“I’d like to have the next dance,” he said, his mouth curved in a boyish grin. There was no sign of the malicious man I’d witnessed on a secret video Cary had captured during a garden party at the Vidal residence.
Cary stepped forward, looking at me for cues.
My first instinct was to refuse Christopher, and then I looked around. “Are you here alone?”
“Does it matter?” He tugged me into his arms. “You’re the one I want to dance with. I’ve got her,” he said to Cary, sweeping me off.
We’d first met just like this, with him asking me to dance. I’d been on my first date with Gideon, and things had already begun falling apart at that point.
“You look fantastic, Eva. I love your hair.”
I managed a tight smile. “Thank you.”
“Relax,” he said. “You’re so stiff. I won’t bite.”
“Sorry. Just want to be sure I don’t offend whoever you’re here with.”
“Just my parents and the manager of a singer who’d like to sign with Vidal Records.”
“Ah.” My smile widened into one more genuine. That was just what I was hoping to hear.
As we danced, I kept searching the room. I saw it as a sign when the song ended and Elizabeth Vidal stood, catching my eye. She excused herself from her table and I excused myself from Christopher, who protested.
“I have to freshen up,” I told him.
“All right. But I insist on buying you a drink when you come back.”
I took off after his mother, debating whether I should just come out and tell Christopher I thought he was a total asswipe of epic proportions. I didn’t know if Magdalene had told him about the video, and if she hadn’t, I figured there was probably a good reason why.
I waited for Elizabeth just outside the bathroom. When she reappeared, she spotted me hanging out in the hallway and smiled. Gideon’s mother was a beautiful woman, with long straight black hair and the same amazing blue eyes as her son and Ireland. Just looking at her made my heart hurt. I missed Gideon so much. It was an hourly battle with myself not to contact him and take whatever I could get.
“Eva.” She greeted me with air kisses for each of my cheeks. “Christopher said it was you. I didn’t recognize you at first. You look so different with your hair like that. I think it’s lovely.”
“Thanks. I need to talk to you. Privately.”
“Oh?” She frowned. “Is something wrong? Is it Gideon?”
“Come on.” I gestured deeper down the hallway, toward the emergency exit.
“What’s this about?”
Once we were away from the bathrooms, I told her. “Remember when Gideon was a child and he told you he’d been abused or violated?”
Her face paled. “He told you about that?”
“No. But I’ve witnessed his nightmares. His horrible, ugly, vicious nightmares where he begs for mercy.” My voice was low but throbbed with anger. It was all I could do not to keep my hands to myself as she stood there looking both embarrassed and militant. “It was your job to protect and support him!”
Her chin went up. “You don’t know—”
“You’re not to blame for what happened before you knew.” I got in her face, felt satisfaction when she took a step back. “But anything that happened after he told you is entirely your fault.”
“Fuck you,” she spat at me. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. How dare you come up to me like this and say these things to me when you’re clueless!”
“Yeah, I dare. Your son is seriously damaged by what happened to him, and your refusal to believe him made it a million times worse.”
“You think I would tolerate the abuse of my own child?” Her face was flushed with anger and her eyes too bright. “I had Gideon examined by two separate pediatricians to look for . . . trauma. I did everything I could be expected to do.”
“Except believe him. Which is what you should’ve done as his mother.”