First, I had to calm my racing heart. Slow, deep breaths. Slow, deep breaths. Slow, deep …
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mason’s voice sent my heart into a race again.
I whirled and found him near the closed door, standing tall with his hands inside his pant pockets, his gaze downcast.
Even with the waiter uniform, Mason looked as handsome as ever, as energetic and charming and determined as ever. He had combed his hair tonight, probably to look more professional, but a few strands had fallen over his hazel eyes. I wanted to reach over and fix those strands. No. I wanted to run both my hands through his hair and dishevel it, the way I liked it.
Heat crept up my cheeks and I pushed those thoughts away. “I didn’t think it mattered,” I answered, putting my hands behind my back, hoping it was enough to stop their shaking.
“So, what is it? Are you a politician? Is that why you’re here?”
I pressed my lips together, my mind concocting a lie. But why lie now? “My mother is the state governor. Peyton McClain. I came with her.”
His eyes widened for half a second before frowning. “The one everyone is betting will run for president in a few years?”
“She will run for president.”
“That’s big.”
“Yes, it is.”
A stare showdown began as I willed my heart to slow down. The crackling silence made my breathing shallow.
“What now?”
“What do you mean?”
Mason took a few steps into my direction. “Will you pretend you don’t know me?”
I bit the inside of my cheek and averted my eyes. “It’s for the best.”
“For whom?”
For my mother. Of course, I would never say that out loud. An edge of curiosity gnawed in my chest and I asked instead, “What are you doing here? How come you’re on the other side of the country?”
“I transferred grad schools here. I start in August.”
“But that’s in two, almost three months.”
“I just wanted to come.”
My eyes widened and a heavy feeling—like a stone dropping in my gut—robbed me of air. “You knew who I was, where I was from!”
Mason shook his head, taking a step toward me. “No. I swear I didn’t. This is a huge coincidence.”
“Coincidences aren’t welcome in my life.”
“Believe me; I’m as shocked as you are.”
He did sound surprised and somewhat glad too. This wasn’t right. Crap, Mason was now living close to me, and we met on the West Coast. Was it divine intervention? Should I spend some time thinking about its meaning?
No, no time to waste. In fact, I was stalling. I had to get back before someone noticed my absence.
“I need to go.” I walked around him, but Mason’s hand on my arm stopped me. Warmth spread from his skin to mine. Our eyes met and I gasped from the intensity of his gaze. I had forgotten how breathtaking he was.
“Do you have any idea how glad I am that I found you again?” He pulled me closer to him. “I can’t believe you’re actually here.” He leaned over me, his face close to mine.
The incredible scent of his aftershave—woody and spicy mixed with something else so manly and just his—wrapped around me. My head spun and I involuntarily lift my head toward him.
“Don’t do this,” I whispered.
“Why not?” Disappointment laced his words, but he let go of my arm.
I swallowed the excitement I felt over seeing him again and whispered, “You wouldn’t understand.”
With all my resolve and some more, I returned to the ballroom. I felt dizzy and nauseated. The heavy liquor and candle wax smell didn’t help one bit.
“There you are,” Donnie said, walking up to me.
“I was outside, getting some fresh air.” With the plastic smile on, I let Donnie put my hand on his arm. Without meaning to, I looked over my shoulder and saw Mason in the balcony door, his eyes on my date and me. “I’m not feeling well,” I said, glad I wasn’t lying.
“Do you want to leave?”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that to you. I know what these kind of events mean to a politician.”
Donnie smile widened. “I’m glad to see you care. However, right now, I care about you more. Let’s take you to the hotel.”
I let Donnie guide me out. Now, I had about ten minutes to figure out an excuse to prevent him from staying with me.
***
Mason
I couldn’t just leave the ball as Charlotte had. No. I had to stay there, serving those pompous people and remembering she was one them. And who was that guy with her? Her boyfriend? Was he her boyfriend during spring break?
