Page 19 of Beg for It
“Yeah, yeah. One sec.”
I roll my stiff shoulder as I wait. Seriously. I can’t believe my luck. I’ve sat on that branch probably a hundred times and have never gotten caught. What the hell is up with tonight?
Maybe this is a sign. Maybe I need to bring this cat and mouse game to a close.
But how?
How will I catch her…
CHAPTER EIGHT
BLAIR
Everything. Hurts.
But I keep smiling like the good witch my mother dressed me up to be.
“That tiara is just stunning. Reminds me of the Bragança tiara, do you know the one?” Mrs. Flanagan preens.
“I do.”
And it weighs even more than the damn Bragança tiara. I checked earlier. This thing on my head comes in at a whopping four pounds. Do you know what it’s like carrying four pounds of gemstones on your skull while a corset crushes your ribs and thirty pounds of beaded tulle drags around your waist?
It’s a nightmare.
I won’t have to work out for a month after tonight.
“It’s a gorgeous piece. Do you know where your mother ordered yours from?”
“She had it custom made. All our costumes are.” I give her a placid smile. “Our mother truly goes above and beyond for us.”
“Truly. I wish I had a daughter to spoil like you,” she sighs. “Unfortunately, all I had were sons.”
I just hum and nod…or attempt to nod because of the tiara.
“It would be wonderful if one of my sons married a girl like you. So poised and beautiful.”
“You flatter me too much, Mrs. Flanagan.”
I give her a polite laugh as though I am not aware that one of her sons already has a fiancée, another is still in high school, and the last is gay. Not really much I can do to help the woman with her wish.
“Hannah, come here, my dear.” Mr. Flanagan waves at his wife from a social circle nearby.
She takes my hand and squeezes it. “Lovely chatting with you.”
“You, too.”
I wait until her back is turned and then attempt to make an escape but am pulled into yet another conversation. It’s been going like this nonstop for the last three hours. These parties mom throws are worse than the pageants I was forced into. I need a wine break in the kitchen with Josh, but I haven’t seen him for at least half an hour. Ugh. He can’t have gotten that far in his loud tin armor. I’ve barely been able to leave this room.
A flash of silver moves past patio doors.
Bingo.
I do a quick scan for my parents, clocking them by the fireplace chatting up Councilman Sval and his wife. Perfect.
“I’m so sorry, I’m just going to head out for a spot of fresh air, if you don’t mind?”
I excuse myself from the conversation and glide—yes, glide, because that’s what it looks like in this ballgown—through the crowded foyer and down the hallway. The living room is packed with more people, but the wide berth of my skirt forces people to make a path for me. The double doors to the patio are both open, making it easy for me to slip out without having to contort the petticoat to fit through it.
