Chapter 17: The Regatta Ball

Bethany's POV

The Auchincloss Foundation regatta ball is held every October in the ballroom of the Newport Yacht Club.

Four hundred people come, and the society pages send photographers.

My mother had told me that morning that I did not have to go.

"I know," I said. "I'm going on his arm."

She did not ask whose.

Derrick met me at the bottom of the Auchincloss House stairs in a black dinner jacket.

He had shaved, and there was a cut on his chin.

He had not slept, and I did not ask why.

"You don't have to do this," he said. "I can walk behind you."

"You've walked behind me for three years."

"Bethany."

"Give me your arm, Derrick."

He gave it.

I put my hand through it, and the muscle under the sleeve went hard.

On the club steps, the photographers pushed forward with their flashes.

"Ms. Ames! Is it true you froze his cards at the party?"

"Ms. Ames, who's the gentleman?"

"This is Derrick Carrigan," I said. "He's with me."

Every camera fired at once, and I kept walking.

Inside, the chandeliers lit four hundred faces, and every one of them turned.

I knew the faces.

A couple who had walked past me on my own lawn stood near the door.

The wife saw me and opened her mouth to say something warm.

I looked at her until it died in her throat.

Her husband examined the ceiling.

I went by without a word, and Derrick's arm shifted under my hand.

"Good," he murmured.

"Is it?"

"It's the only thing on earth I'd call good tonight."

I leaned to his ear, because there were people near us and nothing could happen yet.

"After this, you leave with me," I said. "Not behind me. With me."

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