15. Lottie
fifteen
Lottie
This is a horrible idea!
I freak out the moment Bodan takes a spot onstage.
Not because Bodan isn’t attractive. He checks all the fake-date boxes in the all-things good-looking category: inviting smile, fit physique.
He obviously came to slay the press in a dark suit that fits his broad shoulders perfectly.
Honestly, he is sort of born perfect for this role.
No, he’s the reason I’m crashing out.
Who am I kidding?
I’m crashing out because I’m ME!
“Hi, again,” I say meekly as I take the final steps to close the gap between us. I never knew I could take such baby steps—my feet barely move. Yet I know they are moving, because he is, in fact, getting closer, and I am, in fact, starting to sweat. “Err, um, I’m glad you made it,” I squeak out.
“I’m honored to be here.” He grins an easy smile that, frankly, makes me jealous. I’ve spent years standing on these stages next to my mom. It’s never been easy. Add in a fake date, and it’s deadly. “You look ravishing,” his casual compliment floats out.
“Well, I don’t know about ravishing .” I let out a small chuckle. That’s an awfully nice compliment, even if I think he’s exaggerating a little to cheer me up. If he’s offended I don’t return the compliment, he doesn’t show it.
He scans the room, which is quickly filling with reporters. He slides his hands behind his back, clasps them, and whispers, “This room is terrifying.”
“Yep.” I follow his gaze around the hotel ballroom that is practically glittering with donor money.
Dozens of linen-draped tables hold tall floral arrangements in patriotic colors—that part I’m okay with.
It’s the banner with my mother’s face blasted across it that makes something twist in my stomach.
It’s just another one of my mom’s political fundraisers.
I should be used to them by now, but instead of getting easier, each one cranks the nauseating dial higher than the last. “It can be terrifying,” I murmur.
“Just smile a lot and act impressed when you hear phrases like grassroots and bipartisan support .”
“And if I panic?” The dreamboat smile he gives me is so far from panic, I raise a skeptical brow. He’s clearly enjoying the spotlight.
“Start chugging water,” I say dryly. “They usually have that expensive sparkling water. It goes down easy and helps settle the nerves.”
He laughs an easy chuckle. He doesn’t look like he’s struggling with this at all, which makes me wonder if he’s just saying that to make small talk.
For a moment, I feel sorry for him. He’s merely another one of Mom’s props—a temporary solution to move the current conversation in another direction.
I hope this doesn’t backfire on him. If all goes according to my mom’s plans, he’ll get a giant credibility boost when this is over, and no harm done.
But if I’m honest, it’s the “no harm done” part that I can’t seem to get past.
Since when does lying not cause harm?
“Okay,” I say through a fixed smile as reporters position themselves in the front row. “Remember, if we do this right, we won’t have to do it again. It’s awkward, but let’s try to sell it.”
“I’ve got it all covered. I listen attentively. I laugh at the right moments. I say things like, ‘Lottie is the most remarkable woman I’ve ever met.’”
I shoot him a look as his lips tilt into what feels like a flirty smile. “Don’t overdo it,” I caution.
“I’m a professional.” His smile fills in even more, confirming it’s definitely flirty.
I let out a shaky sigh and mumble, “I’ll never understand why you agreed to do this. My mom must have some serious blackmail on you.”
He laughs, showing all his perfect teeth—even his back molars.
Either he had some serious braces or just perfect genes.
“No blackmail at all, but she did promise to throw a little extra attention toward the museum. I’m hoping to get a promotion when my boss sees how ‘important’ I am.
” He inserts finger quotes as he speaks, and it hits me.
Here I thought he was doing a good deed, but seriously, everyone uses everyone.
My attention shifts as my mom strides through the open double doors, and her sharp eyes zero in on me. “Great,” I mutter.
“What?” He leans in, acting concerned.
“My mom has arrived.”
“We should probably act like we’re a little more comfortable with each other then.” His words are laced with logic as he holds his hand out like an offering. “Do you want to take my hand?”
I stare at his palm. Nothing weird about it—not even a single mole—and I double-check just to make sure.
I’m not worried about his mole disease, but I don’t like these weird games.
Before I take his hand, I glance back at my mom.
Sure enough, she’s boring into me, like I’m taking some test. Against my better judgment, I slide my palm into Bodan’s.
His skin scratches against mine as we shift, trying to figure out how to get comfortable.
It doesn’t feel natural at all; his arm seems extra-lanky and gangly.
I practically have to drop my shoulder to line up our palms.
Is it supposed to be this hard?
My mind snaps back to holding Ty’s hand—how our hands were magnets, connecting without effort.
After another few awkward shifts, Bodan bends his elbow, and it feels a little better.
Enough that I can step forward to play the role of the “good girl who dates perfect boys.” It sounds easy, but my pulse echoes with the memory of the way the other hand fit so well.
I can’t help but feel like the other wasn’t finished.
“Lottie!” Mom exclaims, air-kissing my cheek for attention before turning fully to Bodan. “So glad you could make it. You look handsome.”
Bodan’s hand tightens around mine, a little too snug, so my pinky has to slide under my ring finger to make it fit. Maybe he’s nervous too, but everything feels forced, like he’s trying to hold me back from running away.
