Chapter Thirty-Five
The ballroom was nearly full by the time Ransom showered, dressed, and came down for dinner. When he reached his assigned table, his cousin, Hugh, got up to greet him.
“There he is, Mr. Congressman, our family’s shining star, our saving grace,” Hugh said, giving him a hug.
“Hugh, it’s good to see you,” Ransom said. “I understand I have you to thank for the synchronized swimmers in the pool?” he asked as he took his seat.
“If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s throw a party,” Hugh said. Hugh’s gaze slid over Ransom’s shoulder, and his eyes lit up. “My God,” Hugh said. “Who is this beautiful creature?”
Ransom turned in his chair. Ana stood behind him, dressed in the blue-green Yves Saint Laurent gown he had picked out for her that day on Rodeo Drive.
It skimmed the curves of her body, the slit climbing all the way up her thigh.
It was strapless, the neckline straight, showing off her bare shoulders and the olive tone of her skin.
Her hair was sleek and straight, parted on the side and slicked back into a low ponytail that fell down her back.
She wore a simple silver chain and pendant at the base of her neck.
Ransom had never found collarbones so attractive before.
He recalled that day in the pool when he had run his hands over them and down her shoulders and felt a deep fervent thrumming of desire pulse through him. He swallowed hard.
“Table two?” Ana asked, holding up her place card.
“You’re in the right place,” Hugh assured her, pulling out the empty chair between him and Ransom. “That dress, my dear, was made for you,” Hugh went on. “You’re a dark-haired Marilyn.”
Ransom normally found Hugh’s flirtations amusing, but now he found his grip tightening on his dinner napkin beneath the table.
“Come now,” Hugh said. “You’ve earned yourself a drink for surviving the summer.
Or should I say, for surviving Saoirse. Lord knows I love the girl, but she can be hell on wheels.
And the two of us together—” He whistled.
“Forget it.” He motioned to a waiter passing by with a tray of champagne and lifted off two glasses. “Ransom, will you partake?” Hugh asked.
Ransom shook his head. He couldn’t afford to be off his game tonight, to be operating at anything less than 100 percent. Tonight, it was too important that everything went according to plan. “No, thank you,” Ransom said.
Hugh took a third glass anyway. “Ah, come now, we’re celebrating,” Hugh said.
He set the glass down in front of him. “Now, I rather pride myself on giving toasts,” Hugh went on.
“It’s a little hobby of mine. I’d make it a profession if I could, but I’ve vowed never to take a profession.
” He lifted his glass. “To you, my dear, for surviving the summer,” Hugh said to Ana.
“Saoirse’s not just a little firecracker; she’s the whole damn show. ”
Ransom raised his glass but didn’t drink; he was saved from any protest from Hugh by the arrival of Jacqueline, who took the empty seat on Hugh’s other side without waiting for anyone to pull out her chair.
“I can’t believe you’re drinking without me,” Jacqueline said, admonishing the entire table. “Where’s my glass?”
“Have mine, love. I’ll get another,” Hugh said, passing her his drink. He half stood to motion to the nearest waiter holding a tray and grabbed another glass.
“How was the croquet game earlier on the lawn?” Jacqueline asked, taking a sip of her drink. “I was sorry to miss it. I’m a very good player, you know. I could have gone pro if I didn’t have such weak wrists.”
“Are there professional croquet players?” Hugh asked.
“Oh, yes,” Jacqueline said. “Anything where you hit a ball with a stick can be a profession.”
Ransom glanced over at Ana. He watched the rise and fall of her collarbone as she drew breath, and he hated what it did to him, how he wanted to kiss the hollow of her neck.
He looked away from her, stared down at his porcelain dinner plate.
What was wrong with him? She was a liar, a manipulator, a con artist. He knew nothing about her aside from that.
“Picture?”
There was a man standing next to the table, a photographer. He held up his camera.
