I'm a vision of mascara and lipstick, hair-sprayed hair, and Dane's favorite perfume. Jeans and a t-shirt hug my body now, but they're only temporary. Within an hour, I'll be squeezing myself into the most elegant Italian silk dress I've ever laid eyes on.
I take the steps one at a time and in slow motion, my sweaty palm slicking down the oak railing. When I make it to the landing, I take a deep breath and tiptoe to the front door, pressing my body weight into the lock in an attempt to muffle any clicking sound that might echo through the quiet house.
A gentle snap and the careful twisting of the knob precede my freedom, and I pull the door closed behind me soft and slow. My heels click loud against the concrete of the front porch, and I waste no time yanking them off and sprinting barefoot in the grass until I get to the Land Rover.
As soon as I'm in, I press the ignition, and it comes to life, purring like a sleepy kitten. I glance up at the house one final time, ensuring it's still as pitch black as it was when I left it and press the HOME button on the GPS.
"Forty-six minutes until you reach your destination," the robotic woman's voice informs me.
***
His road is dark and lined with a canopy of thick, ancient oaks and smack dab in the middle of nowhere. I spotted his estate from down the road, shining like some sort of beacon. A lavish party is happening behind those walls, the kind of event I never would've dreamt of being a part of in a million years.
I stop at the gate and press the call button.
"Golden Oak," a man says through the speaker. "Name please?"
"Bellamy Miller."
The black metal gates clink and part, and I drive forward, pulling up to a two-story porte-cochere and parking behind a white limo. A young man in a tuxedo runs to my door, opening it and doing a double take when he sees I'm in jeans.
My cheeks flush hot. I don't think I'm supposed to come in this way.
"Is there another entrance?"
"Mademoiselle?" An older French woman in a gray dress comes out of the shadows. "Mademoiselle Miller?"
"Y-yes." I point at myself.
"This way, please."
She takes me by the crook of my arm and pulls me to a side door, whisking me up a private set of stairs. The faint lull of conversation mixed with laughter travels up the winding stairs.
"Monsieur Townsend is expecting you." She smiles until her gaze falls to my jeans and t-shirt.
I follow her to a grand suite where my dress is hanging up against a tri-fold mirror.
"Anything you may need is in the en suite bath," she says, glancing at her watch. "Fifteen minutes. I'll wait out here and take you down."
"Thank you," I say. "What was your name again?"
"Mathilde."
"Thank you, Mathilde. I'll be just a minute." I shut the door behind her and tear out of my clothes, careful not to unravel the flawless chignon I managed to twist my hair into before I left. A black lace thong and matching strapless bra rest in a pale pink box on a tufted chair in the corner. I slip into those and step into the black evening gown. A final spin in front of the mirror, and I'm ready.
When I pull the door open, I'm not expecting to see Dane, but there he is.
"Oh. Hi." I bite away a smile, feeling my face flush from the way his eyes devour me from where he stands.
"I heard you were here," he says, pushing into the dressing room and shutting the door behind him. "I couldn't wait."
"Who's impatient now?"
"Watch the way you speak to me, Bellamy." He reaches behind me, giving my rear a pinch. "Did you forget who's doing the tying and cuffing tonight?"
"Are you threatening me, Master?"
I'm flirting with my Master, and I'm not even sure that's allowed, but he's letting me. Something about him feels different lately. Our dynamic has shifted. He's lighter around me, shedding layers perhaps. I'm not sure he knows he's doing it, but I'm not about to point it out.
He leans in, nipping my earlobe. The heat of his breath against my neck sends goose bumps down my arm that travel a bit further and exacerbate the warmth that's resided in my core all week. The gentle scratch of the lace fabric against my cleft is torture, but being pressed against a tuxedoed Dane who looks about three seconds from ripping my dress off is even more so.
A knock at the door disrupts our private party.
"Monsieur." It's Mathilde. "You're needed downstairs. The caterers would like a word with you, and Senator Harris would like to say goodbye before he leaves."
"A senator?" I ask. "What kind of party is this again?"
