7. Claire
7
Claire
Under the Spotlight
I paste a huge fake smile on my face as I slowly descend the grand staircase into the heart of the party.
I look the part of a Carter kid tonight—with a shimmering red silk dress clinging to my body—but I couldn't be further away inside.
At the bottom, Gramps and Mimi are the first to greet me. Mimi’s hands envelop mine in a gentle squeeze.
"Claire, darling. You look absolutely stunning. Just like your mother."
A bittersweet smile graces my lips. “Thank you, Mimi."
The weight of her words settles heavily in my stomach. My resemblance to Mom is both a blessing and a curse. I navigate the crowds of people buzzing with a frenetic energy.
I don't seem to have a place in the middle of the sea of laughter, clinking glasses, and animated conversations. Everyone appears to know their group except for me.
A familiar pang of loneliness stabs at me. I snag a glass of wine from a passing waiter and down its contents in one go.
After the first few days of being at home, a part of me that thinks this might be different from all the other times I’ve been unable to stay past a week at the mansion. I’d hoped that maybe this time, this place could feel like home.
I was wrong. I'm probably destined to be an outsider in this family, just like my mom. She never fit in with her artistic nature and eventually left, leaving her five-year-old daughter and husband behind. She knew she couldn’t take care of me on her own, so she left me where she knew I’d be well off. Her departure broke Dad's heart. His health deteriorated, and then he had a heart attack that stole him away a few years later. The tragedy had shaken the whole Carter family to its roots.
Now, I’m the only remaining reminder of that tragedy—a living embodiment of my mom’s rebellion and my Dad’s demise.
My refusal to conform to the Carter traditions and standards also put a red target on my back, and it’s why most people in the family avoid me like the plague.
Another waiter passes by, and my hand reaches for a second glass of champagne. As my fingers brush against the crystal flute, another hand comes behind me, whisking the glass away.
“That’s mine.”
I turn around, my head whipping towards the person. It’s Bobby, staring at me with concern on his face.
"What are you doing?" I snap sharply, frustration simmering inside me. "You said you were leaving. There’s no need to play my boyfriend anymore.”
I changed my mind, Claire,” he says softly.
“Really? Why the change of heart?”
He studies me for a moment, his gaze unwavering. “Because I worry about you." He raises the glass of champagne for emphasis.
So he's staying just to babysit? The idea stings, a fresh wave of anger washing over me.
“What does it matter to you?" I lash out, my voice trembling with defiance. “If I want to get drunk, that's my business. I don't need a chaperone."
"Claire." A flicker of pain crosses his features, immediately filling me with regret.
"What?" I swallow nervously.
"I’m not here to babysit or give you pity. You're one of the strongest women I know."
The softness and sincerity in his voice almost make me tear up.
"Not here," I choke out. "I'm too different. I don't think I belong."
"You belong here, Claire. You're a Carter, just as much as anyone else. And you should be proud of who you are, every part of you. It's time to step out of the shadows."
He puts an arm around my waist as he sips the champagne, looking into the crowd. His warmth envelops me, and I feel like I'm covered in a comforting haven away from the storm of confusion raging within me earlier.
After he finishes, he turns to me, his eyes searching mine. “Dance with me?"
Without waiting for my response, he leads me towards the dance floor. I look around, nervously. As an adult, I've never been on the floor at a Carter party because…well, I’ve always tried to avoid the eyes that would judge my every move.
Bobby puts a finger under my chin, directing my gaze at him instead of the crowd. "Focus on us, only us."
I nod, looking straight into his eyes.
The slow melody progresses, and Bobby pulls me close. His hand rests possessively on my lower back, guiding me with surprising ease. Slowly, I relax, letting Bobby and the music guide my steps.
I keep my eyes on him as we move in a seamless circle, a playful glint forming in his warm, blue eyes.
"Having fun?"
A smile tugs at the corners of my lips. "I am. Thanks for this."
Bobby looks so handsome in his waistcoat. His brown hair is perfectly set, and bushy brows wiggle at me. He seems to be having as much fun as I am dancing. For the first time tonight, I feel genuinely happy, stress-free.
As the song reaches its climax, I begin to notice heads turning in our direction. Bobby doesn't stop, and we keep on dancing. Fiona stands beside her boyfriend at a corner of the dance floor, her steely gaze fixed upon us. But for once, I don't care.
All that matters at this moment is the warmth of Bobby's hand on my back, the intoxicating scent of his cologne, and the rhythm of the music.
Bobby leans in closer, his lips brushing against my ear. “See," his husky voice sends a tremor through me. "We're showing them, aren't we?"
I nod, a slow smile spreading across my face as I pull back to look at the mischief in his eyes. But emotions are flashing in those blue depths—excitement and a hint of something more…something forbidden.
The song fades into applause, and Bobby leads me back to the edge of the dance floor. But my heart keeps frantically thumping as I wonder what the look in his eyes means.
"That was…" I begin searching for the right words.
"Amazing?" Bobby finishes, a playful wink on his face.
I settle on, “Unexpected.”
He studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, “The night is still young, Miss Carter."
My breath catches in my throat. There’s that look again, sparking butterflies in my belly and turning my cheeks red. Bobby grabs my hand and leads me to the table we share with my brothers and their wives. Throughout the night, he keeps his hand twined with mine.
I can’t tell if he’s really selling the role or if what we felt in the garden last night was coming to light. The conversation at the table whirs around me while I relive that kiss. At the time, I had thought that the fiery passion and the frantic pounding of my heart were just a rush at the moment, but now, they’re back.
The thought both excites and terrifies me.
Later that night, he excuses himself, disappears into the crowd, and reappears on stage with a microphone clutched in his hand.
A hush falls over the room, and all eyes turn to him.
