I pay attention to the important things, okay?
We take a helicopter to the event, which is very posh and also very loud. I’ve never seen New York like this before, looking down on all of the buildings that seem so tall from down below. And they’re definitely tall, but there’s something about seeing them from above. It puts the grandeur of the city in perspective. From this vantage point, everyone is the same. Tiny and insignificant, hustling to and fro.
I’ve always thought of New York as big. Impossibly big, especially for a girl like me with my little shop that doesn’t even have working plumbing. But one day, could I be one of those dots again? If I sell enough? If I make a big enough name for myself?
Could I ever go back?
I’m getting caught up in the dream when Warren takes my hand. And if I’m going full fantasy now, I might as well say, yes, I can have that dream. I can have designs bought and sold around the world. And I can have Warren.
By the time we get to the event, I’m lost in my own little fantasy world. One filled with nothing but puppies and rainbows and happily-ever-afters. And Warren. He’s front and center in every delusional vision.
But we’ve got an event to attend. And I have to rein in the crazy because Mrs Bianchi and Warren’s brother James are walking our way. I can’t help but notice she’s in one of my dresses, a swishy dark blue dress that she’s accessorized with a thin gold necklace. She looks gorgeous, and more than a few people turn her way. I smile to myself, feeling really proud.
“I told you it wouldn’t last,” Mrs Bianchi’s saying as she and James reach us, shaking her head sadly. “If you insist on dating actresses and models—”
“Hey, you two,” James says, neatly cutting his mom off before she can continue to interfere in his choice of girlfriends. “How’s it going?”
“Great,” Warren says, and they embrace in one of those bro hugs, clapping each other on the back with gusto. “You’re here alone tonight?”
“I know a nice girl—” Mrs Bianchi is quick to interject, but James says, “No,” before she can even get the entire sentence out.
“I’m just worried about you,” Mrs Bianchi tells him. “If you would let me set you up, you’d see. After all, my interfering is working out just fine for your brother.”
She looks at me, beaming. It’s easy to smile back at her. In my happily-ever-after fantasy, she cries when we get engaged. There’s no one better for her son. Her intuitions were right, and we’ll joke about this setup for years to come.
“You just like her because you picked her out,” James teases, giving me a wink.
“Excuse you,” Mrs Bianchi says. “I had the Very Good Feeling about Audrey. Besides which, she’s a lot less trouble than the two of you.”
I blush, and Warren greets his mom with a hug.
“You look great, Mom,” he compliments her, and then he turns to James. “Don’t be jealous that Mom likes Audrey more than either of us. Well, more than you. I’m still the favorite.”
“You’re such an ass,” James says, but he’s grinning.
“Boys—” Mrs Bianchi interjects in this faux fight between them.
“Still not allowing my mother to set me up,” James quips. “Though my publicist would have a field day with that.” He shakes his head. “Shit, I need a drink.”
He wanders away, and Artie comes over, kissing Mrs Bianchi on the cheek. Then he looks to me and smiles. “Audrey,” he says. “Good to see you.”
Is it? Because speaking of publicity, Artie’s Warren’s campaign manager and I have to wonder if Artie would still like me if he knew…
No.
Fantasy. Bubble.
I’m not letting anything inside the fantasy bubble tonight. I’ll be like Cinderella, enjoying the ball until the stroke of midnight. Or until breakfast, because I’m hoping to have Warren naked at the stroke of midnight and it’d be way too dramatic to run off barefoot in the middle of sex.
“Let’s hope you’re a good-luck charm for Warren tonight,” Artie says. “This speech is a big one. Hopefully, we can get a few soundbites that make it on Twitter—”
“Artie, I’m not trying to go viral or anything,” Warren says. “I’m just going to do the speech.”
“You’re right,” Artie says. “If you try, it’ll be stiff and manufactured. Just be yourself. Err, the charming version.”
“He’ll be great,” Mrs Bianchi says, eyes twinkling at me. “We’re all better when we’ve got someone in our corner.”
I gulp. She’ll be fine when this falls apart.
I’m not worried about that.
I’m in the fantasy bubble.
It’s safe in here. Totally safe.
“It’s what I’ve been telling him for years,” Artie says. “And besides, if he’s going to make a run for president, he can’t do it alone, can he? There’s no way the country will elect a single man, let alone a single man still under fifty.”