The Girl Who Wasn't (20 page)

I belong to him.

A thousand thoughts pass through my
mind. Of risk and uncertainty and fear. Of position and power and
what he’s capable of. None of which I can let show on my face.
Obadiah is waiting for me to say something. And I still have to be
her for the night. I can’t be me just yet. I can’t feel all of
these things. Later, I tell myself. Not now.

“
I’ve heard your father has
been very successful in garnering support for his campaign,” I
say.

Obadiah grunts. “No thanks to me, I
guess. He’s made it pretty clear I only make his life in politics
harder. Hence this stuffy suit and clean-cut ’do. Not my usual
style.”

I think of Ida and wonder who chose her
to be this boy’s Imitation. Or why. But I do not ask.

I grimace. “Not my style, either,” I
say, gesturing to my dress.

He gives me a once over. “I know.
Usually, you look way more slutty.” His eyes grow wide. “Shit,
sorry. I mean, you look …”

My lips twitch. “I get it,” I
say.

At my easy response, his suspicion
returns. He falls silent.

I realize I’ve made another error but I
don’t care. Not with Obadiah. He is too much like Ida for me to
worry. I already love him, although he doesn’t understand. Or trust
me. I am determined to rectify the latter. Especially now, knowing
who Titus is and that there’s absolutely no escaping.

I lean in and lower my voice. “I have a
confession. The head injury did something to me. I have temporary
amnesia.”

“
Explains why you want to be
my friend,” he says like it all makes sense.

Senator Whitcomb appears again, not
quite as vicious but intent nonetheless. I wave at him cheerily and
he relaxes, but he doesn’t move from his spot. He stares pointedly
at Obadiah.

“
Showtime,” Obadiah
says.

“
Come on. Let’s get this
ridiculous party over with.” I hook an arm through his and let him
lead me in.

We’re in the ballroom less than thirty
seconds before a boy approaches us. He is tall and light haired and
has a cocky smile that is a little mean when it lands on Obadiah. I
tighten my grip on my new friend and stand my ground, mustering the
courage and calm of the girl I’m supposed to be.

“
Who is that?” I whisper to
Obadiah.

“
Caine Rafferty. Shameless
player. Unapologetic asshole,” he whispers back.

The boy stops in front of me. “Hey,
Rav, what’s new?”

He ogles the neckline of my dress in a
way that makes me think he is disappointed. I feel the heat of
anger creeping into my cheeks. When I don’t answer, Obadiah nudges
me with his elbow.

“
Mm, not much, Caine. What’s
new with you?” I say, letting my voice drawl in a way that I
imagine
she
does.

He glances at Obadiah again as he says,
“Dance with me, kitten. It’s been too long.”

I bristle at the use of the nickname.
It is the same thing Daniel called me and I’m not sure what that
means except that Authentic Raven must prefer it—and not be shy in
saying so. “Let me make the rounds and then I’ll find
you.”

“
You’re turning down a
dance? Are you feeling all right?”

I can feel his suspicion and I know
that somewhere in this room, Titus is watching. I suppress a sigh
and offer him my hand, sliding it free of Obadiah’s. “I’ll find you
later,” I whisper to him as Caine leads me away. I cannot hear
Obadiah’s response.

The dance floor is mostly
empty. Caine leads us to the very center and then wraps his arms
around me and pulls my body tight against his. I react, channeling
both myself and
her
when I smack him on the arm and yank away.

“
Caine, this is not the
place or time,” I say. I leave what I hope is enough sultry in my
voice to balance the anger.

“
Then what is?” he whispers
in my ear. “Name it, kitten, I’m there.” He traces a finger over my
healing tattoo. “Love the tatt, by the way. How’d you get the
purple in there?”

I scowl and step back, allowing more
space between us when I re-enter his hold. I don’t answer the
question and he merely laughs at my silence. Maybe it’s something
he’s used to.

Obadiah watches from beside the bar. He
looks worried as he sips on some dark-colored drink. I spin again
and lose him in the crowd, only to find Titus watching from another
angle. He is locked in conversation with a man whose back is turned
to me, but his eyes aren’t on the man, they are on me.

As I scan the faces, I
realize many of the guests are watching our dance. Authentic Raven
is the center of attention. I have forgotten that.
She
hasn’t. I let
her
take over, knowing
Titus needs a show. I swallow the bitterness in my throat and
prepare to give it to him.

The next time Caine spins me, I twirl
faster, tilting my head back in enjoyment, and let my dress flare
out around me. I fall hard into the circle of his arms. The rough
contact sends a tremor through my bruised body. To cover the pain,
I pull him close and hang on tight. He takes it for the invitation
it is, pulling me against him so that our bodies touch from chest
to knees. We sway suggestively until the song ends.

I feel the attention, the whispers, and
I know this is what it’s like to be Raven Rogen.

The next hour is filled with
dancing. Every song brings a new face cutting in, another body
pressing to mine. I learn through snatches of comments that most
are sons of senators and politicians. They all seem very familiar
with Raven Rogen. Intimate, even. I shove aside those thoughts—or
any that take me out of character. For now, it is easier to
be
her
.

I dance. I laugh. I brush against them
as we sway. I openly stare with heavy lids and I am quick to give a
sultry smile. It should scare me that I am capable of being this
person—that I am capable of losing myself so
effortlessly.

I steal glances at Titus throughout the
night and when I can no longer spot him in the crowd, I disentangle
myself from a protesting boy whose name I cannot remember and exit
the dance floor. I slip through cracks in milling bodies until I
can no longer hear the boy’s complaints behind me. Obadiah
disappeared a few songs ago, so I wander aimlessly until I catch
sight of a set of open French doors that lead onto a patio. The
idea of fresh air is too enticing to pass up, even if it means
getting cornered by another would-be dance partner with wandering
hands.

