sparkling jewels and men in suits like the one Dash has on, though none of them can quite carry it like he can. I can see some of them posing for a camera, the flash going off.
Nope. This isn’t my idea of fun at all.
Still, there’s no turning back now and so I take a deep breath, gripping Dash’s arm just a little tighter as we descend the stairs into the abyss.
His mother meets us at the bottom, dressed in a strap- less, royal blue gown with large diamonds around her neck.
“So glad you could make it, Dash,” she says, gripping his shoulders and giving him a kiss on the cheek.
He smiles. “Thank you for the invitation.”
“And you, my dear…” Mrs. Siegel turns to me, eyes glistening with approval. “I knew that dress would look divine on you.”
“Thank you,” I tell her, glancing at it.
“Now, come with me.” She takes Dash’s other arm. “There are a few people I want you to meet.”
Few is an understatement.
Mrs. Siegel introduces Dash to one guest after another, pride written all over her face and her voice heavy with excitement. Dash introduces me in turn, each time to the same responses – kind words from the male guest and raised eyebrows and upturned noses from the woman on his arm. I simply smile.
After a while, I get tired of smiling, though, and standing, and pretending to be interested in people I don’t know or conversations I don’t really follow – it’s the same thing that happened at our wedding reception, except that time, Dash and I could excuse ourselves. This time, we can’t.
Well, he can’t.
I excuse myself, going to the refreshments table for a glass of champagne and then finding an empty wicker lounge chair to sit on. I’d lie down on it if I could.
“Are you alright, dear?” Mrs. Siegel sits beside me. “You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine,” I assure her. “I just needed a break.”
“I know.” She takes a sip from her own glass of champagne. “I was getting bored myself. But then I’ve heard all they’ve had to say before and Dash hasn’t. Look at him. He’s so interested and they love him.”
She’s right. As I stare at Dash, who is currently speaking to a senator and a businessman, I can tell that he is hanging on to their every word, eyes narrowed slightly and focused on them. And the men he’s talking to are smiling, laughing, their bodies relaxed.
I’m beginning to think this is the world Dash truly belongs to.
Mrs. Siegel holds my wrist. “You must support Dash in all this, of course. The men here may not think much of you, but remember, it is the Queen’s job to protect the King.”
Support Dash? Protect him from all these people? I’m not sure I’m cut out for all that.
Still, I nod, giving my fake mother-in-law a fake smile. “I’ll do my best.”
“Good.” She lifts her glass to mine. “To the queens.” “The queens.”
Our goblets clink and then I take a sip. I almost choke on it, though, when I see Marissa standing a few feet away in a red gown, looking around the ballroom for Dash.
Why does the mere sight of her almost choke me to death?
Seeing Dash with a senator, she frowns, probably thinking she can’t sweep him away. Then her eyes find mine and she grins, walking towards me with a dramatic swish of her hips.
“Hello,” she greets with an even faker smile. “I thought I’d see you here.” She eyes me from head to toe. “Beautiful gown.”
“Thank you,” I tell her, returning her smile as I lower my glass. “Yours, too.”
It is beautiful. I especially like the golden accents on the bottom part of the gown. It’s too revealing, though, the neck- line wide and deep all the way to the waist. Probably, that was the effect she wanted.
“I think you should have lost the necklace, though,” Marissa adds, pointing to it. “It doesn’t really go well with the gown.”
“I agree,” Mrs. Siegel pipes in. “It’s too small.”
I frown. The last thing I want is for her to agree with something Marissa says.
“Well, this necklace was given to me by my parents,” I say, rubbing the pendant. “I hardly ever take it off.”
“Really?” Marissa’s trimmed eyebrows go up.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” Mrs. Siegel says, eyeing Marissa. “You are?”
This is just getting worse by the second.
“Marissa Reynolds.” She leans forward to shake Mrs. Siegel’s hand. “My husband is Leon Reynolds. He’s a stock- broker. He owns a yacht.”
“Oh.” Dash’s Mom has clearly never heard of him. “Anna Siegel.”
“Dash’s mother?” Marissa’s jaw drops, her hand gripping Mrs. Siegel’s hand.
I look away and roll my eyes, having had enough of being forced to stare at her boobs, which I’m sure are as fake as the rest of her.
“Why, yes.” Mrs. Siegel stands up. “Are you a friend of Dash?”
Great. Just great.
“You can say that,” Marissa answers. “Though we were more than friends once. We went out for a few years.”
A few years? My eyebrows go up. I thought Dash said a few weeks.
“Really?” Mrs. Siegel’s eyebrows crease. “I thought he was with Janine the whole time he was on active duty.”
Marissa frowns. “He said that?”
“There was a time when Dash and I broke up,” I say, standing up in between them. “But it was only for a short while.”
“Oh,” Dash’s mother says.
I sip my champagne. “We thought we could live without each other. But we couldn’t. We couldn’t be happy with anyone else.”
I swear Marissa just snarled.
I grin winsomely down at her, taking another sip of my champagne to celebrate my small victory.
“Excuse me,” Marissa says, walking away. That’s right. Walk away.
Halfway across the room, she pivots as Dash becomes available and makes a bee line for him.
Shit.
In seconds, she pounces on him, wrapping her arm around his and pressing her breasts against him. Laughing like he’s so hilarious. Making googly eyes at him like she’s on drugs.
My jaw clenches, my fingers clutching the stem of my champagne glass so hard it might snap.
“They’re still friends?” Mrs. Siegel asks beside me, confusion in her voice.
“Excuse me,” I tell her, leaving her side.
I stop by the refreshments table for two fresh glasses of champagne and then go over to where Dash and Marissa are.
“You look like you’re having fun.” I hand the other glass to Dash.
“I was wondering where you were,” Dash says, sliding easily from Marissa’s clutches to scoop the champagne flute from my fingers.
“We were just talking about you,” Marissa says, her eyes narrowed at me.
She’s not even hiding all that potent hate on her face.
Her rudeness is frankly amazing.
“You two look so happy and perfect together,” she adds with a little sneer. “It’s almost too good to be true.”
I swallow but keep my smile on, placing my arm around Dash’s. “I agree completely.”
Marissa puts her hands together. “How did you two meet again? You never did tell me.” She shakes her head slowly. “Seems like you came out of nowhere.”
“We met in college, before I joined the Marines,” Dash says, pulling his arm away to put it around me. “We kept in touch ever since.”
“Even when we were together?” Marissa asks. “Yes,” Dash answers.
“Liar,” Marissa accuses, the veins in her forehead becoming prominent. “You didn’t have any contact with any other woman then. I know. I checked your phone all the time.”
“Like I said, Dash and I took a break from our relation- ship,” I say, placing my arm around Dash’s waist. Dash and I might be liars, but we make a great team. “We still got back together. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. We’re married now.”
I look at Dash, giving him a sweet smile.
I’m about to kiss him, too, but suddenly, my stomach feels queasy.
I hand him my glass. “I think I need to go to the restroom.”
Without waiting for a reply, I dart through the crowd.
I can feel a few pairs of eyes staring at me but I ignore them, heading straight to the restrooms I saw earlier. That doesn’t mean they don’t bother me though. I hate being seen like this, maybe as much as I hate leaving Dash alone with Marissa.
And just when it was getting good too.
I walk faster, as fast as I can in my gown and stilettos, relieved when I find the restrooms in sight.
What is going on with me? Did I drink too fast? Is it something I ate before we left the apartment?
I don’t know. All I know is that the moment I’m inside the women’s restroom, I rush into the nearest empty cubicle, bolt the door behind me, and throw up into the toilet bowl.