Mother’s words are calculating and cold, but I cling to them. As much as I’ve run from my mother and my pageant days and the hell of my life with her, I can’t deny that there is comfort in turning back to the familiar. Because my mother is right. They can’t hurt you if they don’t see you. And right now, all I’m willing to show is the mask.
Throughout all my mingling, though, I’ve felt Damien’s eyes on me. Watching me. Burning into me. Making me aware of every little movement. Of the brush of my dress against my skin. Of the feel of my shoes on the curve of my foot.
He’s frustrated with me—possibly even angry—but that doesn’t change the fact that his desire is palpable.
For that matter, so is mine.
My fears and frustrations can wait. All I want right then is Damien.
I’ve made up my mind to go join them at the canvas when Evelyn sidles up beside me. “I don’t know if I need to wring Damien’s neck or Giselle’s for only having wine and champagne,” she says to me. “Come on, Texas, you must know where the secret stash is.”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” I say. Probably not the best display of manners to lead Evelyn back into the kitchen area, but the truth is that I could use a shot of bourbon myself.
We maneuver around the hired staff that is now using the kitchen to refill drink and appetizer trays, and park ourselves at the small breakfast table.
“So spill it, Texas,” she demands once we’re seated and I’ve poured two neat shots. “Something’s on your mind.”
“I’m slipping,” I say. “I used to be able to hide my troubles better.”
“Or maybe it’s putting on a good face that gives you away.”
I consider that, and decide that in addition to everything else, Evelyn is a very wise woman.
“Come on. Tell Auntie Evelyn.”
“Tell you?” I smile. “I seem to recall there was something I wanted you to tell me.”
“Oh, hell,” she says, then tosses back the drink. She slides the glass back toward me and I top it off again. “I was just running my mouth off. Don’t listen to me.”
“I do listen,” I say. “And I don’t believe you. What’s going on that I don’t know about?”
The corners of her mouth turn down and she shakes her head in exasperation. “I just hate it when I see a shitstorm coming and know there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.”
“Carl?”
She bats the name away. “Carl can go piss up a rope. No, Damien’s managed to keep his business private for almost two decades. But that’s about to end, and I’m not sure if he even realizes it.”
“Not much gets past Damien,” I say, both because it’s true and because I’m loyal. “But what on earth are you talking about? He’s already done damage control on the Padgett scandal,” I say, referring to recent attempts by a disgruntled businessman named Eric Padgett to implicate Damien in the death of his sister. Damien, thankfully, stopped that rumor cold. “So what else is—” I sit back, suddenly realizing the truth. “The tennis center.”
Evelyn’s head cocks warily. “What has he told you?”
“Pretty much what he told the press. That Richter is an asshole and he’s not going to the dedication ceremony. He didn’t tell me why,” I add, watching Evelyn’s face. “But I have my suspicions.”
Evelyn’s brows lift almost imperceptibly. “Have you told Damien what you believe?”
“Yes.” I shrug. “But he hasn’t told me if I’m right.” I watch Evelyn’s expression closely as I speak. I know that she represented Damien back in those days, before and after Richter’s death. If anyone knows whether Richter abused Damien as a child, it’s Evelyn.