Page 102 of Personal Foul

She leans in close, her polite smile masking the fury snapping in her eyes. “You know who she is. Who her father is. You asked me for advice to give her to navigate their family scandal, and you seriously expect us to welcome her into our home? You know your father is planning to run for governor. He’s going to announce his candidacy tonight. And you bringheras your date?”

“Not just my date, Mom. My girlfriend.”

“That’s even worse!” She steps back, looking down and taking deep breaths to regain control. She practically shouted at me in public in full view of everyone. After a moment, she meets my eyes again. “Look, Dylan. I realize that you’re a young man. I realize it’s normal for you to want to defy your parents. We’ve been lucky so far that football is the most pigheaded thing you’ve decided to do. But make no mistake—who you date affects the entire family. You cannot ally our family with the daughter of a criminal.”

“He hasn’t even been charged yet, Mom. He’s only under investigation.”

Her eyes bulge, the vein on her forehead standing out in sharp relief like it does when she’s especially pissed off. “You think that matters? You don’t think the investigation itself has already tainted their family name? And I’ve asked around. It sounds like they’ll be charging him any day now. And then what? He’s most likely to take a plea deal, which will at least save their family the indignity of a trial. But that won’t make her a fitting candidate as your girlfriend.”

“Candidate?” I laugh. “She’s not a candidate, Mom. It’s not a position that’s decided by voting. I choose who I date. Not you. Not Dad. Not Dad’s voter base. If you don’t like it, too bad for you.”

Spinning on my heel, I storm away, needing to find Charity and needing to cool down even more.

I check the time. The speeches are set to begin in a few minutes. As soon as that’s done, Charity and I are gone.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Charity

After using the bathroom, I find a bench to sit on for a few minutes. The hallway outside of the hotel ballroom is just as fancy as the ballroom itself, but much quieter. Every so often, someone opens the door, the volume swells for a moment, and then the door closes again, cutting off the sounds of the party once more.

A cluster of men in tuxedos stand near the hallway that leads to the main part of the hotel, conferring quietly. I’m far enough away that I can’t overhear the conversation, which suits me just fine. I need a minute. A break from standing in heels. A break from the constant chatter, and the need to be on.

Sitting down, I slip off my shoes, and pull my feet up next to me, my legs bent to one side. If I had on a poofy dress, I’d sit cross legged, with my legs hidden beneath my skirts. But this isn’t a prom, so I went with something sleek instead. It’s simple, elegant, luxurious without being flashy. Just my style.

Victoria gushed over my dress when I showed it to her this morning, though her mother seemed less enthusiastic. All she’d done is sniff and give a polite, “How nice.” Which, from her, I think is the best I can expect.

From the sounds of it, she’d have a problem with anyone Dylan decided to bring home. I guess at least I didn’t get the third degree like Cameron apparently did. When I met him tonight, we swapped stories, and his experience sounded harrowing.

Though I can’t say that they’re complete disinterest feels much better. At least they wanted to know things about Cameron. It’s like they think I won’t last the weekend. So why bother to even get to know me?

The conversation among the group of men grows a bit louder as they take their lead from one another, and it’s not until they break apart that I realize one of them is Dylan’s dad.

He must’ve seen me come out here, because he ambles toward me like he knew I was here all along, his hands in his pants pockets and a pose so like his son that it almost makes me smile. Almost. Because I have a feeling that Dylan’s dad approaching me alone won’t end well for me.

“Are you having a nice time?” He asks when he’s close enough that we can speak at a normal conversation volume.

I paste on the smile I’ve been using all night and nod.” Yes, it’s a lovely party. I’m sure Victoria and Cameron will be very happy.”

He nods thoughtfully, making a show of looking around. “But what are you doing out here all alone? Where’s Dylan?”

I gesture toward the closed doors. “Dylan’s still in there. I needed to use the restroom and sit down for a minute.”

He steps closer and parks himself on the opposite end of the bench, angling his body to face me. I move my feet, setting them back down and putting on my shoes, doing my best not to telegraph my wince.

Dylan’s dad clears his throat and folds his hands together, resting them on his leg. “Well, I’m glad we got this chance to speak. You know Dylan is a smart boy with a bright future ahead of him.”

Nodding slowly, I parse through his words for the hidden meaning I know rests behind them. “Yes, I agree.”

“Good. Good. I’m sure he’s told you all about his plans for the future.”

“Yes, we’ve discussed the future a time or two.”

That seems to give him pause. And I realize that I’m implying that Dylan and I have discussed our future together and how both of our goals can mesh. That’s not true. But he doesn’t need to know that. And I find a perverse sense of satisfaction in eliciting a reaction from him, no matter how small.

Dylan must be rubbing off on me.

Ducking my head to hide my smile, I brush imaginary lint off my dress.

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