"A charity gala." He takes my hand in his, leading me down the stairs like a debutant. Before we round the corner to the final set of stairs, he turns to me and stops. "You look beautiful tonight, Bellamy."
"Thank you." I reach for my champagne earrings, twisting them.
"Tonight you're my date," he says. "Stay next to me. You don't need to walk behind me or hang your head. Tonight you just need to be yourself."
Dane brings the top of my hand to his lips, offering a small kiss that only serves to reiterate that I'm a classy lady tonight.
We float down the stairs hand in hand, all eyes on us the moment we hit the landing. A pianist plays on a polished Steinway in the corner, and I instantly recognize Chopin's Nocturne 20.
"Chopin," I say with a happy sigh.
"You like Chopin?" A server with a tray of champagne passes, pausing before us long enough for Dane to grab two flutes.
"I don't like. I love." Growing up, our music options were always relegated to classical or Christian. Chopin was my Nirvana. My musical escape.
Everything about this night has my name on it.
"Your drink of choice, if I remember correctly," he teases, handing me a flute.
"Thank you." I lift it toward him before taking a sip, my gaze traveling toward the haunting tune coming from the back of the grand piano.
"Do you play?" he asks.
"My sister does," I say. "I took vocal lessons. She took piano."
"Dane, thank you for the entertainment tonight." A burly man with gray-flecked temples pats Dane on the back.
"Senator Harris," Dane says. "Thank you for coming. Your donation is much appreciated. As is your support."
"He does good work, this one." Senator Harris grips Dane's shoulder tight, flashing a politician's toothy grin and letting his paw fall. A round-faced woman in an emerald evening gown smiles from behind him. She must be his wife. I offer her a knowing wink and a nod, from date to another, and she returns my gesture with a smile.
I lift the flute to my lips, pulling in a careful sip that doesn't smudge my lipstick. "So what's this charity? What kind of work do you do?"
He studies my expression and lowers his drink. "I sponsor lost boys."
"Lost boys … " I glance around the grand hall. "Like the boys who get kicked out of FLDS compounds when they're teenagers?"
I've heard a handful of tragic stories, mostly involving teenage boys being edged out of fundamentalist communities by corrupt elders bent on skewing the male to female ratio.
"Exactly." He places his hand on the small of my back.
"That's an interesting charity to adopt," I say. "What made you want to get involved with lost boys?"
He clears his throat, his gaze scanning the room before returning to me.
"Because I was one."
TWENTY-FIVE
DANE
I don't make a habit of opening myself up personally. I'm not fond of feeling or looking weak, and I absolutely abhor the way people look at me when I tell them.
"You were a lost boy?" Her eyes mist, and I hate that she's feeling sorry for me.
"Don't," I say.
"Don't what?" Her hand covers my forearm.
"Don't look at me like that, like I'm some lost soul you feel sorry for."
"What those FLDS communities do to those young boys is awful. Of course I'm going to feel sorry for them. For you. You were a victim."
I need something stronger than this Moet and Chandon, but right now it's all I have. I toss it back and pull in a deep breath, wishing I could go back to the moment right before I told her and change course.
"I don't feel sorry for myself, and I'll be extremely displeased with you if you ever look at me like that again." I set my empty flute on a passing tray, forcing her to release her hold on me.
"It's okay to be vulnerable once in a while."
"Not for me, and we're done discussing it." I adjust the knot of my tie. "Let's make a final round before guests start leaving in droves. This party's about to end, and a new one will be starting shortly."
I extend my elbow, and her delicate hand hooks my arm as we veer toward a group of bishops mingling with a handful of lobbyists sponsored by wealthy benefactors. We're all here raising money to fight the good fight.
No young man should ever be driven to a dirt road ten miles from the nearest town with no more than twenty dollars in his pocket and a sack lunch. Watching the red tail lights of the compound's seventeenth Suburban disappear in a cloud of gravel dust was a defining moment for me.
I'd like to think that was the moment I first died inside. Discovering Jenessa's secret was the second. I know for a fact, I'll never meet death again because I'm already dead on the inside. I'm not capable of love, and I have no business fantasizing about such a fleeting, temporary thing.