Chapter 12: The Centennial

The centennial gala was in the same ballroom as the birthday, with the same chandeliers and three times the flowers.

Three hundred people stood under them in black tie, and a banner over the stage read: One Hundred Years of Lowell.

I came in on Elias's arm at eight o'clock in a dark green dress.

The photographers on the carpet found us in one second.

"Lydia! Lydia, is it true he's your new man?"

"Smile, Ms. Farrington," Elias said into my ear. "It's only a camera."

"I'm smiling."

"You are showing me your teeth."

I laughed, and the flashes caught it, and I knew it would be in tomorrow's paper next to a headline I didn't want.

I did not care.

The head table was on the stage, with a gold card at each place.

Mine said Lydia Lowell, and the chair beside it was empty, with a name card for Preston.

Across the room, Preston turned and saw me.

He was thinner, with a clean-shaven jaw and a tux that no longer fit him in the shoulders.

He started toward me through the crowd, past two senators' wives and a man carrying a tray of champagne.

"Lyd," he said, close to my ear. "I read your notebook. I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have, but I need to ask you what..."

"Not now."

"It said you were going to tell me something."

"Preston, not now."

Gwen stood at the foot of the stage steps in a gold dress, holding a clipboard against her chest.

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