I'm Not Charlotte Lucas(16)
“You guys planning to dance?” Gordon asked, his head flicking toward the musicians.
“You know I don’t dance,” Liam said.
Gordon looked at me, his thick eyebrows raised. “I guess that means no.”
Liam grimaced, apologetically. “I’m sorry. I just really hate it.”
My hands came up in surrender. “It’s fine, really.” The longer this date went on, the less it resembled prom, after all. Which was fine. I wasn’t really a date. I was a bodyguard.
“Should we find our table?” he asked, his voice lowering. “They’ll probably start the program soon.”
I nodded, clutching my small purse in one hand while my other lifted the hem of my gown. Liam cocked an elbow like they did in old movies, and for a split second I imagined his dark hair done up in a messy way like Colin Firth and a cravat around his throat instead of the impeccable black bow tie.
Liam cleared his throat, and I dropped my hem to the floor. I guess if I tripped, Liam would probably catch me before I fell flat on my face.
Clutching his arm and pretending I was being led into a minuet on the arm of Mr. Darcy—instead of across a floor of overly done-up socialites and business executives—I stepped as gracefully as I could. Liam directed me around cocktail tables holding errant, empty champagne flutes and through groups of people chatting. He did not pause once, though he was constantly raising a hand in acknowledgment of a friend or responding to a called-out greeting.
I wanted him to pause when we passed the star of the medical television drama I’d been watching for the last decade, but Liam pulled me right past him too.
Approaching the tables set up on the far end of the large ballroom, we located the one with our name tags just before the raised stage, and Liam pulled out a chair facing the dais for me.
“I think I’m missing something here,” I said as Liam pulled a second chair out and lowered himself into the one beside me. “What exactly do you do, anyway? And what kind of charity brings this many A-listers to northern California?”
“A worthy one,” he said. His gaze trailed away from me, searching the room. “Teaching United is building an office here in Bellmead right now. And truthfully, getting a group of celebrities to join us in the wine country wasn’t a struggle. Most of these people have houses up here anyway.”
I felt so awkward. I couldn’t squash the impression that Liam was being extra courteous. The man I’d met in Beth’s salon had been high-powered and distracted. He was opposite now in every way. And the last thing I wanted was to make Liam feel tied to my side when his grandmother set up this blind date to benefit him.
My gaze traveled over the dinner tables. We were the only two people currently seated, besides a very old woman in a bright-orange dress, her mouth pinched and her hands waiting casually in her lap. Had he brought me straight to the table because I’d been so scared to come inside? I wasn’t afraid of celebrities, exactly, but it was a sweet notion all the same.
“Would you prefer to mingle first?” I asked, delivering a wide smile—I hoped I didn’t look like I was baring my teeth at him. “It doesn’t look like they’re going to begin yet.”
“No,” he said at once, directing his smooth gaze at me. “Tell me about yourself. You grew up here, right?”
I nodded.
“Liam Connell!” a high-pitched voice said behind us.
I could sense Liam tensing, and I glanced over my shoulder to find a tall, lithe Naomi Price standing just behind us. She hung on the arm of a very tall, very bored-looking—and well-known—celebrity, and her wide smile was fastened on Liam.
They were both so much more gorgeous in person than they were on TV. It was entirely unfair.
Liam held her gaze. His voice resigned, he said, “Hello, Naomi.”
“Do you know Rhett Myers?” she purred. Her voice was just as rich as it sounded on the big screen, her hair just as vibrant.
“Yes,” Liam said, rising to shake Rhett’s hand. Of course he knew Rhett Myers. Everyone knew the man who’d won the Oscar for best supporting actor last year.
To my utter mortification, Liam turned and indicated me. “This is my date, Charlie Lucas.”
We exchanged greetings, and Naomi’s cold eyes were tight as they swept over my gown, calculatingly judging every inch of me. She dismissed me with a flick of her eyes and pinched lips, and it dawned on me immediately that I was making her jealous. America’s sweetheart was jealous of me. That really could only mean one thing: Liam was the instigator of their breakup.
But hadn’t Vera said the opposite?
“Oh, lucky us,” Naomi said, releasing her date’s arm to clasp her hands together. She stepped around Liam and indicated the place setting beside his. “It looks like we get to sit together.”
Liam’s face pinched as though he’d swallowed a fish whole. Naomi sat in her seat, her date whispering something into her ear before turning away and crossing the room toward the bar.
Lights flashed softly overhead, and people began milling toward the tables. A woman stepped onto the stage, her hands clasped softly before her red gown and her black hair tastefully pinned back on one side while large waves cascaded over her shoulder. She waited as more people claimed their seats, her eyes darting around the room before settling on our table.
I should have been concerned by the satisfied smile she wore, but Rhett Myers returned, distracting me, and handed Naomi a drink before sitting on her right. I couldn’t help but stare at him and imagine the supervillain role he’d played, which won him the Oscar. It had been such a lovable role—the one where you keep hoping he won’t turn around and betray his wholesome brother again, but he does anyway.