“She’s lovely,” my mother says suddenly, speaking for the first time since we sat down. “But she’s not one of us, Caldwell.”
“Mom—”
“She’s not.” My mother’s eyes are assessing. “Cordelia understands what this life is. The sacrifice. The performance.”
“I’m not performing with Mable.”
“Aren’t you?” My mother raises an eyebrow. “That display on the dance floor?”
My jaw tightens. “That was real.”
My father clears his throat, sensing the shift. “Eleanor, leave the boy alone. Tonight is about celebration.”
“For now.” My mother takes another sip of her drink.
Cordelia squeezes my arm, her expression sympathetic. “She’ll come around. They always do.”
I look to where Mable disappeared, unease settling in my gut. I should go after her. “Here.” Cordelia is pouring more champagne, my father launching into another story.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell the table, interrupting my father as I stand quickly so as not to be stopped, barely hearing my father’s response.
I move through the crowd, heading for the restroom first—I check the hallway and the small lounge area, but she’s not there.
A woman exiting gives me a strange look, and I realize I’m hovering outside the ladies’ room like a stalker, but I don’t care.
“I was checking on my fiancée; did she happen to be in there?” I ask her, not wanting to say “girlfriend.” We are so much more than that. “Green dress, with?—”
“Caldwell.” The woman interrupts me with a polite smile. “I think I and everyone else at the reception are aware of who you are with.” I can tell she’s teasing. “She’s not in there, but it’s sweet you’re tracking her down.”
“Not sure I agree,” I tell her, shaking my head. “Never should have let her get far enough away that I would have to.”
The woman laughs, and I think of her again. I head in the opposite direction toward the terrace. The doors are heavy glass, and I push through into the night air.
Immediate relief fills me when I see Mable standing there. I watch her for a long moment. Every time I’m away from her, Ithink she can’t possibly be as beautiful as I have in my mind. But fuck me, she is.
Mable stands at the stone railing, her back to me, arms wrapped around herself. The ocean crashes below, rhythmic and endless. She doesn’t turn when the door clicks shut.
“Hey,” I say, keeping my voice soft. I come up behind her, placing my hands on each side of her.
She doesn’t answer. I press my chest to her back, and that’s when I feel that slight shake of her body. She’s crying. Silent, controlled, but crying.
“Beautiful,” I breathe.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, hugging herself tighter. “I just... I don’t.”
“Talk to me. Please.” I lean in and kiss the shell of her ear.
“There’s nothing you can do. It’s me.”
I turn her in my arms, needing to see her face. “Everything that upsets you concerns me.”
“It’s my own crap. You know, the not really fitting in. The odd one out.” She gives a delicate shrug of one of her shoulders. “Your mom hates me, and Cordelia fits into your family like she was born there. Maybe you should?—”
I kiss her, hard, not wanting to hear her say all the reasons we shouldn’t be together.
My sweet girl melts into me, kissing me back.
“Listen to me,” I say, breaking the kiss, gripping her chin so that she can’t look away from me. “I don’t care about Cordelia. I don’t care about my mother’s approval or the right family or any of it. I care about you. Only you.”
