Chapter 48 Leah #2
Alistair Hale should always be played in by a stealthy solo on the bass trombone, Leah thought.
The ominous reverberations would match the way he made her feel.
Except, tonight, she was taken aback to find his veneer less villainous than usual.
Alistair’s brow was etched with new stress lines, his eye sockets shadowed. He looked brittle and strained.
Jackson’s mother bustled in his wake. Celia nodded to the men in the group, ignored Leah and Natalia entirely, and addressed her son. “Niamh’s arrived with her mother. She’s been in Madison for the week. I’m sure she’d love to tell you about it.”
“Leah and I will catch up with her in a bit.” Jackson wove his fingers between Leah’s and she felt the jolt travel up past her elbow.
When she tried to free her hand, he tightened his grip.
Both senior Hales did a double take. She didn’t know whether to feel gratified or insulted by the surprise on their faces.
See? I scrub up OK. I can dust off my social graces. Fucking get over it.
“Miss Raven.” Alistair Hale stopped with just her name, even though his eyes spoke several more sentences she didn’t understand. They slid away from her face, as if looking at her any longer was painful.
“Delightful to see you,” murmured Jackson’s mother, powdered jowls quivering as she ran her eyes over the borrowed dress. There was tension in each finger gripped around her purse.
“We need to check everything’s in order with the auction. Please excuse us.” Jackson led Leah away from the awkward group before anyone had the chance to reply.
On the other side of the gallery, a long line of tables was draped in navy cloth.
Twenty or so miniature easels sat spaced out from end to end, each one bearing the details of a donated auction lot.
One was for a weekend stay at a log cabin in Glen Arbor.
One offered box seats for a performance of contemporary ballet.
Tanner Stone, nudged by Sam, had come through with three signed Blackhawks jerseys.
There was a helicopter ride for four, a bronze outdoor sculpture, and a dozen other enviable items or experiences.
In the center of them all was a large sign, framed in gilt, which read:
Silent Auction
Fundraiser
In aid of
the
Dominic Hale Foundation
Thank you for your support
“What will the foundation do with the money that’s raised?” Leah asked Jackson, breaking the silence. He seemed to have forgotten he was still holding her hand.
“It’s usually split between a couple of youth charities. This year, it’s all going to one. I’ll make the announcement in my speech.”
“I’m sure your brother would be proud.”
Jackson parted his lips to respond, but they were interrupted by a couple who were obviously old acquaintances.
After that, a stream of people stopped by to exchange small talk and congratulate Jackson on the turnout, the venue, the auction lots.
Each time, he introduced Leah by name but gave no explanation for her presence.
His fingers disconnected from hers; she felt their loss like the lack of a coat in a snowstorm.
Even so, she conducted herself with grace and spoke sparingly, keeping a tight rein on blurting out anything that might be socially embarrassing or show any personality.
Every now and then, Jackson glanced sideways at her, a frown tugging at his eyebrows, but she refused to let her shoulders drop at the thought that even Society Leah wasn’t enough to earn his approval.
“I didn’t know you two were dating now.” Niamh appeared at Jackson’s elbow. She sipped daintily at a glass of something clear and bubbly. “Your parents haven’t mentioned it.”
Mild curiosity flittered over Niamh’s face.
Leah doubted she’d take it so well herself.
She was pretty sure she’d want to roundhouse the next person she saw on Jackson’s arm; even the idea made her stomach roil.
Having no contact with him at all would be better than seeing him with someone else. Maybe.
“We’re not dating.” Leah forced a smile and Jackson’s hand twitched on the outside of his glass at the blunt denial.
“I begged him to let me see how the other half live and he was kind enough to give in. It’s my swansong before I move on from Amity Court.
” She changed the subject. “You look gorgeous, Niamh. That color is stunning on you.”
The blonde smoothed her hand over a satin-draped hip. “Thank you. I love the way you’ve done your hair.”
“I have a very talented friend.” Leah shrugged off the compliment, dragging her fingers away from the curl by her ear.
Sam and Kash joined them again, Natalia and Ollie in tow, and they discussed the silent auction lots.
Jackson’s palm hovered somewhere around the base of Leah’s back, never quite touching her but always there.
Like an awkward mockery of a caress. His cologne teased her nose; the heat from his body threatened to melt her bones.
Even in heels, she was dwarfed by his height.
Leah fought not to feel as if she were shrinking by the minute.
She accepted a fresh drink from a waitress just as Alistair Hale edged into the group, cutting across the conversation.
“It’s nearly time for the welcome speech,” he said.
“I’m ready.” Jackson’s shoulders were tight, a muscle twitching in his cheek. There was a strange air between them which thrummed with latent hostility.
Delving into the inside pocket of his jacket, Alistair pulled out a handful of index cards. Celia wandered closer, followed by Niamh’s mother. “I’ve jotted down some bullet points. They’ll help keep you on track.”
Jackson eyed the cards. “I’m good, thanks. I know what I need to say.”
“But you don’t know what I want you to say.” There was a waspish bite to his dad’s formal reserve.
“It’ll be fine. I don’t need your prompts.”
The standoff between the two of them was taut with friction. It seemed to run deeper than some neatly printed words.
“You’re being stubborn with no need. Tonight is important to us, too. I’ve kept it simple so you can read them.” Alistair thrust the index cards forward again, the exasperation in his voice grating like sandpaper on satin.
Leah knew her sharp breath was audible. Beside her, Niamh played with a fine gold chain around her wrist, eyes averted as if she wished she were somewhere else. Sam, Kash, and Oliver shifted in silent discomfort; Natalia’s face was glacial.
Plucking at her husband’s sleeve, Celia Hale pursed her coral-painted lips. “Leave it, Alistair,” she murmured.
“I need some water.” There was an edge to Jackson’s rough swallow but his expression revealed nothing. Holding himself tall with rigid control, he strode between two of the skyscraper models and disappeared out of sight. The prompt cards remained clenched in his father’s hand.
“Oh, for Chrissake! All this fuss about a few words on a piece of paper.” It wasn’t clear who Alistair Hale was speaking to. “I thought he’d have sorted that out by now.”
“Sorted what out?” Since no one else stepped in to ask, Leah found herself unable to hold back the question.
Jackson’s father let out a gust of breath through his nose. “His petulant inferiority complex. It’s about time he stopped using dyslexia as an excuse.”
Oh, no. He did not just say that. She narrowed her eyes.
Her glow-up might not have garnered the reaction she wanted from Jackson, but he didn’t deserve this. And Leah was done with biting her lip to please other people.
She waved goodbye to her chances of seamlessly blending in without ripples.
“Who the hell do you think you are to speak to him like that, after everything he’s done for you?”