"Good evening, everyone," he begins, his voice amplified by the microphone. “I made a special request to the band tonight, and they agreed to join me in performing John Legend’s ‘All of Me’ .”
A chorus of glee and applause fills the room.
“This song goes out to the woman who makes my heart skip a beat," he pauses, his gaze locking onto mine across the room. I bat my eyelashes as the spotlight falls upon me, instinctively raising my hand to shield my face from the glare.
The whistles and claps go up another notch.
"I want you to know that I love all of you, Claire.” He nods toward the band, and the first strains of a familiar melody fill the air.
My gaze remains glued to Bobby. He looks like my guardian angel standing up there, championing my cause. He keeps his gaze on mine, his eyes holding such a sincere look, making my heart clench.
Tears prick my eyes, blurring the image of Bobby bathed in the soft hue of the spotlight.
A lump forms in my throat.
I wish this was real.
Because I’m starting to realize that my feelings are real.
He finishes the song, gives a bow, and steps off the stage. A thunderous applause mixed with whistles and excited chatter follow him across the hall.
He approaches me in no time, a triumphant grin on his face. Without thinking, I throw one arm around his neck, cradle his face with the other, and kiss him.
Bobby is tense at first, but he soon melts in my embrace. Nobody else matters in this moment, especially after that performance. And as I open my mouth to invite his tongue to share a dance of passion with mine, the crowd around us fades.
“Way to go, sis!”
The loud voice cuts through our cocoon, and we freeze. Bobby and I pull back from each other, looking around the hall that’s been admiring us the entire time.
Dang it. I squeeze my eyes shut, sucking in a long breath. Then I lift my head slightly and peek through my lashes.
He immediately takes my hand and bows to the crowd. “Thank you, everyone,” he announces.
The hall suddenly fills with cheers, laughter, applause, and whistling. I hear some even call out ‘enjoy, lovebirds!’
Leading me to a quiet corner, he asks, "Why did you do that?"
I don’t know. My heart hammers a frantic rhythm against my ribs. "It's all part of the game, right?" I manage, forcing a lightness to my voice that doesn’t match how I feel. "We have to keep up appearances."
He studies me for a while, his brow furrowed in concern. Then, a slow smile spreads across his face.
“A kiss wouldn’t have been what I had in mind, but yeah, I think it worked.”
I link my arm through his as we make our way to the garden. How much longer can I keep up this game of lying to him? I’m starting to do things, not because of the crowd I want to deceive, but because I actually want those things. I want to kiss him so badly in private and in public. I want him to hold me. I want to see that look of adoration in his eyes every time, not only when we’re in public.
I used to think everything I felt for Bobby was just because he was the best friend a girl could ask for. Now, I think it’s because I yearned for something more, deep down inside. This trip has just unearthed new feelings, and it would be easier if I knew what to do with them.
The one thing I know is that I can’t let things slip yet until I find out if this is a good thing or a bad thing.
This was supposed to be easy.
How did fake dating my best friend go so wrong?
***
Sunlight streams through the gaps in the leaves overhead, dappling my skin in a warm mosaic. We must have fallen asleep staring at the stars.
I lean up on my elbow and steal a glance at Bobby. He’s lying beside me on the soft grass. His eyes are closed, a peaceful expression gracing his features. He folds his hands behind his head, using them as a makeshift pillow.
The events of last night replay in my mind, sending shivers down my spine. I spent the night wondering how to deal with this spark that I suddenly feel for him, and I have yet to reach a conclusion.
And, of course, the lack of conclusion leaves me with a gnawing fear and a sense of impending doom.
Bobby's eyes flutter open, catching me staring. “Never seen a more handsome man?”
My cheeks burn with shyness. “Oh, hush." I stammer, shaking my head vehemently. “I was just thinking."
He props himself up on one elbow, his head tilted close, his blue eyes even more intense in the morning sun. “About what?"
"Just…about last night," I chuckle. "It was the perfect show."
He raises an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. “I told you."
I force a laugh. “Well," I praise, searching for the right words. “I owe you for last night. You were amazing. I’ve never had so much fun, never been at the center of attention like that — the dance, the song, the whole… declaration…the…"
"Kiss?" he offers with a smirk.
"Yeah, the kiss," a blush creeps up my cheeks. “It was perfect. Thank you, Bobby. Seriously."
“Well, the kiss was all you.” He leans back against the grass. “I hope you get everything you need out of this game. You deserve it. I’ll be your perfect boyfriend for as long as you need.”
I steal another glance at him. "Why'd you come with me, anyway?"
He turns to me, his expression blank. “Vacation," he replies simply. “Seemed like a fun way to spend my time without spending money. Plus, I’ve never been to Dallas."
"Cheapskate," I tease, smiling at him.
I can't shake the feeling that something is missing, a vital piece he’s not telling me about, but I’ll let things go for now.
“You’re staying now, right?”
“One hundred percent,” he nods. “A boyfriend’s place is right by his girlfriend.”
"And the contract?" I blurt out, even though it seems stupid now.
"Yep, I signed, even though we don’t need it.”
Relief washes over me. “Good," I breathe, forcing a lightness to my voice that I don't feel. “That means you can’t bail on me."
He grins. “And that means you’re bound by law to make donations to TenderCare charity programs for the next five years."
“When have I ever bailed on my promises?”
“Only…” he lifts off his hands to count off his fingers. He stops on finger four. “Always.”
I grab a piece of grass and hurl it at him. He laughs as he rolls away. He grabs a handful of grass and hurls it back my way.
I dodge quickly.
Our laughter rings in the morning air. Everything I do with him seems charged with an undeniable electricity, and it suddenly feels like the lines between our fake relationship and our real friendship are beginning to blur.
And I still don’t know what to do about it.