I pass through the doorway into the
crisp darkness. A few people stand about, mostly couples, taking in
the view of the gardens below us. I wander as far away from them as
I can, into a darkened corner where the white string-lights don’t
quite reach. The thick railing is cold underneath my palms. I soak
it in, letting it cool me.

I’ve grown warm from the dancing. My
hair is wrapped around my neck, a necessary curtain. It feels
sticky and itchy against my skin. I pull it away and wrap it around
one hand, enjoying the air on my flesh.

“
You shouldn’t do that.
People are watching.”

I drop my hair and twist around.
“Linc.”

I have to squint to see him. He is
tucked deep in a corner I didn’t realize was there. He is dressed
in dark slacks and a jacket, no tie. His hair has been combed
forward into something more deliberate than usual. He looks
handsome.

“
I didn’t know you were
here,” I say.

“
I got switched to crowd
control. Titus wanted to escort you himself.”

I think back to why Titus wanted to see
me. To inspect me. To gauge my level of pain and injury and know
how I’d hold up, how well I’d play my part. Between the role I’ve
played tonight and the realization of my hopeless connection with
Titus, tears well.

“
Are you all right?” he
asks.

My muscles ache, my feet are numb, and
it is tempting to let the tears fall. I feel safe enough with Linc
to allow it, but I know he would feel a need to avenge them even
without fully understanding what they mean, and that is something I
cannot allow. So, I swallow them back.

“
Raven?”

The sound of a name that is not my own
grates on me. Somehow, it’s worse coming from Linc’s lips than
anyone else’s. I wish I could make him call me Ven. But that is a
silly and impossible sort of wish.

“
I’m fine,” I say. My voice
trembles. He takes a step toward me and I hold a hand out to stop
him. In my attempt to steady my voice, it becomes steely. “I need
to get back inside. People will be looking for me.”

Even in the darkness I can sense his
anger. His shoulders stiffen and he straightens out of his slouch.
“Yeah, you don’t want to keep your fans waiting. You’re in high
demand in there.”

His condescension makes me angry. “It’s
a warmer welcome than I’m getting out here.”

“
Is that what you’re after,
a warm welcome? Or a warm body? It’s hard to know the difference
with you.”

I feel the heat creeping up my neck and
into my cheeks. I hate that he can be so hot one minute and so cold
the next. “Either way, it’s not your concern, is it?”

I spin and take a step back toward the
light of the party, but I can’t control the wince that creeps onto
my face at my sore muscles. Now that I’ve stopped the constant spin
of the dance, the full extent of my injuries has caught up with me.
I feel ten times worse than I did this morning. The thought of
walking back inside, being forced to dance and smile and mingle, is
excruciating. As proof, I stumble.

“
Raven?” Linc is by my side
in an instant, his voice gentle, his hand on my elbow leading me
back into the safety of the shadows.

“
I need a minute,” I
whisper. My head spins. I pray my body can hold it together for
another hour—or however long it takes Titus to let me go
home.

“
You’re hurt. You shouldn’t
be here.” His voice is a growl and I cannot argue.

A shadow moves in front of me. I freeze
until I realize it is only Obadiah. I can see his jaw slacken in
the darkness as he takes in the sight of Linc and me together in
the alcove.

“
Raven?” he asks
uncertainly.

“
It’s okay, Id—Obadiah.” I
almost slip and call him by his Imitation. I wonder how often I’ll
do that before he notices. Before the pang in my chest will be so
great I’ll give in and tell him the truth. In this moment, in my
weakness, I want to desperately.

“
Titus was looking for you
inside,” he says, approaching slowly, eyeing Linc. “And so were
Caine and Daniel.”

I cringe at that. Linc stiffens.
“Obadiah, this is Linc. He’s part of my security detail. Linc,
Obadiah is Senator Whitcomb’s son.”

“
I know who he is,” Linc
says.

Obadiah’s distrust turns to curiosity
and he regards Linc more openly. His gaze lingers on where Linc’s
hand still holds my elbow then travels upward to my chest. I
realize a moment too late my scarf is displaced.

“
Oh my gawd, what the hell
happened to you?” he asks. He takes a step forward but Linc slides
in front, blocking me.

“
Linc, he’s my friend,” I
say, but Linc doesn’t move.

I sigh and speak to Obadiah over the
barrier of Linc’s shoulder. “I was attacked again. They … left a
mark.”

“
I’ll say.” Obadiah shakes
his head. “You need a doctor. Or some really heavy pain
meds.”

“
I’m fine. Just a little
stiff.”

Obadiah looks unconvinced. “I know a
guy who can get prescription-grade Vicodin. Just let me know. Shit,
even a hit of excess would do you some good right now.”

“
I’ll manage. Thank you,” I
tell him.

“
Anyway, you should probably
get back in there if you can. I mean, do you want me to get your
dad?”

“
No!” Linc and I both say,
way too loudly.

Obadiah looks taken aback. “Okay,” he
mutters.

“
Can you give us a moment,
Obadiah?” Linc asks quietly.

“
Sure. I’ll … see you
inside?” He is hurt. I know because of the shaky expression he
wears and also because Ida would’ve been hurt by such an aside. I
promise myself I will make it up to him.

“
I’ll see you in there,” I
say.

He turns and wanders back toward the
glowing lights of the party. Linc doesn’t speak until we are alone
again. “Are you going to be able to make it through
tonight?”

“
I don’t have a
choice.”

“
I’m giving you a
choice.”

The way he says the words leaves no
doubt he knows what he’s saying. He would take me away right now if
I asked. I’m not sure what else it means—for us—but it would change
everything. It would get him killed. I cannot allow it.

“
I’ll be fine,” I say, my
tone a gentle letdown to his gallant offer.