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“Okay. Got it. Whoa, careful there!” He grabs me by the waist when I topple forward. I was shaking my head so hard I lost my balance.
“Oh. Sorry.” I put my hands against his chest as I right myself and stand up straight again.
“It’s okay.” He moves his grip from my waist to my shoulders now that I’m steadier. “I’m here to get you for the Father-Daughter Dance. Do you think you’re up for that or do you just want to turn in? I can take you back to the house now if you want.”
I stare up at him. The ballroom is dark, lit only by lanterns and twinkly lights overhead. Everything is so nice and swirly. “You’re really pretty,” I confess, reaching up to touch his smooth cheek. No shadow of a beard there. “And sweet. I’m sorry I thought you were a douchebag.”
His bark of laughter is so loud it makes me jump. But it’s a nice sound too. “Good to know. Here, let’s get you to Dad.”
I nod and sink against him as he puts a hand to my back and leads me across the ballroom floor.
His father is standing by the bar chatting with the bartender as we approach. I freeze up just seeing him.
“Wait.” My feet scrabble against the floor as I resist Dominick’s forward motion. He finally stops too. I look up into his face, so like his father’s, but not at the same time.
“He intim— inmimi—” I break off in frustration. My tongue’s not working right. “’Milimat—” I open my mouth and stretch my tongue to try to make it work better.
“Intimidates you?” Dominick supplies.
“Yes! That.” I point at him and nod. “Exactly.”
“Don’t worry,” Dominick starts moving us toward his father again. “He won’t bite.” Then he leans in and whispers, “Unless you ask him to.”
I whip my head around. “What?”
But we’re already to Mr. Winters.
“Sarah, so good to see you finally.” Mr. Winters takes my hand as Dominick delivers it over to him. I look back but Dominick almost immediately disappears into the crowd. My mouth dries at his quick exit.
I’m all alone. With Mr. Winters. Paul. His first name pings like a bell through my head.
Though of course we’re far from alone. There are three hundred of Mr. Winters’s, my mother’s, and Grandfather’s closest friends and associates all around us.
So why do I feel like Mr. Winters is looking at me like I’m the only woman in the room?
Um, girlish fantasies, an overactive imagination, and unresolved daddy issues much?
I groan internally even as I paste on a smile and pull my hand back.
“Where’s Mom?” I look around.
“I’m not sure.” Mr. Winters doesn’t take his eyes off me to search the crowd for Mom, though. His focus stays zeroed in on me. “Around somewhere I’m sure. She was excited about this event. She seemed quite motivated to make it the largest to-do of the social calendar this season.” Then he leans in, his eyebrows furrowed in understanding, “Though she may have gotten overwhelmed by it and be stalled out drunk in one of the side rooms somewhere.”
His words startle me. I don’t get the feeling he says it maliciously. Merely that he’s sharing a fact he knows I understand well.
“So…why?” I abandon all attempts at social niceties. I drop the sweet smile and take up last night’s query. “Why did you do all this? Why marry her?”
The intimidation I felt last night and even moments before is absent. Liquid courage, that’s what they call it, right? I hate the lack of control I have over my faculties right now, hate that I imbibed alcohol when I swore on my life I’d never touch a drop of the stuff because of what it’s done to Mom—but hey, embrace every path life takes you on, right?
And I really want an answer to this question.
Mr. Winters just reaches out and takes my hand. A zing runs through me from the tips of my fingers and all throughout my body. It’s the first time we’ve ever touched. My eyes shoot up to his.
They’re so green. Bright. Fathomless.
Then he nods beyond me. “It’s important to your grandfather that you and I get along.”
I look behind me and see Grandpa watching the two of us. He nods to me, then to Mr. Winters.
“Time for the Father-Daughter Dance,” Mr. Winters says.
I blink, confused even as my hand tingles at the continued contact of his hand on mine as he draws me out through the dancing couples to the middle of the dance floor.
Was that an answer to my question?
Did he marry Mom because of Grandpa? Because even though Mom’s broke and a disgrace, Grandpa still has power, influence, and prestige? He even has influence among several important lobbies in Washington, from what I understand.
I coudn’t care less about politics. I mean, I care as much as the normal concerned citizen. You know, I watch the news and my Facebook feed and am generally as disgusted with the whole process as everyone else. I don’t know and I don’t want to know the specifics of what Grandpa does.
