30
All the World’s a Stage
“Remember those perks I promised you?” Nora, resplendent in a bright red ball gown, slipped a gloved arm through mine. “Well, welcome to heaven. Otherwise known as the thirty-fifth annual Friends of Texas black-tie gala.”
“Wow,” I whispered, canting my head to take in the enormity of the mansion. The white stone turrets practically glowed in the evening air, and orchestra music swelled from inside as men in tuxedos and women in gowns strode up the staircase. “It’s beautiful.”
“Some of the most important people in the state are here,” Nora said. “It’s a tradition before every election. All the bigwigs meet to size up the candidates. Our poll numbers are climbing back, so everyone’s going to want to kiss Logan’s ring in case he becomes the next governor. They’ll want leverage for future favors.”
“Sounds high pressure.” I couldn’t stop looking at the sprawling manor, the closest thing to a castle I’d seen in real life. “What do I need to know? What’s my angle? Prep me.”
“Actually.” Her vivid red lips spread into a smile. “Tonight, you’re just going to sit back and enjoy the sucking up.”
We picked up the skirts of our gowns and ascended the stairs toward the glowing entrance. “You realize this is Logan’s nightmare, don’t you?” I smiled at a passing man who nodded so deeply he practically bowed. “Getting complimented for hours is going to send him through the roof.”
Nora rolled her eyes as the ushers at the front doors checked our names and swept us inside. “Figures mine is the one politician in the country without a praise kink.”
I patted her arm sympathetically and turned to take it all in. Inside was even more beautiful than outside. We stood at the top of a tall staircase, upholstered in red carpet, which led to an enormous ballroom. Ornate chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, and people were spread thick, filling every corner of the room, interspersed with waiters carrying trays of champagne and hors d’ouevres. Massive oil paintings, the kind that belonged in museums, covered the walls.
“Excuse me?” asked a woman who was dripping with diamonds. “Are you Alexis Stone?”
I looked at Nora as if I needed her to confirm. “Um, yes?”
“Oh my God,” the woman gushed. “You and Logan make the sweetest couple. And the way you’re standing up for public schoolteachers—my children go to private school but their au pair wanted to be a teacher until she heard how little they make. She had to become an Instagram model instead. It was tragic. What you’re doing is so important.”
“Thank you?” No idea why everything was coming out a question.
Nora smiled stiffly at the woman. “Thanks for your support. I’m sure Alexis and Logan will be happy to speak more to you later once they’re settled.” Then she tugged me down the stairs.
“You weren’t kidding about the sucking up,” I whispered. “I think I could get used to...” I trailed off. Logan stood in the center of the thickest crowd, wearing a classic black-and-white tuxedo that fit him so well it looked like he’d been born wearing it. He nodded to someone and took a sip of his drink—a tumbler, so it was whiskey. His hair was carefully styled, his ten-o’clock shadow perfectly shaped to accentuate the cut of his jaw. His smile was polite, but above it, his dark eyes danced, sizing up the people around him, making quick calculations. This was Logan the achiever, formal and formidable. He was devastating. I’d never been able to picture him at Harvard so clearly, occupying those ornate, storied spaces where presidents and justices once walked. He belonged here in a tuxedo as much as he belonged on a farm or at a rally. I felt it in my bones: his complexity, the layers of him. Why he was so endlessly fascinating. He might protest or demur, but I saw the truth of him.
He took another sip and his eyes drifted to the staircase, finding my face as if drawn by a magnet. My heart skipped. He gave me the smallest smile—not flashy or toothy but warm and intimate, a look that was only for me.
Heat rushed through me. It felt like a thousand pounds lifted off my chest. If he was smiling at me, then we were okay, despite how we’d left things in Fredericksburg. I squeezed Nora’s arm without thinking.
“He cleans up well,” she said, tracing my stare. “I’ll give him that. Come on, it’s almost time for dinner. Some of these people paid more than ten thousand dollars for the honor of sitting at your table.”
All thoughts of Logan in a tux fled as Nora trailed away. “They did what?” I screeched, and scampered after her.