Shit, I wanted to hit something. Instead, when hidden in the kitchen, I drank one or two flutes of champagne, and took a deep breath.
I got back to my apartment at four in the morning, but I couldn’t sleep. I turned on my computer and googled Charlotte and her mother.
Thousands of pictures and articles popped up on the screen. Charlotte, from a young age, in several gowns and pencil skirts and shirts, with her hair pulled up and too much makeup. She was always smiling, as if she was as happy as anyone could be. I scrolled through pictures of her debutant ball, her first day in prep school, helping during her mother’s campaigns, and lots of gossip websites trying to match her with other rich guys.
I clicked on Wikipedia.
Charlotte Anne McClain (born December 18) is the daughter of George McClain and Peyton Sofia McClain. She attends the political science program at the University of Richmond, and intends to apply for law school afterward.
So, she was one of them!
Eager to find out more, I kept reading:
Charlotte was born and raised in Washington, D.C.
Her father, George McClain, was an admired soldier in the U.S. Army. After retiring, he joined the Republican Party and became mayor of Washington, D.C., soon after. He planned on running for the Senate. However, he was assassinated in a terrorist attack during an overseas military award ceremony months before the election.
Her mother, Peyton McClain, who had always been active during her husband’s campaign and political life, received his endorsement from the Republican Party. She’s the current governor of Virginia. Charlotte and her mother have lived in the Executive Manson in Richmond since the last election.
Charlotte was twelve when her father died. Since then, she has been raised by her conservative mother. Charlotte has training in classical ballet, piano and violin, horseback riding, and knows French, Spanish, and Italian fluently.
There are rumors that despite her near perfect education, Charlotte doesn’t plan to engage in a political career.
At the bottom of the page, there was a picture of Charlotte and a red-haired girl. They held hands and smiled widely. The caption read Charlotte McClain and her best friend, Tracy Graham.
Best friend? I thought Liana, MaryAnn, and Becca were Charlotte’s best friends. During those six days we spent together, she hadn’t mentioned Tracy, but she mentioned something about Liana, MaryAnn, and Becca being her real friends. Once more, I was reminded that I knew nothing about her.
I closed that page and ended up on the images search. A new photo popped up—one from a gossip website. Charlotte arriving at tonight’s ball, her arm linked with that guy I saw her with. The caption read Charlotte McClain and her date, Donnie Williams, son of Senator Williams—voted the future’s most powerful couple.
I punched the table.
She was smiling in that picture, looking straight at the camera.
Why then? She didn’t look as if she liked this life when she was in California with me.
Chapter Seven
Charlotte
An involuntary pang of jealousy took hold of me each time I saw Liana working on a project for one of her art classes. This time was no different.
I sat in a chair across the kitchen table, playing with the box of pastels while Liana leaned over a large piec
e of paper, drawing away. My fingers itched to help, to work on an art project of my own.
With great effort¸ I stood and refilled my coffee mug. I inhaled deeply, savoring the strong scent. Since we had become friends, during an art class in middle school in Washington, before I left the public system to go to a fancy prep school, I nicknamed her mother’s kitchen coffeeland—the most perfect place in the world. Coffee was always ready, as was some kind of cookie or cake. The mismatching colorful cushions of the kitchen’s chairs added a happy note, and the tiny bay window let the sun shine through, bringing even more warmth to the place. Most importantly, her mother and her father were always around. Liana’s older sister lived in Texas now, but she had been a big part of this place too.
I certainly felt much better here than in my house’s kitchen, with the industrial stainless steel appliances and stark white cabinets, two cooks, and a server.
“What do you think?” Liana held the paper up, showing the pretty landscape drawing. She had used only black pastel and still the texture and shadows seemed lifelike.
“It’s amazing,” I whispered.
“It really is,” said Joan, Liana’s mother, as she entered the kitchen.
