Page 169 of False God

I start when he calls me by my full name. He hasn’t done so in weeks. But it fits better in this formal, awkward atmosphere, like a part I have to play.

“It’s nice to meet you, Beatrice.”

“You as well,” she responds before taking a careful sip from her glass. Even the way she swallows screams elegance. “You were at the Hughes wedding, weren’t you?”

“Yes. The bride is my best friend.”

“The actress, right?”

Chloe would be thrilled about being referred to as an actress. I’m peeved by Beatrice’s airy tone. “She attended London Academy of Music and Dramatic Art, yes.”

“Oh, I see the Burtons,” Grace says. “Come, Elizabeth, I’ll introduce you. You must not know many people here.”

It’s an obvious ploy to separate me and Charlie. To leave him alone with Beatrice.

But I can’t come up with any refusal that doesn’t sound rude, so I nod and say, “That would be wonderful, Grace. Very thoughtful of you.”

Charlie’s hand slides to my left hip, squeezing once before dropping.

I follow Grace over to a couple who appears to be in their sixties. She asks about their trip to Paris, then their grandchildren, before remembering to introduce me. I accept a glass of champagne from a waiter while I wait.

“This is Elizabeth Kensington. A guest of Charles’s.”

I’m surprised she added that second sentence. I wouldn’t have put it past her to imply I bribed my way onto the guest list.

“Nice to meet you, Elizabeth,” the woman says.

“Any relation to Oliver Kensington?” the man asks.

I nod. “He’s my uncle.”

“Well, I’ll be. I don’t know anyone who isn’t looking to make a deal with Kensington Consolidated these days.”

I smile, then sip some champagne.

“I love your dress,” the woman tells me. “What brand is it?”

“Rouge,” I reply.

She nods enthusiastically. “I thought so. I saw their show at Paris Fashion Week last fall and loved everything. Henry”—she elbows the man next to her—“was supposed to buy me some of their dresses.”

“They were sold out, Rosie,” Henry responds.

Rosie raises an eyebrow at me, as if she’s expecting me to fact-check that claim.

I shrug. “It’s my mom’s label, so I’ve never tried to buy anything from them.”

Rosie gasps dramatically. “My goodness.”

Grace looks like she’s sucked on a lemon. She obviously didn’t anticipate myAmericanfamily would be of any interest to the Burtons, and pathetically, this is the proudest I’ve ever been to brag about my family’s accomplishments.

This is also the most inferior I’ve ever felt. As vain and spoiled as it sounds, I’m accustomed to being looked up to, not down upon.

I excuse myself a few minutes later, sneaking a glance at Charlie before heading inside. Beatrice is still standing by him, but they’re not alone. An older couple—her parents maybe—are there too.

The residence isn’t as large as Newcastle Hall, but it has a more complex layout with lots of narrow corridors. I have to ask two staff members in order to find a bathroom. I pee, wash my hands, then admire the wallpaper.

It’s a soft green, depicting a peaceful oasis of snaking rivers and blooming trees, pink peacocks and prancing horses and proud lions.

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