She knew he was recovering at his parents’ home in Virginia but that was all. Her father had forbidden her to contact him for fear of what the media might do if they found out.
Or even worse, if Mason’s superiors discovered they’d been in contact with each other.
Blake had been whisked off the island that fateful day, after dutifully answering the deputy’s harried questions. She’d flown back to Washington, arriving late that night at her parents’ home. They’d hugged her so tight when she came through the front door, she’d burst into tears.
But she’d cried more for the loss of Mason and the idyllic time they’d spent together than anything else. His injuries hadn’t been as bad as originally thought, though it had taken him some time to recover.
She’d spoken to him twice when he was at the hospital in San Francisco, sneaking the calls in since her parents refused to let her out of their sight until after the election. It had been so good to hear his voice, to talk to him and listen to his reassurances that everything would be all right.
The investigation into Mason’s behavior had started the moment she boarded the plane with the three intimidating Secret Service agents. She’d fought for him tooth and nail. Attended what felt like endless questioning sessions where they badgered her over every fine detail of the near three weeks she spent with Mason on the island. She spilled much but not all, not wanting to risk Mason’s career. He’d never been at fault for what happened. She was the one who pursued him, who snuck out of the house without telling him.
She was a mess. Everything that happened was all her fault.
Her father had been devastated by the entire ordeal. She reassured him again and again she had nothing to be ashamed of, but he wouldn’t hear it. She’d disappointed him yet again, and with a man he’d trusted beyond measure.
It didn’t help that they’d lost the election. Luckily enough, they’d kept the Whitney Island kidnapping incident down to a dull roar—how she wasn’t quite sure. The national news networks had picked up the story then dropped it, thanks to the closed mouths of the local island residents and the media’s overzealous focus on the new political party coming into the White House.
Now it was almost Christmas, and her parents were putting on their perfect public face, holding their annual holiday party. Most of Washington DC was in attendance, wishing the Hewitts farewell.
Blake hated every moment of it.
Her mother had dressed her, picking out the scarlet red gown to “put some vibrant color back in your face, dear”. The dress was gorgeous, with delicate pale gold embroidery trimming the bodice. Slim through the waist before it flared at the hips into a full skirt that swished and danced when she moved.
It felt false, wearing such a beautiful dress when she was so sad. Her makeup had been professionally done, the red shade on her lips matched the color of her gown perfectly. Her mother’s stylist had shaped Blake’s hair into an intricate design, swept up and dotted with the occasional miniature red rose or sprig of ivy.
She was a pretty little holiday princess doll put out on display.
“Smile, dear. The frown lines around your mouth are becoming more pronounced,” her mother murmured close to her ear.
Blake startled, hadn’t even heard her mother approach. She did as requested, curving her lips into a stretch that could almost pass for a smile. Her mother nodded her approval.
“Much better. It’s the holiday season. You’re supposed to look happy, not dreary. Especially with that gorgeous color you’re wearing.” Her mother sighed and tapped an index finger against her pursed lips. “And that dress is to die for, dear. You look like a dream. I hope you let the photographers standing by take some photos of you.”
“I went outside already with Dad.” Her father had forced her, made her walk out and face the media with him. She’d clung to his arm, smiling and waving, looking every inch the responsible vice president’s daughter.
No way could she admit the relief tinged with guilt she’d felt the night of the election. Her father’s loss meant she wouldn’t have to be under the public eye any longer. They’d find someone else to focus on, make fun of and poke at.
Thank goodness.
“Perfect. Well.” Her mother smiled, a scheming gleam alighting her blue eyes. “I have someone I want you to meet. It’s Senator Wheldon’s son. He’s thirty, a lawyer on Capitol Hill and very handsome. He graduated Princeton, you know. And he’s from a very prestigious family too.”
It sounded as if her mother had just rattled off his pedigree and resume all in one. “I’m not interested.”
Her mother frowned, breaking her own advice. No dreary looks allowed. “Blake, you must start moving in the proper social circles. Find a nice man and eventually become engaged. It’s what’s expected.”
“By who?” She turned to look at her mother, her expression icy, she could feel it. Anger simmered in her blood and she wanted to announce to the entire room she’d already found her perfect match. And then promptly lost him.
“Don’t be argumentative.” Her mother shot her the same icy expression and turned to scan the crowd. The glittering fabric of the ivy green dress she wore shone brightly beneath the lights, and Blake thought she’d never seen her look so beautiful.
But her mother was always impeccably dressed, perfectly coiffed. Pleasantly polite and quiet, well-spoken, the right answer always falling from her lips.
Her mother fervently wished Blake would end up exactly like her.
“I don’t want to meet him,” Blake muttered, smiling at a passerby who flashed her a warm smile in return.
“You will meet him. I’ll find you later and introduce you. I’m going to mingle now. I suggest you do the same.”
Blake watched her mother glide away, smiling and nodding at those she passed.