It was my first official social appearance after my engagement had ended. I didn’t want to be boring Blair, in another dress like all the other ones I’d worn before. I didn’t want to fit into the family mold, or be the backdrop for my father’s never-ending political campaign. I wanted something special, something that would give me the confidence I needed to get through a night I was already dreading. And even though I knew I shouldn’t care that Professor Canter was coming tonight, I wanted to wear something he would notice. Something classy, but sexy.
This was the dress.
We went back to the changing rooms together, talking about accessories and shoes.
In a lot of ways, we couldn’t have been more different—she was so loud and confident, funny and sharp. I was quieter, more reserved. But I loved how free I felt around Jackie. She hadn’t known me before everything fell apart with Thom, so I didn’t feel the need to fake it around her, to pretend I was someone I couldn’t be anymore.
I slipped the dress on while Jackie chatted about Will’s bid for the Virginia Senate; she worked for his campaign manager and was heavily involved in getting him elected. This close to the election, I was lucky she’d had time to hang out. Between school and the campaign, we did our best to see each other as often as possible.
When I’d finished changing, I took a deep breath and stepped out of the dressing room. “Okay, be honest. What do you think?”
For a moment she didn’t speak, and I wondered if I’d misjudged the whole thing, and then Jackie grinned. “That’s the dress. You look amazing.”
I stared at myself in the mirror, unable to keep a smile off of my face.
It was strapless and cut lower than anything I normally would have worn, but still appropriate. It hugged my torso and flared out with a red silk skirt. It was perfect. Absolutely perfect.
If I was going to end my self-imposed social exile, then I’d just found the dress that would give me the balls to do it. And if it came with the added bonus of giving me the extra spark I needed to see Professor Canter, even better.
* * *
“What are you wearing?”
My mother walked over, a glass of champagne in her hand, a death laser shooting from her eyes.
I leaned forward and gave her an air kiss, ignoring the glare with my name on it. Twenty-three years had provided me with a missile defense system that included avoiding the death stare. Most of the time.
“I think it’s Valentino,” I answered.
“Very funny.”
No one would ever accuse my mother of having a sense of humor.
“What happened to the green dress?”
“I hated the green dress. Kate said I looked like a dragon in the green dress.”
My mother made as much of a face as her plastic surgeon would allow. “Because your sister is really the arbiter of fashion. Please.”
I ignored the dig, because really, Kate could give a shit what people thought about her clothing choices. Still. I knew my parents were angry with her for pulling away from the family, but how could they act like she wasn’t one of us? Like she didn’t matter? I struggled to temper the anger building inside me.
“If I ever get a job working as a character for children’s birthday parties, it’ll be useful, but until then, the green dress will stay buried in the back of my closet. Or I can give it to charity.” Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea. I could do some kind of auction, donate the proceeds.
Her lips pursed like she’d swallowed bad seafood. “That dress is very showy.”
I tried to fight the smile, but my mouth won.
“Are you trying to say I look vulgar?”
The look on her face suggested I’d just screamed “fuck” in church.
“I saw the mention in Capital Confessions,” she snapped, her voice lowering, two angry red spots of color filling her cheeks. “I know this is her influence.”
That one hit its mark. Jackie was the elephant in the room and I had no clue how to deal with it. On one hand, I hated the way my parents had treated her, was ashamed that my father had failed to take care of her as a child or acknowledge his responsibility toward her until his hand had been forced. On the other hand, Jackie was a constant reminder of his infidelity. And while I wondered how much she’d known, or how much she cared, at the end of the day, she was my mother, and I knew how it felt to be cheated on and humiliated better than anyone.
The difference between us was that I’d fled in a Vera Wang wedding gown, and she’d stood beside my father at a podium, dressed in an impeccable Chanel tweed suit, pearls, and a blank smile, while he confessed his sins.
I grabbed a flute of champagne from a tray as a server passed by, fighting to keep a polite smile on my face. The party hadn’t even started, and I was already miserable. I desperately wished Kate were here with me.
“Have you been drinking tonight, Blair?”
“I just got here, so no. But I am planning on it. Especially since the Wyatts are coming.”
My mother stiffened, centuries of New England breeding bringing her spine into a ramrod-straight position. “Thom’s coming as well.”
Motherfucker.
It took every ounce of decorum that had been drummed into me to limit my reaction to a slight tremor running through my hand holding the champagne glass. The frothy liquid swayed like a drunken sailor, but stayed put.
“You will not make a scene.”
The smile died along with whatever hope I’d had for this evening to be tolerable. “Of course not.” I tried to keep the sarcasm out of my voice; by the look on her face, I’d failed. Apparently, my manners had fled along with my fiancé.
“I don’t know what’s going on with you lately, Blair, but tonight is very important for your father. We cannot afford another scandal. I expect you to behave accordingly.”
I bit back everything I really wanted to say.
The thing that pissed me off most was that none of the drama over the past few months had been my fault. My father’s penis had gotten him in trouble twenty-one years ago. Just like Thom’s got him in trouble a few months ago.
I wasn’t the one who’d cheated on our wedding day. I didn’t lie or hurt anyone. And yet she looked at me now like I was another problem she had to contain—like me wearing a red dress was a step away from doing lines of coke or streaking in front of the paparazzi. It was bullshit. Absolute bullshit. If she hadn’t wanted drama tonight, then she shouldn’t have invited the Wyatts, and she definitely shouldn’t have invited Thom.
How did she think this little reunion was supposed to go down? I hadn’t seen him since our wedding day, hadn’t taken his calls, had no idea how I was supposed to react. I didn’t think Emily Post covered situations like ours.
Maybe that was what I should do with my life—write a modern etiquette book for socially awkward moments.
Engagement ended at the altar? Caught your fiancé in flagrante delicto with his best man on your wedding day? Smile politely when you see him next, and if conversation is awkward, discuss something neutral like the weather.
“Blair. Are you listening?”
Not even a little bit.
“Sorry. What?”
“I asked if you knew him.”
“Knew who?”
My mother inclined her head toward the bar. “He’s a professor at Hannover. New to D.C.” Her nose wrinkled as though a bad odor lingered in the air. “He’s from Chicago, and I don’t know anything about his family, but apparently he’s done well for himself. Your father’s campaign manager suggested we invite him. Go talk to him. He looks awkward standing over there alone.”
I heard Chicago and everything after that disappeared as I followed her gaze across the room.
I shouldn’t have been able to recognize someone by the back of their shoulders, the shape of their head, a patch of dark, dark hair. It was sad that I did. But after nearly two months of watching him in class, of staring at him while he wrote on the board, I did recognize him. And then he turned, and the full weight of Graydon Canter in a tuxedo hit me like a truck, and I lost my head and maybe the last vestiges of my self-restraint.