Page 21 of Just a Plot Twist (Tate Brothers #7)
Benson
Sophie and Oliver are a little dumbstruck from across the ballroom.
Oliver has Elizabeth on his hip, his expression sort of a And you have your arm around my sister-in-law…
why? Sophie’s amused. The string quartet has started playing again, and with the din of polite conversations all around us, they approach.
Claire squeezes my hand tightly and I glance over. Her jaw grows tight.
“You good?” I whisper.
She glances up at me and our eyes meet. But then she pulls her hand out of mine as Sophie nears. Claire steps to her to give her a hug.
“What is this?” Sophie purrs.
“We’re friends,” I say, right as Claire says, “Nothing!”
Sophie steps back from Claire, holding her at arms’ length, appraising her.
Then she turns to me. “Claire told me about the phone mishap. So you came to exchange phones and decided to stay? Love it!” Her glance goes from me back to Claire and then to me again.
Oliver steps up behind her, and their daughter babbles something in baby-talk and reaches for Claire.
Oliver grunts out a laugh as he and I do a brotherly back patting thing and then Elizabeth wriggles out of Oliver’s grasp and into Claire’s arms.
“You guys…” Oliver gestures between us. “…been hanging out since you played the hero the other day?”
“No,” Claire says, in a rush. “I mean, he sent me flowers…a get well soon type of a thing…and then he had to go to Longdale’s city offices and we ran into each other there. And then the party supply store.” She shrugs.
“Have you met our grandparents?” Sophie asks me, reaching out to straighten Elizabeth’s dress. Claire’s holding the baby, rocking side to side and whispering into her hair.
“At the city offices. They were there, too, randomly.”
We’re interrupted by an announcer over the speakers. “Can I please draw your attention to the stage to introduce…Mr. and Mrs. Vernon and Patricia Hanson!”
A smattering of applause sounds as the curtain opens to him walking her in. She’s wearing a big, white, sleeveless ballgown with a plunging neckline. Her husband is in a white tux with a white top hat.
Claire and Sophie both cover their giggles. “I’ve never seen so much of Grandma’s skin!” Claire says.
That may be true, but the whole effect of the two of them together is great. “They look nice,” I say.
After a slideshow, in which there are photos of their daughter, Claire’s mom, and several of Claire and Sophie, the couple speak about their lives together.
They both get emotional when they talk about losing Marie and then explain how building their business together made their marriage even stronger.
And there goes the knot in my throat again. I want genuine affection like that. One that lasts with someone I’m compatible with. I’m worried it won’t happen for me; that my chances have passed.
A receiving line forms and Claire positions us near the front of the line. Patricia and Vernon scowl when we approach.
“What in the world did you do to my swans?” Mrs. Hanson says in a low voice, glancing at me with a heavy, dissatisfied sigh before turning her attention back to Claire.
“Nothing,” Claire says, her face crumpling. “I was trying to get them to come closer.” She glances at me, her green eyes searching for any kind of relief she can find.
“It looks like the swans are calm now,” I add. “The handler said their reaction was a fluke.”
“How do you even know what happened, Grandma? You weren’t out here yet.”
Patricia gives a rueful smile and lifts a shoulder, pointing to a beam in the ceiling.
Claire gasps. “You have cameras in here?”
“ We don’t have cameras,” Vernon says. “The venue has cameras. We’ve been in the media booth watching what’s been going on out here.”
“We had to know the right time to make our grand entrance, you know,” Patricia says. “We wanted everyone to be dying with anticipation.”
“You look lovely, Mrs. Hanson,” I say, shaking her hand. “And this extravaganza is the best one I’ve ever been to. ”
Patricia softens her scowl a little, maybe because I used the proper term or maybe because I complimented her.
I shake Vernon’s hand, too. His grip is so tight I have to rein in my burst of surprise. I should have known he’d do that. With his stick-straight posture and large frame and presence, he wants to intimidate.