“And here’s the man of the hour,” boomed the tall financier sitting opposite me. Everyone at the table turned to look as Logan strode toward us across the dining room, which was smaller than the ballroom but just as ornate, the ceilings high and painted with Renaissance-style frescoes. To my surprise, every guest rose to their feet—the financier and his wife, the wind farm owner and her wife, and the elderly heiress and her husband, who I’d actually thought was asleep over his soup bowl. I followed Nora’s lead and scrambled up, shoving my chair back.
“Oh, Jesus, sit down,” Logan growled. “I’m not the bloody king of England.” Nevertheless, he seized the financier’s hand and worked his way around the table, greeting everyone with enthusiasm. The elderly heiress wouldn’t let go of his hand, giving Logan moon eyes her husband seemed either unaware of or unbothered by.
Logan finally extracted himself and found his seat beside me. He cupped a warm hand to my face in greeting and drew me close. “This okay?” he breathed, and when I nodded, he kissed me on the cheek. “You look beautiful,” he whispered.
I’d balked at the idea of the campaign buying me a gown, so I’d borrowed a dress from Lee. It happened to be forest green, my favorite color. “Thank you.”
“I never realized how much I loved the color green until I met you,” he said quietly, and my heart raced. We’re in public, I reminded myself. Performing.
“Well, as much as you hate black tie, you pull it off.” I swallowed. “Well.”
“I feel like a penguin,” he whispered, brown eyes shining.
“You two are the most delicious couple,” crowed the heiress. “I follow all the gossip blogs and I could just eat you up. Can I? Just a little taste?” She burst into raucous laughter.
Logan gave her a tight smile and grasped my chair, waiting for me to sit. “I’m afraid we’re off-menu, Mrs. Vandergriff.”
That only made her laugh more wickedly. Clocking Vandergriff, I noted. Loud. Interest bordering on prurient.
Once we were settled and waiters appeared at our elbows offering not only red wine, but white wine and champagne—I stifled a squeal that the exact same scene had occurred in The Prince’s Secret—talk at the table turned to the economy and I gave myself permission to check out. I let my eyes wander over the salad course, taking in the beauty of the towering floral arrangements. This place would make a wonderful setting for a children’s book—maybe about a group of spunky orphans growing up in a castle together. They would be given a mission to save the world from a brawny evil villain who, in my imagination, looked remarkably like Governor Mane.
Logan gently brushed my elbow when our entrees arrived: a beautiful roast chicken for me, mushroom risotto for him. “So,” he murmured. “How’s Dr. Laderman?”
I studied his face, looking for a hint of anger, but he only wore a smile. Behind his eyes was that emotion I could sense but not name.
“Fine,” I said cautiously. “We’re being careful about staying private.”
Logan nodded, eyes dropping to my hands in my lap. I realized I was fidgeting and stilled.
“I love watching you two together,” Mrs. Vandergriff burst, interrupting a point the financier had been making about the market. “You remind me of these little dolls I had when I was a child. Mummy had them shipped in for me from Austria. I used to make them kiss and have little weddings.”
Yikes. Upgrading Mrs. Vandergriff from prurient to off her rocker. Maybe growing up so wealthy you could have dolls flown in from Austria did that to a person.
“Thanks,” Logan grunted, looking anything but thankful.
“I want to see you kiss,” Mrs. Vandergriff pouted.
“Oh, no,” I said. “We don’t—no PDA.”
The financier cleared his throat and launched back into his subject. Nora leaned over to Logan and me. “Be nice,” she hissed. “That woman is a mega-donor.”
Logan gritted his teeth, but I gulped. The last thing I needed to do was put Logan’s campaign in any more jeopardy. “Roger that,” I whispered to Nora, and she backed off.
“How’ve you been since the bachelorette?” Logan whispered. “We missed you at the last strategy meeting.”
“Oh, please, just one kiss, I’m begging,” Mrs. Vandergriff called, but I pretended not to hear.
“Nora said I could skip it. I had...plans.” I swallowed guiltily. That had been the night of my second date with Will.
It seemed Logan could read the truth in my eyes. “Right. Of course.”
“One measly kiss for an old woman,” said Mrs. Vandergriff, lifting her empty champagne glass for a refill.
Logan gave her another forced smile, shaking his head. “I’m not a marionette, Mrs. Vandergriff. I don’t dance for coins.”
