Page 65 of Take It Offline

“Let’s hope,” I say, not entirely convinced.

The kitchens swell and heave with catering and wait staff. Within the storm stands my mother. She’s completely swallowed up as the smallest person in the room and yet still in command of it all.

Charlie gleefully swipes tiny portions of food as servers pass, enjoying the morsels with little sounds of pleasure that burrow into my mind like rabbits building a warren.

When my mom’s attention lands on me, I elbow him in the ribs.

Mom sweeps me into a hug, looking lovely in a floor-length Balmain. “Darling, don’t you look stunning.”

“I said the same thing,” Charlie says. “As do you.”

Mom is looking at him the same way Charlie looks at pie, with delight, and I’m suddenly hit by how terribly things will go when this whole charade is over and I have to witness the disappointment on her face.

Oh Em,she’ll say. This one too?

“No one else is coming through the house, are they?” she asks me, peering around me, her forehead furrowed in worry.

“No, just us. It’s okay.”

“Thank goodness. I told Violet to keep it outside, but you know how nosy everyone gets.”

I do. “They love a secret.”

“Speaking of secrets,” she says, being as subtle as a foghorn as she openly assesses my date. “You must be Charlie.”

He angles in and kisses her cheek, and oh god, being jealous of my own mother might be a new low.

Mom gives me a sly look over his shoulder. “Emma’s told us almost nothing about you.”

Wow.Thrown under by my own family. Nepotism isn’t the same as it used to be. I stifle a laugh.

“What can I say? I’m a man of mystery,” Charlie says.

She raises her chin. “Hopefully not to my daughter.”

When an attendant passes with a case of wine from the cellar, I sidestep out of the way, but not before swiping a bottle for myself.

“There’s nothing she could ask for that I wouldn’t want to give her,” he says, stealing my mother’s heart along with all the air in my lungs.

It’s the most romantic thing I may ever hear in my life, and it’s a lie.

How fitting for the fallen Conway heiress.

As another case of wine is brought in, and another, a familiar worry creeps into my gut.

“Mom, who’s paying for all this?”

“Emma, you know that’s impolite,” she says, eyes on Charlie.

I sigh. “Mom?—”

She cuts me off with a wave of her hand. “Tonight is about the foundation, and I told you, everything’s covered. Now, go mingle and enjoy yourselves.” Carefully, she plucks the bottle of rosé out of my hands. “You’re worse than your father. You didn’t come all this way to hide in the house. There are plenty of drinks being served outside with our guests.”

She’s one to talk, in here with her clipboard. I’m convinced she likes hosting because it gives her an excuse to escape awful conversations.

I watch forlornly as a server takes the bottle out of her hands. Then, without another word to us, my mother swans after him, orders spilling from her lips.

“Chardonnay?” another asks, appearing out of nowhere, as if Violet had the whole crew complete ninja training.

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