I lift a brow. “Really?”
She lifts the glass to her lips, tossing back the champagne. The corners of her mouth lift, but there’s no humor in it.
“That’s what the website says.”
Across the room, Melissa laughs brightly at something someone says, one manicured hand resting over her pearl necklace.
“And in reality?” I murmur.
“In reality, they only fund specific homes,” she says. “Ones they can control. Ones that make good press.”
“And the others?”
Her jaw tightens, but says nothing. She doesn’t need to. I get it. They pick and choose.
My eyes sweep the room again. Crystal chandeliers. Marble floors. A silent auction table lined with vacation packages and signed memorabilia. A large projection screen cycling throughphotographs of smiling children in clean hallways with bright paint and brand-new toys.
Manufactured hope.
“Do they actually help anyone?” I ask.
She chews her lip. “Sometimes,” she says quietly. “Just not the way they pretend to.”
A donor approaches Jack, shaking his hand vigorously while a photographer snaps a picture.
Flash. Smile. Handshake. Brand. Legacy. Control.
“And you,” I say, eyes lowering to her. “You’re part of the display?”
Her gaze lifts to mine, her eyes void of any emotion.
“Front row.”
They’ve used her.
My hand lifts, cupping the side of her face. My thumb brushes along her jawline once.
“Not tonight,” I tell her.
Something in her expression shifts, and her eyes melt. She leans into my palm. Her eyes flutter closed and she lets out a soft breath.
Good.
She didn’t show up in emerald and obedience. She showed up in champagne and fire. And I’m about to see what this foundation is really built on.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Three hours into the evening,my feet are screaming to get out of these shoes. I sit at the table that was assigned to me, close to Melissa’s, my back perfectly straight, hands folded in my lap. Karson’s hand rests on my thigh as he engages in conversation with some donor or board member. I’m not sure who he is and I don’t care.
I scoot my chair back and both men look over to me.
“Excuse me,” I say with a polite smile. “I need to use the restroom.”
Karson stands to pull my chair out the rest of the way, and kisses my cheek before I leave the table.
The man is an enigma. Dark and dangerous menace one minute. Polished and proper gentleman the next.
I give him a grateful smile before turning to head for the staircase. My hand runs along the banister, the other lifting my dress to avoid stepping on it. I reach the landing, then turn right down the hallway for the bathroom. It’s quieter up here, and I feel my entire body exhale with relief.
