He sighs, as if I have told him the greatest news in the world. “I knew once you processed it you’d see how minor this all is. How it isn’t us and doesn’t actually involve us.”
“No.” I lift a finger into his face as he stands. “No. I am never going to admit this is small. In my world this is some Cinderella-bullshit fairy tale that never comes true for kids like me. This is the crap that movies and books try to sell orphans, or abused and neglected kids. I was one of the few who knew that this shit was never happening for me. Now you’ve come along with your fancy titles, billion-dollar house and snooty parents, and an heir apparent, thank you very much, and fucked up my reality.” I snarl a little at the end. “I already have issues with reality. And here we have you hiding an entire life behind my back and hiding an accent. And God knows what else. My trust in you has diminished to almost nothing.”
“I will do everything in my power to earn it back, Jane. Love you.”
“I hate you right now.”
He winces, giving me a worried look. “You sure you can do this, then? I will make excuses for you if we need to leave.”
“No, absolutely not. We aren’t running away like cowards. But your parents won’t ever know I am struggling with every moment here and every lie you have told me. I refuse to let them see me squirm. If being an orphan has one perk, that’s it. I know how to be invisible and how to blend in.” And with that I turn and leave the room, leaving him stressing.
“Fucking king of the world!” I mutter and send a text to Angie.
Come and find me if this goes badly. I’ll send a 911 and then you send a helicopter. I’ll make something up to get out.
She is instantly typing:
It’s not that bad. His family is gentry. The house is worth Rhode Island and there are slaves everywhere. His dad has a title in England.
She sends a smiley face and adds more.
They always do. That’s just like saying he’s a senator here in the US. You’re fine. Dash isn’t one of them, trust me. I have met his family. NOT MY CUP OF TEA!
I groan and slide my phone into the clutch Evangeline forced upon me. I had assumed it was fake gems, but now I think it might be covered in diamonds. At least I can hock it and get a flight out if that’s the case.
Dash hurries, wrapping an arm around me and kissing the side of my head. “You’ll be fine.”
I nod. “I know I will be, but you should be worried about you.”
He laughs like I don’t mean it, but I do. I really might do a little harm before the night is through.
As we cross the grounds I can’t help but marvel again at the beautiful pergola with the lights revealing the climbing lilacs. It smells like summer in the South and makes me forget where we are. When he opens the door to the dazzling house I remember instantly. But I’m not scared. I have lived bigger lies than this for worse people.
His mother greets us as we walk in. She has a glass of champagne and enough jewelry to cast shadows with her sparkle. She offers us both a kiss-kiss hug-hug, something I still don’t understand and don’t appreciate. Being touched is high on the totem pole of things I dislike. Especially from strangers.
“You look marvelous, Jane. Less exhausted and far more refreshed. I take it you found everything to be to your satisfaction?”
“I did, thank you. The guesthouse is—amazing. A whole family could live in there.” I force myself to use words I think are safe. Instead of “oh my God it’s super nice” or “wicked” or “completely wasteful and disturbing, and why aren’t you adopting ten children from the orphanage?”
She beams, blinking slowly. I don’t know how to respond so I go for the thing he mentioned earlier. “Your necklace is stunning. Very eye-catching.”
She looks down at it. “Oh, this old thing? Thank you, dear.” She offers her arm to her son. “Drinks are being served as the guests arrive.”
He pales but doesn’t even bat an eyelash. “Excellent. Jane would love a drink, I’m sure.” He looks back at me.
I force a smile. “Jane would love a drink.”
He chuckles and moseys off to the man with the tray. He brings white wine, as if he doesn’t know me at all, and actually has the balls to hand me the slim glass. I notice everyone has white wine or champagne.
I narrow my gaze, accepting his challenge at drinking something I hate, and take a sip. It’s not the worst and it’s certainly not the best, but it works to give me something to do with my hands. Fidgeting is so unprofessional.
His father struts over, one hand in his dinner jacket and the other holding a glass of champagne. “How do you like Virginia, Jane?”