“Logan,” Nora warned.
“This roast chicken is delicious,” I said, forcing cheeriness. “Anyone else loving it?”
Logan turned back to me. “You don’t want to take a step back, do you?” He studied my face. “I mean, from the campaign.”
“The signature Arthur gruffness,” Mrs. Vandergriff swooned, so loud she startled everyone except her husband, whose upper lip trembled as he softly snored. “What I wouldn’t give to be fifty years younger—”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Logan snapped. The whole table stilled and Nora’s eyes flew open in horror. “One more—”
I seized his face and kissed him.
I could feel my own surprise at what I’d done mirrored back at me through Logan. For an agonizing second, he was frozen. I started to pull back until I heard the faintest growl, the sound coming from low in his throat, frustration or desire, I couldn’t tell. And then Logan cupped my face and pulled me closer. He kissed me like he was a starved man, twining his fingers in my hair, tugging me toward him with such urgency I practically tipped out of my chair. In a moment of recklessness, I returned his kiss just as fiercely, wanting nothing more than for this bubble of time to last. Fiction, I told myself. Only a convincing fiction.
Logan wrenched away from me, breathing heavy, his eyes searching mine and then flicking around the table. Only then did I look at our audience. Our quiet, stunned audience.
“There’s your damn kiss, Mrs. Vandergriff.” Logan shoved away from the table. “Now please excuse me.”
The whole table watched him stalk through the dining room.
“Oh, my,” drawled Mrs. Vandergriff, putting a hand to her chest. “That’s definitely the man I want to watch for four years in the governor’s office.”
“Sorry,” I whispered to Nora, who was looking at me like she’d never seen me before. “I’ll be right back.” I gathered my ball gown and moved as quickly as I could in the direction Logan had fled.
Racing out of the dining room, I caught him cutting across the empty ballroom. “Logan, wait!”
He stiffened, then turned.
“What’s wrong?” I closed the remaining distance, skirt still clutched in my hands. “I was just trying to get Mrs. Vandergriff off our backs.”
His voice was low and dark. “I try not to kiss women who are in relationships.”
“Oh, please. Will and I have been on two dates. I’d hardly call that a relationship.”
“I thought kissing each other was against the rules. Am I the only person who can ever remember the damn rules?”
“You hate rules,” I said hotly, feeling a flush creep up my neck. “Everyone knows that.”
“But I follow them,” he burst. “You’re right, I do hate them. They hurt. Holding myself back makes me feel like I’m dying inside. But I do it, Alexis. I keep myself in check. And if I do fuck up, I try to make it right.” The heat drained from his voice. “I don’t want to make mistakes. Not with you. This is too important.”
The way he was looking at me was charged, and suddenly I didn’t know what he was talking about. Me and his campaign? The two of us appealing to voters? The two of us...?
“Mr. Arthur, sir,” came a voice. “We were just about to find you for your dance.”
We turned to the man wearing a discrete headset, eyeing us expectantly.
“Ughhh.” Logan closed his eyes and canted his face to the ceiling. “Why are you torturing me?” He opened his eyes and gave the man a forced smile. “Of course. When does it start? Oh, now? Perfect.” He turned to me. “I’m guessing Nora didn’t tell you we’re supposed to open the ballroom dancing portion of the evening?”
“She said there were no expectations!” I could feel my cheeks heating. “I would’ve prepared. I’m fine,” I reassured the man in the headset, who was watching me with alarm. “I’m going to die,” I whispered to Logan, once the man scampered away.
“Don’t worry. Just follow my lead.”
“You know how to dance?”
“Of course I know how to dance. I’m a poor kid from a farming town. I wasn’t going to give people another thing to sneer at.”
The orchestra settled on the mezzanine, the perfect distance so guests could hear them without being overwhelmed by the music. They’d be able to see us through the wide-open French doors separating the ballroom from the dining room. Near the orchestra, the man in the headset motioned at Logan and me to come together.
Logan took a deep breath and held out his hand. There was a question in his eyes, and for a wild moment, it felt like he was asking for something bigger than a dance. I laid my hand in his and he placed his other on my waist. “Put your hand on my arm,” he said quietly. “Mirror what I do. Take the steps I take—”
“Don’t cross any lines you don’t cross,” I quipped.
