Page 4 of Malicious Marriage
Dean scoffs and smiles. “Indeed it could.”
“I’m sorry I was just sitting here,” I say suddenly. “I was in my own world, stressed about how I’ve been presenting myself this evening, and I just needed a moment, but then you walked in and when I realized who you were?” My cheeks puff out. “I’m not bold enough to interrupt the host, but I swear I wasn’t trying to be creepy. I was just…” The right word fails me so instead I just laugh weakly. “Readjusting?”
Dean gestures to his own tie. “I understand. More than you know.”
“Host pressures?”
“And the rest.” He adjusts his seat and leans up. “Take the time you need.”
“Oh, no!” His words suddenly spur me into action. I gather all the wet tissues and stuff them into my purse.
“You really don’t have to?—”
“No, no, I should get out of your hair. I’ve hidden long enough.” Rummaging through the tissues with the realization that I should have done this first, I find my compact mirror and whip it out. In the light from the table lamp, it’s impossible to ignore how puffy my eyes are or how flushed my round cheeks are. My mascara is all but gone, but at least my red lipstick is mostly unaffected. “Besides, people will be looking for me. And you look like you need some decompression time.”
“Do you think it’s common?” Dean looks past me toward the door. “Is everyone here secretly seeking five minutes away from everyone else?”
“No,” I reply honestly. “I think it’s just a certain kind of soul that needs breathing room. Some of us just want to be seen, y’know? And in our world, it’s impossible to be seen for who we really are.”
Despite focusing on my own reflection as I do what I can to wipe away the stray flecks of mascara, I see Dean’s gaze land on me and remain there as he watches me intently.
“Indeed,” he replies quietly as if confirming something else in his mind. “We’re all wearing a mask.”
“Exactly.” Closing my compact mirror, I set it aside next to the table lamp and resume gathering the tissues. Then as I stand, Dean stands with me and suddenly, he’s towering a good head above me with his peppermint aftershave tickling my sensitive nose. I look up at him and the air suddenly feels thin, like his presence is sucking up everything breathable.
I swallow. Hard.
“I didn’t catch your name,” Dean says as he steps away from me and walks slowly back toward his desk.
“It’s Clover.”
“Clover,” he repeats, reaching his desk and running his fingertips along the edge of the lampshade. “Take care of yourself, Clover.”
“I will. Thank you. And thank you for the tissues. Please, send me the bill.”
Dean laughs softly. “That’s hardly necessary.”
“Please.”
“Should I charge by the tissue?” His eyes catch mine from across the room. “Or by the box?”
I pause with my hand on the door handle and my bag clutched to my abdomen. “By the tissue,” I tease back. “Make it interesting.”
Dean’s eyes narrow faintly. “So be it.”
I leave Dean’s office slowly, but as soon as I reach the top of the stairs, I start running. I need to get out of here. I need air. Outside air free from the stink of alcohol and fancy food, expensive perfumes and aftershaves, and music so loud that my teeth ache. Weaving through the party is a rush in itself, but there’s no one here to stop me, and no one cares enough to ask if I’m alright. I don’t stop until I’m outside and the gravel surrounding the Savoy manor crunches under my heels, but even then, I don’t stop. I wobble my way across the gravel, cursing every unstable stone that catches on my heels and threatens to twist my ankle the wrong way, out the gates and past guards who barely spare me a glance, then all the way down the street.
By the time I reach the black car tucked just around the corner, I’m breathless and sweating from every possible crevice.
“Fuck.” Bobby, my driver and bodyguard, leaps out of the car and rushes around to me, catching me before I open the door. “Clover, are you alright?”
“In!” I gasp, pointing at the car. “Let me in!”
He opens the door for me and then hurries back around to the driver’s side as I flop into my seat and breathe deeply like I’ve just resurfaced after being underwater that entire time.
Bobby flips on the AC and passes me a bottle of water, then we sit in silence for a few long moments while I catch my breath.
“Should I be worried?” Bobby, my ever faithful bodyguard and friend, regards me with a worried frown. “Clover?”