“Oh, yes, please,” Jacqueline said. “I haven’t eaten for a week. I need photographic evidence of how great I look.”
She leaned in toward Hugh, already cheesing.
The photographer crouched slightly and looked through his lens.
“Congressman Towers,” he said. “If you would, sir, lean in closer to the young lady.”
Ransom reluctantly scooted his chair closer to Ana and leaned toward her until the lapel of his jacket was practically touching her shoulder.
He stared straight ahead at the camera, but he felt Ana stiffen next to him.
He could smell the store-bought shampoo she used, the faint whiff of strawberries. He held his breath.
The photographer snapped the picture. A second. A third.
Then he stood. “Thank you,” he said and moved on to the next table.
Ransom scooted away from Ana, back to his place setting.
The salads came. Then dinner. Ransom had barely finished eating when the band started up and Saoirse was opening the dance floor with—to Ransom’s immense surprise and disappointment—Teddy Mountbatten.
He thought they were at odds with one another?
But here they were, smiling, holding each other close.
Everyone applauded when they finished, and then the band broke out into a banger, and Saoirse’s friends flocked onto the dance floor.
“Come on, you ninnies, we can’t be the last ones out there,” Jacqueline said, throwing her dinner napkin onto the table and standing up.
Ransom shook his head, but Jacqueline pulled on his arm anyway.
“You have to dance at your own party,” Jacqueline said. “Ana, you too. Don’t make me throw you over my shoulder and carry you out there myself, because I will do it.”
Ana stood reluctantly.
Hugh was already on his feet. They all followed Jacqueline, winding their way around the tables to the dance floor by the stage.
Ransom didn’t mind dancing when there were rules prescribed to it—the waltz, the foxtrot, even a simple box step.
But this solo dancing next to your partner, the ungoverned swaying and swinging of one’s arms, one’s hips, felt silly to him.
Jacqueline bumped her hip into his and clapped her hands, and then Hugh took her hand and twirled her around.
Then the music changed to a slow song, and Jacqueline and Hugh paired off, leaving Ransom and Ana standing there, just looking at each other.
Ana’s eyes were cold and hard as she looked at him.
She crossed her arms over her chest, as if she were cold, and something about the bareness of her shoulders and the way she was standing there, all alone, looking at him, made him feel weak in the knees.
She opened her mouth to say something, but Ransom cut her off.
“I need a drink,” he said brusquely.
He turned away from her quickly and made a beeline for the bar.
When he caught sight of the line there, he thought better of it; he grabbed a glass of champagne from a proffered tray instead and headed for the open doors to the patio.
Outside, the night air was cool and crisp against his face.
He hadn’t realized until that moment that he’d been sweating, the collar of his shirt sticking to the back of his neck.
He took a swig of champagne and felt the bubbles, hard and abrasive against the inside of his throat.
What was wrong with him? What was he doing?
He stared out into the dark night. He couldn’t see the water anymore with the lateness of the hour, but he could hear the waves in the distance beating against the shore.
“What the hell was that about?”
Ransom turned to see Jacqueline standing behind him, looking winded and irritated.
“What?” he asked.
“You left that poor girl stranded on the dance floor.”
Ransom shrugged. “I didn’t feel like dancing.”
Hugh came up behind Jacqueline, jovial and oblivious, two fresh drinks in hand. “An old-fashioned for you, my dear,” he said, handing Jacqueline hers. “What’d I miss?”
“Nothing,” Ransom said. “I’m going to bed.”
“Bed?” Jacqueline said, sounding insulted. “It’s barely nine thirty.”
“You two enjoy yourselves,” Ransom said curtly. He had to get out of there.
“Huzzah!” Hugh said, lifting his glass in mock salute while Jacqueline huffed in blatant disapproval.
“You’re not really going to turn in early at your own party? Ransom?” she called after him as he walked away, his back to her.
The night was already a disaster, and it had barely started. He couldn’t wait for it to all be over, for all this to finally be behind him once and for all.