Mafia's Ex Wife

Chapter Eight

Elizabeth

Back when I was dancing, I used to get this surge of adrenaline inside of me right before I stepped out on the stage. This excitement and energy knowing that people were there to watch me perform. I was comfortable and confident and unshakeable, masked by whatever persona I'd chosen for the night.

Usually, I feel the same way coming to these types of things. It's like I'm performing again. Playing the part of the wholesome and predictable housewife who bakes cakes and goes to yoga and never steps out of line. And as I sip on my champagne, I laugh to myself about just how fooled I have all of these pretentious, egotistical donors. It's my own private joke.

But tonight is different. Tonight, I'm antsy and nervous and the thought of walking in there and facing swarms of Boston's elite has me so nauseous I can't even see straight. My head pounds just as hard as my chest, and my fingers shake as I play with the hem of my dress. Mike is either too preoccupied to notice or he chooses not to bring it up, thank God, because I'm not sure I could come up with a believable excuse right now.

I don't know what's wrong with me. Maybe I'm coming down with something. Maybe I'm losing my edge. Or maybe Jax's visit put the tiniest crack in the mask I've been clinging to for the last several years.

Whatever the reason, I've got to pull myself together. These people will see right through me if I don't.

The car door opens and I reach for Mike's hand as he helps me out of the car. There is an unwelcome chill in the air and it's hard to catch my breath. At least that's what I'm blaming it on.

"I need to go find Mac." Mike strides a few steps ahead of me, clutching my hand tightly as I struggle to keep up. Shrugging his coat off, he hands it off to the attendant practically before we're even inside. "Will you be okay for a few minutes alone?"

The last thing I want is to be left alone in this place. Just put me out to the wolves, why don't you? I can't tell him that, though, so I press my lips into a firm smile and put on a brave face. "Absolutely. Go take care of whatever you need to do."

Mike's eyes light up with gratitude and he sweeps a kiss across my cheek before disappearing into the dining hall.

The fundraiser is being held in an old Victorian mansion on the upper East end. Original, creaky hardwood floors, towering vaulted ceilings, and an overwhelming staircase that makes you think the entire place is haunted. It's stuffy and cramped and completely unrealistic for a massive party like this, but one of Mac's campaign promises is to honor and restore the original character of the city, and tonight is about putting his money where his mouth is.

Well, other people's money.

"Ma'am?" The attendant reaches out, offering to take my coat as well.

"Oh," I stutter, slinking it off quickly. "Thank you."

Across the room, I watch as Mike approaches a group of men dressed in perfectly pressed suits. He turns on the charm, flashing his sparkling grin and shaking hands with a few of them as he morphs into a brilliant campaign manager.

He enjoys the show, and he's in his element as he moves from group to group, greeting each one and thanking them for their time and contribution. He knows he belongs, and he's comfortable. And while I beam with pride as I watch him, my stomach twinges.

Maybe a drink will calm my nerves a bit.

I make my way through the maze of rooms into the atrium where the bar is set up. A few of the other wives of Mac's staff members congregate in front of it, and normally I would join them, but I'm not up for small talk right now. Instead, I offer a small wave and head for the back doors. There's a bar set up on the patio and it's just out of the way enough that I know it won't be too crowded.