I looked at him and realized he really meant what he just said. I put my hand on his chest and leaned closer. “I’m sorry you got dragged into this. Things are likely to get worse from here.”
His head tilted down, and he lightly touched his lips to mine.
“How’s the food at these things?” Mason asked.
“Terrible. Unless you like unpronounceable, tiny dishes.”
Mason winked at me. “Let’s live a little and eat at least three mystery dishes.”
I felt the corners of my mouth lift into a smile. “You’re on. Just don’t come crying to me afterward when you have intestines stuck in your teeth.”
“Do I want to know?”
I scrunched up my nose. “It’s a French specialty. Just don’t eat anything that sounds like Andouillette. Even if you think the waiter said baguette.”
“Noted.” He waved to a passing waiter. “Drink?” he asked and lifted two glasses off the tray before I could respond.
“Thanks,” I said and gratefully took the champagne he held out.
We almost made it to the other end of the room before someone stopped us again. And to think we were so close to the salvation of the dining room.
“Stella, sweetheart, how are you? It’s been ages,” a sickly-sweet voice stopped me. I tightened my hand holding the glass to stop it from slipping. Throwing precious alcohol on people was not the solution.
“Charlotte, it hasn’t been long enough,” I responded and grimaced at her, making sure to show all my teeth. I found that acting like you had a few cups missing usually got you out of uncomfortable situations quickly.
“And who is this interesting young man you brought with you today?”
“This is Mason. He’s my sponsor.”
Mason coughed next to me and squeezed my hand.
Charlotte’s smile didn’t slip. Probably because she had so much Botox in her face, it was hard to change facial expressions in under a minute. That was if she managed to at all.
“Well, he sure is something.” She held her hand out to Mason like she expected him to kiss it. I was ready to slap her hand away and just leave when Mason leaned into her.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not supposed to touch people. Part of my parole,” he whispered. It was my turn to cough and struggle to hold back the laughter.
“Is that Judy? I think it is. I better go and say hello,” Charlotte stuttered and left in a cloud of Clive Christian No. 1.
Good riddance. Too bad that she was the biggest gossip and soon the whole room would think I was an addict and Mason an ex-con. But I didn’t really care, since getting rid of her quicker than I had ever managed before was worth it.
“I can see why you like hanging around these people. They’re charming,” Mason remarked and stopped another waiter, this time for the tray of food he was carrying. “Does the name of this sound even remotely like baguette?” he asked and pointed to the little squares on the plate.
The waiter didn’t miss a beat and shook his head. “No, sir. These are caviar bites.”
“Sounds safe enough to me,” Mason said and grabbed three off the plate. He put all of them in his mouth at the same time, but as soon as he started to chew his face went slack. He looked around wide-eyed, and I turned to the waiter.
“Can I borrow that serviette over your arm please?”
The waiter handed it over without complaint, and I passed it to Mason who buried his head inside. He emerged shortly after and rolled the serviette together.
“That was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever put in my mouth. And I’ve swallowed oil before.” He wiped his tongue with the side of the napkin that wasn’t rolled up. “You could have warned me.”
“How would I know you don’t like caviar. People seem to love it.”
He shook his head and narrowed his eyes at me. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”
I shook my head and tried to suppress the laughter. “I wouldn’t dare.”
“Liar.” The lightness in his voice told me he wasn’t really annoyed.
“So, where to next?” he asked and took my hand again. The gesture felt natural and I loved the contact.
“Let’s hide in the dining room until they serve dinner. We’ll have to sit through a few speeches before they serve the food, then we can make a quick getaway.”
He nodded and we swerved around guests as we walked to the other end of the room. The door was open and a few guests had already made their way inside. Rows of tables lined the front of a stage, each table adorned with nametags. The seating plan was a masterpiece in itself, every person placed strategically around the room. Because God forbid someone sat next to a person they could actually have an intelligent conversation with. The only topic anyone would be talking about tonight was the campaign.
My mother was a master at networking and manipulation. I knew how these things worked, having sat through many identical dinners.
I found my name on a table close to the stage and cringed. One of my mother’s closest supporters was allocated the seat next to mine. David had just come back from D.C. His political ambitions rivaled my mother’s and they supported each other with their campaigns. He had come back to make sure my mother won. In turn she would be in D.C. for his next campaign. They both wanted to get into the senate and my mother had the money and David the connections.
Leighton was seated on my other side. I stole a name tag off the table next to us and turned it over and wrote Mason’s name on it.
I balled up David’s name tag and threw it under the table and put my newly created one in its place. Mason watched me, silently taking in the decorations.
“Just when I thought I’ve seen it all, I walk into a house that has a room with an actual stage,” he murmured.
“Yeah, that