Liana pointed to four silhouettes on the corner of the paper. “It’s the four of us—MaryAnn, Becca, you, and me—in Cali.”
Oh, I saw it now. The rocks surrounding the beach were on the opposite corner. It was perfect. Almost as perfect as being there with Mason.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts. “It looks awesome.”
“Thanks,” Liana said, smiling.
Liana went back to the drawing’s touch-ups as Joan grabbed a few plates from the cabinets and headed outside, where Liana’s father was preparing the grill for the barbecue.
I glanced at the clock on my cell phone. Five in the afternoon of a Saturday. MaryAnn couldn’t be sleeping at this hour, could she? Well, if MaryAnn and Becca didn’t arrive soon, I would have to leave without seeing them.
“Where do you think MaryAnn and Becca are?” I leaned against the counter and sipped from my coffee.
Liana stood and stared at her drawing. “MaryAnn is flirting with the new guy working at the auto shop one block from here. They are probably there now, pretending there’s something wrong with MaryAnn’s car.”
I laughed. Typical. MaryAnn threw her charms left and right, and she usually had her basket full.
Liana’s eyes found mine. “Speaking of flirting, won’t you tell me more about Mason? I still can’t believe he was at the ball.”
I groaned. “Me neither.”
“Come on. Tell me more!”
“What’s there to tell?” I set my mug down and crossed my arms, irritated for feeling nervous just thinking of Mason. Five days had passed, and I still couldn’t stop thinking about him. “He was there. Just like that.”
Liana sighed. “It sounds like a fairy tale.”
“What?”
“Think about it. He’s here, in Washington! It can’t be coincidence.”
Yeah, that was one of the things that crossed my mind. It couldn’t be coincidence. Mason must have found out who I was and had come to torment me. “It has to be,” I whispered. The last thing I wanted was to find out he was a psycho, or a serial killer.
“What if it isn’t?” Liana said. “He was pretty great during spring break and he did tell you he was happy to see you again.”
Why had I told Liana that? “Well, you know it’s not that simple.”
“I know, but nothing in life is simple.”
I rolled my eyes, tired of the subject. I glanced at the clock—5:30 p.m.—and pushed away from the counter. “I can’t wait any longer.” I picked my bag from the floor. “Can I go to your room?”
Liana gave me an are-you-crazy look. “As if you needed to ask.”
With a smile, I made my way into the house, trying to clear my mind of anything that could remind me of Mason.
At Liana’s bedroom, I closed the door, settled my bag over my friend’s bed, and opened the zipper. I took a backless burgundy dress I had chosen because the material didn’t wrinkle, and my black pumps out of the bag. Feeling as if I was peeling off my true skin, I slipped from the jean skirt, the tank top, and my sandals, and put on the clothes my mother would approve.
I brushed my hair aside, leaving my back naked, and sat down in front of the vanity to apply more makeup when Joan entered.
“I wish you could stay for dinner with us for once,” Joan said.
I met her eyes through the mirror. “I wish I could to.”
Joan stood behind me and squeezed my shoulders. “Liana told me you aren’t feeling too good about the way you lead your life anymore. She said you’re complaining about having to hide more than a couple of months ago. Is there something bothering you? Did something change?”
I sighed. “I … I guess going on spring break with the girls spoiled me. But it’s stupid, isn’t it? Deep down I always envied people with normal lives, but spring break isn’t it either.”
“Perhaps it wasn’t only the trip. Perhaps it was the fact that your mother wasn’t there to tell you what to do, what to wear, what to say?” She shook her head. “Sorry. It isn’t my place to question these things.”
“No, it’s okay. I think you’re on to something.”
She smiled. “You know I like you the way you are when you’re with us, when you’re with the girls, but as a mother, I have to say it. Be honest with your mother. If you have changed, tell her how you really feel about your life now. She deserves to know.”
