Page 22 of Just a Plot Twist (Tate Brothers #7)

Claire

Horrified.

That’s the look on my grandmother’s face from across the ballroom as Benson rolls off me and leaps to his feet. In the din of the music and dancing, the gasps from around the room as we fell still reverberate in my ears.

Yeah, I won’t forget that sound for a long while. It was like the kerfuffle with the swans—only worse.

Grandma’s standing there in shock, glued in place, still in closed position with my grandfather.

Benson reaches for my hand, but I ignore the gesture.My grandmother’s look of total and complete grief has me stuck to the floor.

Her lips move around words I can’t hear and then Grandpa’s head swivels around so he can also gawk at us.

I would get up, but my ankle is jelly. Puffy, pulsating jelly .

That’s not even my biggest concern. My grandparents look like they’ve just gotten word that their favorite person in the world has died.

Can it be me? Please? I volunteer!

Or maybe they’re so disappointed in me that I’m already dead to them.

Benson steps closer to me. His look is also somber, but there’s more compassion in the slant of his brows and the set of his jaw.

“Can you stand at all? I can help—” He steps behind me, reaches down with both arms, and goes to pull me up.

“I got it, thanks.” I want to get up on my own.

He takes a step back. “I’m sorry I landed on you.”

“I’m sorry I pulled you down.”

By now, the quartet has stopped playing again and people are either staring at me in curiosity or looking away because this moment is…terrible and embarrassing.

First the swans—the thing my grandmother wanted most of all—attack each other, and then I’m spread eagle on the dance floor, with a grown man on top of me?

Is this real life?

“I’m totally and completely fine, everyone!” I say loudly. I plant my palms on the floor to get up. My grandmother waves her hand towards the string quartet, telling them to resume. She pastes on a smile and, still holding Grandpa’s hand, makes her way towards me.

The fear of being on the floor when she arrives gives me superhuman strength. Somehow, I manage to come to a standing position, with Benson hovering nearby as a spotter. I straighten my baby blue, wispy, ankle length gown, hoping there isn’t a stain from the floor all over the back of it.

“Are you alright dear?” Grandma asks, her face etched with concern .

“I’m all good. Had a little stumble.” I try to put weight on my ankle but it’s useless.

Now that it’s clear I haven’t died right here, their horrified expressions change to something else, with Grandpa vigorously chewing on his bottom lip and Grandma’s head tilted just so.

I know that head tilt.

“It was a big stumble. Be more careful, Claire,” Grandma chides. “This floor is original to the venue. It isn’t built for shenanigans.”

“I wasn’t—” I press my lips together to calm myself. After a breath, I say, “I’m sorry I fell and embarrassed you.”

They say nothing—just observe us with that same, desperate look in their eyes.

I’m not used to falling from my position as favorite grandchild. Like always, disappointing them hurts more than my ankle does.

Benson finds my hand and gives it another squeeze before turning to my grandparents. “It’s not Claire’s fault. It’s mine for dancing when she should have been resting. I apologize for the fuss. Don’t let us interrupt the extravaganza any further.” His smile is tight, his tone abrupt.

“We’d better get back to the dance,” Grandma says, lifting her heavy satin ball gown to prepare to walk. She would never fall in front of two hundred people. “I’m glad you’re alright.” It’s almost a mutter.

They leave before I can say more. Dancing couples have started maneuvering around us, and we’ve had a couple of close calls. Dang. These people take their ballroom dancing very seriously.

Benson wraps an arm around me. “Let’s get you over to a chair if you can? ”

I take a tentative step on my injured ankle and maybe it’s the adrenaline, but I manage to make it to a small table with two chairs in the corner.

Good. I can lick my wounds in private.

Benson helps me sit and then takes the chair across from me, his forehead bunched up.

“I’m sorry about that.”

My heart is still pounding against my rib cage and my face is hot. “I’m the one who needs to apologize. I pulled you on top of me! You must think I’m the most accident-prone fool on the—”

“No. Your injury wasn’t healed enough. That’s all.”

