Page 102 of I Don't Need Your Romance

Damian takes a bite from his dish first and when he doesn’t drop dead, I figure it’s safe for me to take a bite. Mmm. It’s really good. I try to eat with as much etiquette as possible. The last thing I want to do is embarrass Harrington or Damian.

Speeches are made and everyone gushes about what a good person Principal Harrington is. They talk about the school and the scholarships and how she’s opened her school to the less fortunate.

“In fact, we have a student from the scholarship program tonight here with us,” the woman, who is her friend, says. “Why don’t you stand up?”

My eyes grow large. “What?”

“Go ahead, Sophie,” Harrington says.

All eyes are on our table. There’s no way I can get out of this. Damian wears a ticked-off look on his face, like he’s mad hismother is using me to make herself look good in front of all these rich people.

With shaky legs, I slowly get to my feet. Everyone smiles, nods, and claps. I give an awkward wave and grin before sitting back down.

“That was embarrassing,” I whisper to Damian as the woman continues her speech.

“Sorry.” He gives his mom a look, but she doesn’t pay attention to him. “She saw you were here and jumped at the opportunity to mention the poor, underprivileged kids who attend her school. Such a fake.”

“I mean, it’s not a lie. If not for the scholarship, I wouldn’t have ever attended HBA.”

“I know, but she didn’t have to make a public spectacle of you. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.” Smiling encouragingly, I place my hand on his. He glances down at it and his body heaves.

“I’m just stressed.”

“I understand and I’m sorry you have to deal with this.”

He rests his hand on mine. “Thanks.”

The last person to speak is Principal Harrington. She thanks everyone for coming, gives a special shout-out to her amazing son. Damian grunts at that. And she of course mentions the scholarship student as well. I guess it’s the only way she can explain my being here.

After the speeches and the food, the band plays the music loudly and most people get up to dance. Our table empties quickly. Damian’s mom doesn’t dance with anyone, but she goes from person to person, chatting them up.

Damian slouches in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. I busy myself with drinking more water.

The music is slow and the couples are dancing closely together. Some have their arms around each other while others are less intimate.

“Does your mom have a boyfriend?” I ask him.

“Nah.”

“Why not?”

He shrugs. “She cares more about the school than anything else.”

“Oh.”

We’re quiet. His gaze roams around the room, making a face like he’d rather be anywhere but here. He turns to me and I expect him to ask me if I want to get out of here, but he says, “Want to dance?”

“What?”

He tilts his head toward the dance floor. “Want to dance?”

Why is he asking me that question? I’d think dancing would be the last thing Damian would want to do.

He turns away. “Forget I asked.”

“No, I mean I’d love to. I’m just so bad at it. I’ll break your toes.”