And, okay, I’m intimidated. Yet, I return the grip with a flash of satisfaction that he lets go first.
Claire and I move away from the line and when she runs into some other people she knows, I slip a few feet away to stand near Peter and Mandy.
“You remember our daughter, Lora?” Mandy says to a middle-aged couple.
“Right. She works in finance, too, right?”
“Yes,” Peter says. “She got her MBA a while back.”
“She wanted to follow in her father’s footsteps.” Then, Mandy’s voice, full of pride, dips low. She moves towards the couple, grasps the woman’s arm, and says something that makes them all laugh.
Did she say something about Peter joining her in the business venture? Whatever it was, it feels off.
The quartet strikes up a waltz and I pull Claire into my arms as those around us begin to dance. “Gotta look the part,” I say as her brows sneak up her face. “To protect your ankle, we’re only going to pretend we’re dancing.”
“But everyone’s dancing, and if we don’t get moving, we’ll get run over.” She leans to one side, pulling me with her, as a couple whizzes past us in perfect closed-position form. She giggles. “I want to tell them this isn’t actually a big dance competition. ”
We’ve no sooner dodged the dancing couple when I follow Claire’s gaze to a middle-aged couple in what appears to be a full-on dance performance around the perimeter of the room. And they’re super serious about it.
There’s that ache again. Because they’re into it, man, with great fulfillment in their expressions—trust and love for each other in their eyes.
It hurts sometimes. But right now, a strange sort of hope rises in me.
When Claire steps forward to get us to move, I balk. “You can’t dance.”
“Wow. I’m already insecure about it, but then to point it out like that is just—”
“No.” I sigh. “I mean your ankle isn’t going to let you dance.”
Her gaze presses into me. “One dance. Gently. And sort of in place, like we’re gimpy.”
“But you’re in pain.”
“Nuh uh. I’ll bathe in Motrin when I get home.” She draws me closer, her green eyes flicking over my face in a dare. “Just dance with me, Benson.”
So, I do. And, with one hand at her waist and another cupping her hand, we start to sway.
“Don’t look now, but there’s the mayor of Longdale,” she whispers in my ear, her warm breath against my neck tickling me. Thrilling me.
An older gentleman dances with his wife behind us.
She lets go of my hand to yank my face back around. “I said, don’t look!”
The mayor looks like he just wants to go home and watch the NBA Finals.
“Sorry. That’s your boss, huh?”
“Technically, the city council is. But non-technically? He’s the boss.” She raises her chin and focuses hard on the steps. Is she imagining she’s on some ballroom competition television show, now ?
I suppress a chuckle. “Well, let’s be on our best behavior, then.”
The mayor is light on his feet as he glides near us. “Claire, hello. You remember my wife, Keiko?” He nods in the direction of her feet. “Your ankle has healed up remarkably fast.”
“Hello, Mr. Mayor. Yes, I’m so much better now.” She introduces us, and the mayor and Keiko nod and move past us.
“Okay, that wasn’t so bad, I guess.” She leans in towards me with a cheeky smile. “What if we override the sound system and play some Kendrick Lamar?” she says, the warmth of her against me seeping below the surface of my skin.
“I think the string quartet might get a little upset by that.”
Her eyes grow round. “The string quartet isn’t who I’m worried about.”
“Right. But still. You want Kendrick.”
“Feed me some bon bons and I’ll get over it.” She laughs but then winces.
Seeing her pain, I slow. “Okay, we need to sit you down again.”
She takes in a deep breath. “Not until the song’s over,” she says between gritted teeth.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re impossible?”
“All the time. It’s one of my best qualities.”
“I wouldn’t say it’s a… best quality…”
She huffs in frustration, which makes me laugh. She may not want to sit down, but I can do all in my power to not aggravate her ankle, so I slow down, our box steps going half time.
When the music finally stops, I swivel my wrist so she can gently spin and curtsy. But partway through, her ankle buckles.
She goes down fast. And with a sliding bang and a yelp, she pulls me on top of her.