I sigh and remove my phone from the pocket in my dress—the one redeeming quality this dress has. I missed a text from Sophie several minutes ago, saying that she and Oliver were leaving to put Elizabeth to bed.

Again, that wistfulness surges around me, the desire for a husband and kids. I want to go home with a husband to put our baby to bed.

Benson flags down a waiter and asks for a drink for me. When the man leaves, Benson’s gaze bores into me and then he pats his lap. “Rest your foot on me. It needs to be elevated.”

I sniffle and blink as my cheeks heat. The reality of what just happened is sinking in.

Mostly keeping my composure, I focus on the dancers on the floor, as Benson supports my ankle on his knee, gently cradling it.

He then lifts my shoe off, and a thrill of a tickle travels up the sole of my bare foot at his touch. He sets my shoe on the floor next to us and begins kneading the arch.

“I won’t touch the ankle area. It’s too tender. But I can work on this arch like nobody’s business.” He offers a sweet smile .

The music changes to a livelier tune and I catch a glimpse of my grandparents, spritely moving across the floor, their smiles looking a little less polished. More relaxed and genuine.

Joyful.

They do love each other. And this whole thing really is a special occasion.

And I had to go and fall, pulling Benson—an innocent bystander in all of this—down on top of me!

I care too much about what my grandparents think of me. I realize it’s not healthy. I just have no idea how to… stop caring about it.

I cringe as my mind again goes to the fall. “Wait, are you okay? You fell, too.” I ask Benson, taking in his form. His knees are apart and he’s leaning forward a little so he can really get in there and give my foot a good rub down. It feels like heaven.

And it might be the most attractive thing I’ve ever seen.

“I’m fine. You cushioned my fall.” His eyes twinge together in sympathy. Before I can respond, he leans in closer.

“Hey, do you want to get out of here? We should ice this.” The way his gaze sweeps up my leg makes me want to fix my dress. As I reach down to try to do so, he chuckles. “Don’t worry, you’re decent.”

“Unlike the other day in my office?”

His cheeks color. “That was unfortunate, but not a big deal. And Claire. I meant what I said. You need to ice this thing.” He glances around before ducking his chin a little. “What do you say we get out of here? I’ll drive you home.”

“But we haven’t gotten food yet, Benson.”

“I’ll get us something to eat, okay?”

The waiter approaches with my glass and Benson asks him for food .

Soon, there’s a plate of fancy hors d'oeuvres in front of me. Endives. A blue cheese popover type of thing. A small smudge of glittering black caviar near the edge of the plate with a dollop of something creamy nearby.

I’m not sure my rioting stomach can handle food like this right now.

Benson makes a face. “Nah,” he whispers to me. He flags down a waiter again, one carrying a tray with tiny desserts. Benson lifts a coconut cream pie puff from the tray with a small napkin and hands it to me.

“How did you know these are my favorite?” I ask before I pop one in my mouth. “You were ogling them earlier.”

I hastily chew and swallow. “I didn’t ogle!”

“All I’m saying is I wish I were a coconut cream puff.” His stare is measured.

Is he flirting?

I think he’s flirting. Regardless, he’s made it his mission tonight to watch over me and spend time with me and that’s just…

…endearing. Kind.

He gently places my foot on the floor, stands, and goes to my chair. “Come

here.” He helps me stand and I let him, not at all sure what he’s doing but not caring in the slightest.

Once I’m standing, he tugs me so close to his side that I barely have to limp and hobble at all. He’s got such a steady hold on me. As he holds my shoe, we make our way to the side wall of the ballroom and take a few more steps until we reach a small group of people. He mutters under his breath.

“Forget this.” He sweeps me up in his arms, cradling me, and begins walking to exit the ballroom.

“What are you doing?” I hiss .

And then he whispers in my ear the sweetest, most glorious grouping of words ever uttered in the English language:

“Getting you a huge, juicy, salty, sloppy burger.”