Page 92 of The Art of Almost Losing It
I swallow. She likes to say that, and it usually makes me uncomfortable, but tonight? I just feel like screaming to the room that I’m a fraud.
“I’m so happy,” Ethel continues, “that you’ve found a girlfriend. We’ll have to get photos of you two for the newsletter. Where is she, by the way?”
For a second my heart skips, and I wonder if Dani’s come to her senses and gone to the police.
But then I see her, there at the top of the stairs into the ballroom, looking over the quickly growing crowd.
I can’t stop staring at her as she grabs a handful of her dress, pulling it off her shoes as she glides down the stairs.
“Ah, young love!” Ethel says dreamily.
“You look beautiful. I’ve never seen you in a gown before.” I greet Dani.
The gown’s bodice isn’t as sexy as the one I saw her in at the department store. The V-neck bodice is black velvet. The full skirt is brocade, with little bits of gold thread that catch the light of the crystal chandeliers above. Her hair falls in soft waves over one shoulder.
She looks like a doll.
And I want to take her home and keep her on a shelf.
“Don’t get used to it. It took a million years to get my hair to do this,” Dani says dryly.
I lean in to kiss her temple without thinking, and then freeze, like I broke a rule I forgot existed.
“Sorry,” I murmur to Dani.
“It’s all right,” she says, flustered.
“You guys are so cute together!” Hannah snaps our photo.
“Get one of the two of us.” Ethel motions us in.
Then there’s half an hour of photos with big donors, photos with the board, photos with special guests. Photos with Spencer while he makes Dani giggle and makes me want to murder him.
“God, taking photos is exhausting.” Dani fans herself.
“It is, isn’t it? It really shouldn’t be.” I smile at her.
“It’s like, what do I do with my hands? Am I smiling too much? Do my eyes look too serious? What is everyone else doing? Wait, don’t look around because then you’ll look crazy in the photo.”
Her hand is still resting on my arm as we walk slowly toward the bar.
“You don’t have to worry, though. You always look amazing in photos.”
“I appreciate you braving the camera. It’s for a good cause.” I hand her a glass of wine. “And since you didn’t make any untoward comments, I’ll even carry your snack plate for you.”
“A kidnapper running an antikidnapping charity? I would never.”
“And here I thought you were a nice, sheltered girl.”
“Are there custom sugar cookies that say ‘Save Me’?”
“You are horrible.”
“Yeah, I guess I’m not so nice.”
“You’re mad about the ‘nice’ comment, aren’t you?”
“Oh, no, of course not,” she says as I carry her plate to an out-of-the-way bench. “That’s just what every girl wants to hear—her boyfriend saying she’s nice.”