“I wish it was that easy.” I gazed down at the makeup kit in front of me. “Even if I told her about my real friends and my drawings and about roller skating, nothing would change. It would be worse, because then she would monitor me every second and I wouldn’t be able to sneak out, like now, and see my real friends. I would only have time for the friends she wants me to hang out with.”
Joan sighed. “I know. It’s just … I can’t imagine if Liana had a secret life from me.”
That was what set her apart from my mother. Joan cared. Peyton didn’t.
“Liana is blessed.”
“No, I am.” Joan leaned in and kissed my cheek. “I have two real daughters, and three adoptive ones.”
Joan patted my shoulder and exited the bedroom, leaving me alone with my unshed tears. A strong feeling of shame and sadness assaulted my chest, but I refused to give in. All my life, I was able to lock away my feelings and I would do it again.
I wiped away the tears and finished with the makeup.
Liana walked with me to the driveway, just as MaryAnn parked her car beside mine, with Becca in the passenger seat.
“You’re going?” MaryAnn asked as she slid out of her car. “Already?”
“You should have been here at least half an hour ago,” I said, trying not to be mad at her.
Becca walked around the car. “You have a party? I forgot.”
“Sorry,” MaryAnn said. “I didn’t realized your schedule was tight.”
I smiled, but it was a sarcastic smile. “When isn’t my schedule tight?”
MaryAnn averted her eyes. “Sorry.”
“Yeah, okay,” I said. “I gotta go. You girls have fun.”
Becca hugged me. “It would be more fun if you could stay.”
MaryAnn stepped in beside me. “Are you sure you can’t be a little late?”
I laughed. “Only if I want to have my head decapitated.”
“Ugh, that mother of yours. We should get together and riot,” MaryAnn said.
“I would be up for that,” Liana said. I shot her a don’t-give-MaryAnn-any-ideas look. “What? It would be fun to defeat the evil queen.”
I flinched. Damn, I hated that nickname.
MaryAnn giggled. “Oh, it would.”
Becca stepped in, always knowing when to save the day or change subjects. “Well, take care.”
“Try and have some fun,” Liana said as I slipped into my car.
<
br /> Waving, I backed out my car and drove away. I stepped on the gas, and turned the volume of the stereo loud and sang along, hoping my frustration would evaporate.
Thirty minutes later, I was on the other side of Washington, driving past the gates of Tracy Graham’s house. My mother loved Tracy, a rich girl, the daughter of a successful CEO of a large multinational, whose money always ended up in Peyton’s campaign fund.
I stopped the car before the steps leading to the front door. A valet opened my door and guided me to the host, before turning to my car and taking it away.
“Good evening, Miss McClain,” the host said, opening the front door for me. “Miss Graham is in the backyard with her guests.”
He led me through the foyer and then down a long corridor that opened to a solarium, and through French doors to a white porch.
Tracy, two other girls, and five guys were seated around a round fireplace, all dressed in suits and cocktail dresses, crystal flutes in their hands, and smiles on their faces. Too picture perfect.
“Charlotte!” Tracy squealed, flipping her long red hair. She stood to greet me. “It’s good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you too,” I said, then greeted the others. I knew everyone. It was hard not to when the elite preferred to hang around together all the time.
“I called the club earlier.” Tracy sat down and patted a spot on the sofa for me to sit. “They confirmed the VIP area is going to be waiting for us.”
“Great,” I said, forcing my voice to sound enthusiastic.
A second later, a waiter showed up with a flute for me and offered me some appetizers.
In the next fifteen minutes, Tracy told them about her latest shopping trip to Milan, and eleven more guests arrived. They all stayed where they were all night, seated as if they were nailed to the sofas and chairs, eating expensive finger food and sipping expensive champagne, keeping up polite conversation and trying to find out who had spent more money the last month.
I looked at the stars. The sky was the same one from above Liana, Becca, and MaryAnn’s heads. Maybe if I closed my eyes, I could pretend to be there with them.
Playing Pretend Page 5
