Page 5 of Make Believe

I fight the urge to point out that it’smyfamily name, not hers. The Doboshes are equally respectable, but not as flashy as my lot. The McKennas have a better origin story, having come over from Ireland a hundred years ago and growing our fortunes generation by generation.

Besides, she just likes having my balls in a vise.

Sighing, I turn to look at her. The limo has stopped, and the doorman has opened her door. “There isn’t any slip of a thing,” I assure her truthfully. “I’m just tired.”

“Then take some pharmaceuticals like a normal person and stop bitching,” she says coolly before exiting the car.

I take a second to scrub my hand over my clean-shaven chin before pulling myself together and exiting from my own door, which has also been opened for me. If the staff think anything of our brief pause, they don’t give any indication of it. Just another lie to cover up in the life of the McKennas.

No matter what Charleen is truly feeling in that moment, she won’t let it show. So I walk around the limo to find her waiting to take my arm. She puts on a dazzling smile as we walk through the front entrance. “Come on, darling,” she says amicably. “There’s nothing to quarrel about. Let’s go have a nice evening, hmm?”

I muster a small smile and a nod to appease her, knowing that’s much easier for her to say than it is for me to do. Socializing and networking come so naturally to her. It’s like a drug that feeds her. Whereas I can happily chat for hours with people I know well on subjects that interest me. However, small talk bores me to tears.

Just a few hours,I promise myself. That’s all I have to do.

The hotel’s ballroom is already brimming with people milling around in dresses and tuxes. Chandeliers glitter overhead, anda string quartet plays in the corner, their gentle music drifting over the polite conversation.

A savage part of me thinks that every single person in this room is just like us—hiding dirty secrets behind simpering smiles. It’s all so painfully fake. Even the event itself is a shame. Supposedly, it’s fundraising for a charity that helps battered women and children, which I agree is a noble cause. But none of those people are here tonight, save for a couple that are being paraded around in clothes that have no doubt been loaned to them. This evening is more about the rich patting themselves on the back for what a nice thing they’re doing. It’s about making sure you’ve been seen doing a good deed.

I doubt many of these people would be involved if it were simply anonymous donations.

Sighing, I take two Champagne flutes from a passing server’s tray, and hand one to Charleen as she gravitates toward a cluster of women that I assume she knows. I’m wallowing in bitterness because I’m feeling out of control, so instead, I’m lashing out. I’m fully aware that this is how business gets done. An event like this will raise ten times what a simple donation drive would do.

But there’s an itch within me that’s desperate to be scratched. Is it too much to ask for a real fucking human interaction without all this bullshit getting in the way? It doesn’t have to be pretty. Right now, I just need something authentic.

For the next couple of hours, however, I play nice. As far as any of these people are concerned, I am a dutiful husband who is riveted by the conversation over dinner. I bid a ridiculous amount on several items, most of which I don’t want, but I console myself that the cause is actually a worthy one. I’m sure I can find places to put the modern art, and Charleen will happily take the gifted experiences off my hands.

After dessert has been served and people are once again wandering around the room to mingle, I feel like I’ve done myduty and suffered enough. If I don’t get this tie off in the next five minutes, I’m going to suffocate.

I manage to catch Charleen between conversations and lean in to whisper against her ear. “I’m going to order a ride. You take the limo home. If anyone asks, you can tell them I have a headache.” They won’t ask, but she’ll like to think they will.

She’s either going to pitch a fit or not care. Apparently, she’s had a good night because she waves me off with her hand. “Go. Have fun,” she murmurs, already drifting away to another group of friends with a “Darling! It’s been too long!”

I don’t need her permission, but it makes life easier with her approval.

My phone is already in my hand before I’ve even made it through the doors. I hadn’t really thought past getting the hell out of there, possibly seeking company, possibly searching for solitude. I’ve had a few drinks, so I could either continue drowning my sorrows or sober up pretty quickly. My app shows several executive cars within five minutes of the hotel. I just need to decide on a destination.

That’s when I see the notification that’s popped up on my calendar. ‘Drinks with the Joneses.’ The discrete code I use for a kink event. My heart flips. Good god, that’s exactly what I need right now. People who aren’t afraid to ask for what they really want and just fucking take it. The calendar reminder doesn’t give me any further details, so I pause in the foyer and sift through my emails to work out which event in particular this is.

Oh, fantastic. It’s a private residential event being hosted literally on the way back between here and home. I know the organizers. They’re stringent about screening their guests and not allowing cellphones, so I always feel safe going to their meetups. There’s a strong chance there will be people there I’ve already played with. A familiar, easy scene or just some quick and dirty orgasms sound incredible in this moment.

It’s like there was a rubber band around my chest that I didn’t even realize was there until it started loosening. I hastily punch the address into my ride app, then go to wait outside in the fresh night air.

I know that I bitch a lot about the constraints of my life, but I’m also fully aware that I have an enormous amount of privilege. Looking up at what few stars I can see through the light pollution, I feel free again. Even if it’s only for a night. For the next few hours, I can actually be authentic. I might never see these people I’m about to meet again, but that doesn’t mean we can’t share something real and meaningful. Hopefully, that will give me the fortitude to bullshit my way through the next several weeks until I can let loose again.

It’ll have to. I’m not escaping the façade of my marriage anytime soon. Tonight will top up my reservoir and give me the strength to keep up the lies and bullshit life requires of me.

So I better cherish this time and not waste it.

CHAPTER 3

Kadence

I knowmy friends are worried about me. If I’m being honest, I’m worried about me, too.

Logan McKenna broke something in me that night. Something fragile that I’ve clung to throughout all the bullshit with my family. Since Stanley unceremoniously dumped me.

The timing is spectacularly bad as well, that’s easy enough to see. Now that I’m done with college, I no longer have an aim or a purpose. I envy people like my friend Harper, who so clearly has a career goal in mind. I’ve started this menial office job, and my only motivation is the paycheck, so I don’t starve or get kicked out of my new apartment.

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