Oh, good idea!
I should run away.
Oh, is it too late to run away?
I look toward the exit, and see people pouring in, filling the room all the way to the back. There’s no way I could sneak out now.
“Thank you for having me,” Bodan says smoothly to my mom. “It’s wonderful to be here supporting your amazing work.”
Eating that compliment right up, Mom beams as if she’s the one on this fake date. Then she squeezes his forearm, claiming him for her campaign. “Well, Bodan, I think it’s time we introduce you to everyone.”
My stomach plummets. I get that’s what we’re here for, but we don’t need to make a big spectacle out of it…or us. “Mom, speeches haven’t even started—”
“That’s even better,” she cuts me off sharply. “Let’s do a lap around the perimeter of the room together.”
Bodan raises his eyebrows fractionally, then smiles at me. “Sounds like a plan.”
Mom pulls us into the crowd and leans closer to Bodan. I catch her whisper, “You’re doing well, but make sure not to leave Lottie’s side.”
He tilts his head toward her. “That shouldn’t be a problem.” My pulse jumps as his eyes find mine, and he smiles down. “I don’t want to leave her side.”
Great.
This fake date is already getting complicated.
He better not be catching feelings for me, because I didn’t sign up for that!
My mom turns abruptly, steering us into a small group of people. “Oh—wonderful,” she says loudly. “You’re all here already. I want to introduce you to someone new.”
My stomach has now taken to somersaulting. I didn’t know it was this athletic and had so many routines. Gritting my teeth, I walk forward, noticing mostly familiar faces from past fundraisers or events. Reporters. They swivel in unison toward my mother, ready to hang on her every word.
“This,” Mom announces, sweeping her arm in my direction, “is my darling daughter, Lottie, as you know.” She pauses, flashing a smile that makes me want to gag, then continues, “And this is Bodan, her boyfriend.” She inserts an airy laugh and leans in, “I suppose we might as well get the news out now. It’s probably already leaked. ”
My jaw clenches.
Leaked. As if my mom hadn’t meticulously planned this herself. I don’t doubt she had Brett draft a full-page press release that’s been emailed.
Bodan doesn’t miss a beat. He stares at me like I’m the only thing in the room. I fight the urge to grind my teeth. One of the reporters leans in, tilting her gaze toward me. “Lottie, is this true? Do you confirm you’re a couple?”
All eyes swing to me.
The moment stretches. I try not to glare at Mom’s expectant smile. Maybe he feels the tension, because Bodan drops my hand to slip his arm around my waist, applying soft pressure that pricks my skin. “Yes,” I say, because apparently this is my life now. “Bodan and I are dating .”
There it is.
The official statement.
Everything is public now.
The things I do for my mother.
Does she even appreciate it?
“Well, congratulations, Lottie. We had no idea.” The reporter smiles, pulling out her phone and positioning it in front of her. “Would you mind posing for a quick photo?”
My heart lurches as Bodan answers for me, “Sure.” He leans in, murmuring into my ear, “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”
My stomach finds a new trick—like it’s being sliced down the middle.
I don’t like lying. Sure, on the surface, no crime is committed.
Bodan is more than willing, but it feels immoral.
The reporter takes the photo just as Bodan’s arm tightens around me in a perfect photo pose.
I force a smile. Not a happy one—not a real one—but it’s the default I perfected years ago.
Click. Click. Click.
I hold my breath, waiting for everyone to take their turn like I’m some zoo animal on display.
All the while, Mom beams from the side. At one point, I hear her correctly spell “Bodan” for a reporter, glowing as if she’s already won the next election.
“He’s a scholar who works for the Smithsonian,” she adds.
After the final reporter moves on, my mom walks off, leaving me with an unsettling truth that stings far worse than it was supposed to.
This was supposed to be simple.
But I’ve never felt more guilty.
A weight feels tied to my flattened stomach, swinging there as it drags my gut lower and lower. Bodan must sense my unease, because he lowers his hand from my waist and steps aside, giving me space. “Is everything okay?”
“Ah.” I shake my head, my eyes darting from my mom to him.
“I don’t know. I didn’t expect this to feel so heavy, but I guess…
whatever. It’s done.” I swallow quickly, hoping to avoid further emotion.
It seems like everyone has already moved on.
Speeches are about to start. No one is even looking at me anymore.
This is the perfect time for me to leave.
Normally, I’d stay until the end to help my mom. Tonight is different. She pushed too far. “Boy, I’m struggling to breathe in here.” I’m not being the least bit untruthful. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to step outside, but you’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”
“I’ll walk you to your car.” Bodan stays at my side as I search for the exit.
Running a hand over my cheek, I flounder for the right words.
“I should be fine, but thank you. It was a pleasure working with you.” I nod politely, then speed away, cringing.
The bad news: he’s right on my heels. I guess it’s the gentlemanly thing to do—but I hate it.
A boundary I never knew I had was crossed tonight.
My mom and I have never been friends, but there was always a level of respect. Tonight, I was used.
My. Mom. Used. Me.
My heart cracks right down the center, shattering the place reserved to hold all the love and loyalty a girl has for her mother. Even though our relationship never felt normal, I protected it, but I know now, a line has been drawn. Forever.