The ghost of a smile. “Not unless you want to fall apart in front of everyone.”
That time I knew he meant something bigger than dancing. I gripped his arm and the orchestra started, violin strings quivering, sending stirring, hopeful notes into the air. Logan launched into motion, pulling me with him across the floor, and I heard the shifting sounds of the diners turning in their seats to watch. For a while, it took all my focus to concentrate on Logan’s gliding feet and mirror his movements, though with his hand firm around my waist, and the strength and sureness of his steps, I felt certain he wouldn’t let me falter. After a while I caught on to the rhythm and relaxed, straightening my shoulders and actually listening to the music. It had moved from hopeful to swelling and dramatic.
Logan noticed my relaxing and frowned. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
I raised my eyebrows as he swept me in a circle.
“I know none of this has been easy on you. Everything the campaign has asked you to do—it’s been a lot. But we’re nearing the finish line. The election’s only a few weeks away.” He steeled himself. “If I win, I told my team to jump into Phase Two immediately.”
“Phase Two?”
He dropped his head lower, and pulled me in closer. “Seeding the ground for our public breakup. Of course, if I lose the election, no one will care about me anymore, so our breakup won’t even be news.” He looked down. “In that case, feel free to dump me immediately. People will probably cheer you for moving on to the good doctor.”
There—a note of bitterness, right at the end. Before I could say anything, Logan charged on. “Either way, the silver lining is that you’ve built capital, notoriety. You can use it however you want. Keep rallying for teachers. Run for a union position. Start a nonprofit. The sky’s the limit for you.”
That infernal question again: What did I want? I heard Lee’s voice in my head, telling me to stop sitting on the sidelines and do something gutsy. That’s what everyone had always wanted from me. The orchestra music swelled, tragic and beautiful, and the notes pulled back memories. I ducked my head, pressing my temple to Logan’s shoulder. I could see myself at thirteen, shy and gawky and heartbroken by my parents’ divorce, but trying to hide it. Because Lee—seventeen-year-old Lee—was so angry, and there wasn’t room for two of us.
For years she’d refused to see or talk to our father, and that scared me. I couldn’t forget what my mother told me that night alone in her bedroom, that my father left because she’d stopped being what he needed. The realization that family was as fragile as glass made me heartsick that Lee’s behavior would push my father even further away, that she’d lose him for all of us. I did everything in my power to balance her out, spending time with our dad when Lee shunned him, reassuring him I loved him when her anger was at its sharpest. I felt the pressure of holding my family together like a weight on my shoulders every day.
As the years passed, I buried my own feelings of anger and disappointment so I could keep my father’s love. I went to his house every holiday and made nice with his new wife, Michelle. I said yes to every invitation, called him, texted him, hung his Christmas cards on the corkboard in my room. From thirteen to twenty-three, I tried so hard to be accommodating, to be the glue.
I could remember settling into a chair next to Dad’s at Lee’s college graduation, an orchestra playing sweeping, swelling music, just like the music tonight. Lee had refused to acknowledge our father’s presence yet again, and I knew that unless I sat with him, he would be alone. I wanted so much for none of us to hurt.
When Lee’s name was called and she strode across the stage, the way he looked at her. The pain in his eyes. I could feel him slipping away—not just from her but from me—and there was nothing I could do to stop it, no matter how affectionate I was, no matter how I contorted myself to be what he needed. When the ceremony was over, he disappeared with a few gruff words, and for weeks it was strained between us. Things eventually got more normal, but I couldn’t help but feel a new distance between us, one I wasn’t ever able to mend. Because the year after I graduated from college, he left in the most permanent way a person could, his life stolen by a car accident. Despite how hard I’d worked to keep him, to keep some semblance of our family together, in the end I failed.
The violins trembled their final quiet notes, mournful and resigned, and applause sounded from the dining room. Logan’s steps slowed, but I shook my head and pressed my face into his jacket. Tears spilled down my cheeks. I couldn’t let anyone see me like this. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why...” My voice broke. “My father...”
His hand moved from my waist to the back of my head, clutching me tighter. As the orchestra began their next song, Logan pressed his lips into my hair and whispered, “As many songs as you need.”