Lovegame by Tracy Wolff

Author:Tracy Wolff [Wolff, Tracy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

I’m in the middle of a toast to my mother when he walks into the black-and-silver bedecked ballroom where I’m hosting my mother’s birthday celebration.

It’s awkward timing considering everyone at the party is watching me and all I can do is watch him. It’s hard not to, when he’s dressed in a gorgeous blue Tom Ford suit that shows off his long, lean body to perfection even as it makes his eyes look impossibly dark. And warm, so warm that I swear I’m starting to sweat as he looks at me across the crowded ballroom.

Though my words haven’t faltered, people are beginning to notice my preoccupation. I pull my gaze away just as a few start to turn to look, and force myself to stay relaxed and engaging as I tell the last of the jokes I’d planned. Then, with a smile I’m suddenly far from feeling, I finish with a lift of my glass and a heartfelt, “Happy Birthday to the most beautiful woman I know. You don’t look a day over forty, Mom.”

She laughs and gives her head a small, self-deprecating shake as everyone around us smiles in good-natured agreement. And while forty might be a little bit of a stretch for a woman who has now turned fifty seven times, it’s not completely out of the realm of possibility. She does look good, really good.

Of course, I would have preferred to end the toast with something about who she is rather than what she looks like, but my mother—the woman who will probably still be “fifty” when she’s actually seventy—would kill me. Staying young is pretty much a religion for her. Then again, that’s nothing new in this town where ninety-five percent of the people I associate with feel exactly the same way.

Once everyone has clapped, I step down from the stage so the DJ I hired for the night can resume the music. The first thing I do when I’m no longer the center of attention is to down my glass of champagne in one long swallow. It’s my second of the night, and though I vowed to keep all my wits about me tonight—with everything that’s happened I feel like I need to—I can’t help wanting another. Especially when Ian’s melted chocolate gaze snags mine and refuses to relinquish its hold.

Or maybe it’s me who refuses to look away—at this point, I just don’t know. All I do know is that he’s heading straight for me, the crowd between us parting like so much seafoam as he cuts a path through them.

Who does he see? I wonder as I decide to hell with it and grab another glass of champagne from a passing waiter. When he looks at me right now, does he see me? Or does he see her? The Belladonna? Not for the first time since I found the gown my mother selected for me waiting in my room—a gown that bears a marked resemblance to one I wore as the Belladonna—I regret agreeing to let her dress me.

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