Connor stiffens.
“Charles, it’s an honor,” Mrs. Bishop says. “Your support of the campaign is wonderful.”
Connor leans close to me. “Friend of my granddad’s.”
As Charles sits down on my other side, Connor hooks his hand beneath my chair and gives it a subtle yank so my seat scoots toward him. Mrs. Bishop clears her throat across from us, spearing Connor with a pointed look.
Dinner goes on like that, peppered with awkward moments and tiny rebellions from Connor. His mother is doing a scary good job of keeping her cool. It’s almost like Connor is pushing her to see how far he can go before she loses it.
I think it backfires, because all she’s done is give me another taste of how she’s polite but horrible while they have an audience.
“Charles, has Connor mentioned his plans for next year?” Mrs. Bishop asks as we finish the soup course. “Ivy bound. Maybe he’ll be giving your company a run for its money in a few years.”
As Charles chortles, he bumps against my chair. He keeps doing that and Connor doesn’t like it. “Is he now? Of course he is. Spitting image of your father; I’m sure he’s got a mind like his as well.”
“What about you, dear?” It takes a second to realize Mrs. Bishop is addressing me. “Is it state school for you?”
“I haven’t applied yet,” I say.
“Mom. Don’t you remember?” Connor laces his fingers with mine when I take his hand beneath the table. He brings our hands on the tabletop so they can all see us unified. “We’re getting serious. I fell for the girl next door and
finally got her to fall for me after nursing my longtime crush. I’m not about to let her go. Thea and I will get married after graduation and move to Paris for a year. She wants to study from the best pastry chefs. After that, we’ll travel. Do humanitarian work.”
For a second my heart takes a vacation until I remember tonight is fake. I swallow back anxious laughter.
“How romantic,” one of the other table guests coos, about to swoon at Connor’s steadfast declaration.
“Married.” Mrs. Bishop might as well have said drink sewer water with that tone. “I’m thrilled to hear you’re so committed to each other. And at such a young age.”
God, she’s just like my mom.
“I’m always thinking about the future, like you wanted,” Connor says. He tilts his head and peers at me. “Always.”
“Wonderful. You can apply to Oxford for a year abroad, then.”
The tension at the table almost chokes me. Thankfully, Damien appears at Mrs. Bishop’s elbow and she leaves to give her speech. Connor holds my hand through it all, stroking my knuckles.
My head is spinning by the time dinner ends. I slip off to the restroom to freshen up. When I come out, a man with a press badge is in my face.
“Can I get a quote? You’re here with Councilwoman Bishop’s son tonight.”
Connor materializes at my side, hand resting at the small of my back. “She is. What’s your question?”
The reporter motions for a photographer hovering by a potted fern. “The policies your mother supported in the last year cut back on the education budget for Ridgeview. As students, how do you feel about that?”
“Oh, I was reading about this earlier. I think—”
“Those policies were put forth by the mayor,” Connor says, polite but bland as he cuts me off. When I pinch his side, he deftly maneuvers me into posing for the camera with him. “Will that be all? Great. Bye.”
As he guides me away, I dig my heels in and walk over by the coat check. The clerk is on break, so we’re alone, shielded from the crowd by tall decorative plants.
“What is up with you tonight?” I demand. “You didn’t tell me everything. Tell me the truth. Why am I even here? It doesn’t seem like you need or want me at all.”
“I’m sorry.” Connor kisses me, cupping my face. “It’s necessary. It’s been harder than I thought it would be to play my part and keep you from getting sucked in by this tar pit. This isn’t your world. I never should’ve gotten you involved in my shit.” He rests his forehead against mine, closing his eyes. “I’m not really me tonight and you’re not really you. Don’t think of me like this.”
There’s a pleading edge to his voice. He seems unhappy and out of sorts. The pressure of tonight has put a strain on him that has him worn out from fielding questions and dealing with his mom. I’ve watched it weigh on him all night as tension wound through his posture.
He’s reverted to being controlling tonight, closing off when things got hard instead of being the disarming guy who drives me to school in the morning, and apologized when he was wrong. Instead of the one who wished me sweet dreams last night.