Page 149 of Faithful

Although this is my first time being on the other side of the curtain during this type of event, I’m very familiar with how these things typically go.

The appetizers come first, and then there’s a speech done by the host. There’s a lot of name-dropping, emotions–both fake and real–gratitude, and some music. There are minor celebs, more music, the first course, and a small break for the band. More guests take their turn at the microphone. The waiters return to swipe up the dirty plates and prepare the tables for the second course.

Sometimes the order of things is a bit different, but the idea remains the same. The organizers always leave the biggest names for last. Tonight, Gavin is one of those people.

“You haven’t touched the duck at all,” Gin says in a low voice from across the table sometime later.

Everyone–Val, Winona, Leigh, and my boss along with the two volunteers who’ve been seated with us–are stuffing their faces.

I’m the only one ignoring what’s on my plate.

Truth is I’ve already checked my phone so many times I’ve lost count, and my stomach is in knots and wouldn't be able to handle any food.

It’s been well over two hours since the event officially kicked off and Kai still hasn’t given me a sign that he’ll be here.

I guess silence is the answer. And I guess it’s not the end of the world. But it sure as hell feels like it. Like the ground beneath my feet is about to crack open and let hell swallow me up. Right in front of all these people.

Fuck.

I pull on my bow tie again, suddenly suffocating from the realization that my entire life needs to be reassessed and replanned because in my recent fantasies of the future, Kai played a key role. Only he’s not here and he hasn’t bothered to even send me a text.

A simplecan’t make itwould be enough.

There’s a wave of applause, hundreds of hands clapping enthusiastically in unison as another guest speaker steps down from the stage, but to me everything sounds as if I’m underwater, as if I’m sinking.

Gin’s iPad slides into my line of vision and she asks me a question, but because I fail to react appropriately, Leigh elbows me in my shoulder.

“What’s going on with you, Watson?” she murmurs while the waiters begin to circle the tables like vultures would circle a dead body, ready to take away the duck and replace it with whatever delicacy is on the menu next.

“Sorry.” I try to shake off the strange restlessness and concentrate on the task at hand–getting through the evening without having a meltdown. “Just a little overwhelmed, I suppose.”

“You should be,” Leigh agrees, straightening her skirt. “Lena’s up next.”

That is when I finally direct my attention to my boss's iPad with tonight’s itinerary pulled up on the screen.

There are only two guest speakers left–Lena and my father.

After that, an auction will complete the official program of the evening.

I can sense the first signs of panic, its prickly, needlelike fingers stabbing at the back of my neck.

Another plate is set in front of me.

Lena finally makes it to the microphone and thanks everyone for participating. For a woman without an affluent background or hidden political agenda, she can still hold her own when surrounded by all these snobs. The moment she begins her speech, every single pair of eyes is on her, and the room goes silent.

That’s why when one of the banquet hall doors creaks open somewhere behind me, I hear it clearly.

Lena pauses and the crowd laughs at her joke, a joke I didn’t register because I see movement out the corner of my eye and it draws my attention away from the stage.

Something sparks in my stomach, shooting lower and into my gut. The sensation reaches my toes next, and I can feel my limbs trembling and my heartbeat quickening.

“Is that…?” Leigh follows the dark silhouette being escorted through the room with her gaze, her mouth wide open.

I purse my lips together and nod.

She’s not the only one to take notice.

Winona kicks my foot under the table.

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