Page 24 of Edge of Desperation

“That was nice of you to let her use it,” Dad says.

“You didn’t wear your hair up,” Vera whines.

I roll my eyes. “You know I can’t.”

“Let’s not talk about any unpleasantness tonight, dear,” she says dismissively like I was the one to bring it up.

Dad pats her knee and gives me a sympathetic smile. We continue the rest of the ride in silence.

The closer we get to the venue, the harder my heart pounds in my chest. Cold sweats break out beneath the fabric of my dress. For once, I’m thankful for those extra swipes of deodorant and that I wore all black so no one can see any sweat stains I might have. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and count to ten as we pull to the curb. When I open them, Dad’s brows are drawn together in concern. I give him a weak smile as the door is opened by our driver.

Dad squeezes my shoulder as he helps Vera out of the limo. I steel my spine, and with one last deep inhale, I clasp my father’s hand and let him pull me out onto the sidewalk. My dad steps in between Vera and me, offering us each an arm. He escorts us toward the reception hall while I keep my head down until we are safely within the building.

The venue has outdone itself. The opulent ballroom sparkles with crystal chandeliers, and black tablecloths and gold accents decorate the tables. Even the plates and napkins are gold, and a beautiful golden sculpture of an eagle grasping an American flag in its talons is the centerpiece.

There’s a twelve-piece orchestra set up to the right of the stage and a dance floor where couples are already swaying to the music. A full bar is in the back of the room, and a small line has already started to form.

Vera gestures toward the line. “Shall we go ahead and get our drinks?”

Dad looks at me. “Do you want a drink?”

“Sure,” I answer. “A glass of champagne would be nice.”

“Well… well… well,” a booming voice says behind us. “They’ll let any ol’ riff-raff in the door.”

My dad laughs. “Senator Briggs,” he greets. “Good to see you. You remember my wife, Vera, and my daughter, Aurora.”

Vera holds out her hand. “How lovely to see you again, Senator.”

“None of thatSenatornonsense,” he dismisses, lifting her hand and kissing it. “Call me Tim.” He turns to me. “I don’t believe I’ve had thepleasureof meeting your daughter.”

The way the senator says pleasure sends chills down my spine and not the good kind of chills. The kind that makes me want to find a dark corner and hide. Something about his voice tugs at the back of my brain, but for the life of me, I’m drawing a blank.

I want no part of this man touching me, but I also don’t want to embarrass my father, so I hold out my hand to shake his. “Nice to meet you, Senator Briggs.”

The senator’s eyes rake over my body as he snatches my hand and brings it toward his lips. I gently tug my hand back, but not before my eyes latch onto the scar that looms just under the collar of his shirt. I take a step back, and that’s when I notice the same scar on his wrist peeking out under the cuff of his shirt.

“Call me Tim,” he says, his lips curving up into a crude smile.

“General Parks… Vera,” another guest beckons from across the room. “Come and meet Senator Dyson and his wife.”

“Go on ahead,” Tim insists. “I’ll escort Aurora to your table.”

Dad shakes his head. “I think we be?—”

“Sweetheart, our table is right there,” Vera points out. “Surely, the senator, I mean Tim, can accompany Aurora to her seat. We’ll be right behind them.”

I’m frozen, too scared to speak. The blood in my veins turns to ice. I want to shout to anyone who will listen that the man standing here is a fraud and isn’t who they think he is. I feel the stupid fake-ass smile still plastered on my face. My dad must take that as I’m fine to leave me here with Tim as my chaperone because he leans over and kisses my cheek.

“We’ll join you in a few minutes.” Dad grabs Vera’s hand, and they make their way through a sea of people.

“Tsk… Tsk… Tsk,” Tim leans close to my ear. “Dmitri is very upset with you, pet.”

I shudder as his breath tickles my ear. He’s too close, but with the orchestra playing and the mountains of people gathering, to anyone looking at us it would appear we are just engaged in a friendly conversation.

“I don’t know who yo?—”

In a bone-crushing move, Tim grips my elbow and pulls me into his side. “Now, now. We wouldn’t want to cause a scene, would we?” he asks, condescendingly.

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