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I slipped on my own mask, nearly identical to hers but without the crystals. "A party where you can be whoever you want."
Before Olive could respond, the backdoor opened. I stepped out first as a flood of flash photography snapped around me. Jessie had failed to mention that he'd hired paparazzi for the night, and I hoped it wouldn't freak Olive out too much.
Among them was a man named Jake Hall, a paparazzi who I detested. He had a tendency to cross boundaries when it came to the lengths he would go to get his photos.
I leaned in, offering her a hand. "My lady." I was hoping the playful tone would calm some of her nerves, but her lack of response made me question that.
Her blue eyes widened beneath her mask, sparking like ice in the glare of the cameras. Her hesitation lasted only a second before she took my hand, her skin cold and soft.
Despite my mask, more than one photographer recognized me. "Lucas! Lucas Wilson, over here!"
Olive emerged from the car, her gait unsteady as she stepped onto the red carpet, her jaw dropped, her body stiff. Other women I'd brought to events always threw themselves at me when the cameras came around, twisting on fake personas as if we'd been dating for months instead of a week.
But with Olive, there was no fake grin, no falsity.
Ten years later, she was still the small town girl I'd met in college, looking like fish thrown into a desert. I squeezed her hand and leaned down to whisper in her ear.
"You look beautiful. Just smile."
"Lucas! Mr. Wilson!" More photographers snapped pictures around us.
Olive looked up at me, her mouth falling open, her voice shaky. "Who the fuck did you grow up to be?"
I chuckled and kept her hand in mine as we walked the carpet toward the gate entrance. Her palm felt just the way I remembered it, like a missing puzzle piece that fit perfectly in my hand.
The butler at the gate greeted us with two glasses of champagne. "Mr. Wilson and..."
"Ms. Winters," I said, taking a glass and handing it to her.
Olive slipped her hand out of mine to accept the glass, sipping on the champagne as we made the short walk to the front of the vast estate. She gazed up at me over her glass, her eyes wide with a mixture of wonder and amusement.
"Oh God," I laughed, sipping my drink. "What is that look?"
"It's nothing," she chuckled. "You're just...so important."
I rolled my eyes. "No, I'm not. Jessie is important. Anyone who is with him is just standing in his light.
"Jessie? As in Jessie Isaacs, the mayor of Boston?"
Cocking my head, I sipped my drink. "From all the Jessie's in Boston, that's a pretty good guess."
She gulped down more of the champagne. "Lucas, I know what the mayor's house looks like. You're the one who failed to mention you're on a first name basis with him."
Was she annoyed? Maybe I should have been more transparent. "I thought that if I mentioned it, you wouldn't want to come."
"Yes, because I've been so bored going to politician's house every weekend, the last thing I need is to make another appearance."
We approached the granite stairs that led to the double mahogany doors, and I offered her my hand again. "You're funny, you know that? And I wasn't kidding. You look amazing in that dress."
She slid her arm into mine. "Want to know a secret?"
I squeezed her hand as I helped her up the stairs in her heels. "Always."
Pausing by the front door, she turned to face me. Her red lipstick popped against her light features. "I made the dress."
"No shit."
The doors were thrown open, and Jessie appeared, his arms wide open. The party was on full swing behind him, the house packed. Jessie's mask was propped on the top of his head, his grin loose. He beamed at me. "Now, who is this beautiful specimen of a human being and why is she with you?"
