Dante cocked his head slightly, as though he wasn’t sure what he’d planned to say. “The way you look at me...” He brushed his thumb against Ben’s temple. “I see it, when you look like you can’t focus, and then when your eyes land on me, it’s almost like it clears up. Why?” he asked as though he really wanted the answer.

The truth was, Ben wasn’t surprised by what Dante said. Dante could always tell when Ben was coming unraveled. He had somehow become the light, guiding Ben back to shore. But like Dante, he didn’t know the why of it. “I don’t know.” It was an admission he wouldn’t have made a few weeks ago, that Dante was right yet Ben couldn’t say why.

“I don’t deserve it, but I like it.” This time, it was Dante admitting something he wouldn’t have before.

“This night...it won’t be easy for me.”

Dante’s hand slid down and rested on the back of Ben’s neck. “We have no choice except to keep going.”

Neither of them did.

He appreciated the fact that Dante didn’t ask for specifics. Even if he wanted to know or Ben wanted to talk, now wasn’t the time. Not to discuss something that would stress him out. He needed to loosen up, not get lost in the shit that overworked his brain.

“Tell me about something you enjoy. Not art or fucking, something else. Something I don’t know.”

He smiled. Dante’s hand still rested on Ben’s neck when he spoke. “I’m a hell of a defense attorney. I win. I’m the best at what I do, and I love almost nothing more than doing it.”

“You’re used to getting what you want.” Dante cocked a brow at him.

In his job, Ben was. “Yes. But it doesn’t come without a hell of a lot of work.”

Dante waited and Ben picked up speaking again, telling Dante about what he did.

Ben knew exactly what this was. Again, Dante found a way to give him what he needed. He would get Ben’s mind off of all the shit, until he got to the party, where Ben would stir it up again.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Energy thrummed through Ben’s body—nervous energy, excited energy, maybe a little bit of doubt and fear as well. He couldn’t settle on what to feel so Ben did what he did best. Ignored it all. Pretended it didn’t exist.

“Ben, hi. It’s great to see you.” Ben reached out and shook the gray-haired man’s hand.

“It’s good to see you, as well.” He looked at Abraham’s wife and added, “You’re looking wonderful, Cynthia.” The couple were big money. Friends of his father and backers in almost everything Congressman Worthington did. “This is Dante De Marco.” Ben signaled to Dante with his hand. He saw the surprise in Abraham’s eyes. The confusion as he looked back and forth between Dante and Ben.

As incredible as Dante looked tonight, it was obvious he didn’t belong in a place like this. Or maybe belong wasn’t the right word, but he wasn’t accustomed. He didn’t hold himself as though he thought he was better than everyone in the room. And even though Ben hadn’t said what Dante was to him, there were questions written all over their faces. Everyone in the room was with their spouse or a date, and Ben had brought a man.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” It was Cynthia who reached out first, and Dante grasped her hand.

“The pleasure is mine.”

Abraham looked at Ben once more before turning his attention to Dante and shaking his hand.

The four of them stood there talking for a few moments before Abraham excused himself and Cynthia. The second they were gone, Dante leaned over, his mouth close to Ben’s ear. “Why did they look uncomfortable, Ben?” Dante’s voice was tight, strained.

“This is the first time I’ve taken a man to a political engagement. Come on, I think I see my father on the other side of the room.”

Dante frowned. He obviously didn’t like Ben’s answer but he didn’t respond. I should have told him, filtered through Ben’s head but he made himself ignore that, too. He had years of practice.

Ben tried to make his way through the crowd but every few steps, they were approached by someone else—senators, attorneys, men and women who had nothing going for them besides extremely thick pockets.

Everyone looked at Ben and Dante with the same questions that Abraham and Cynthia did, some more blatantly then others. Some only curiosity, others with disgust. All he cared about was that they knew. That his father would know that everyone in this room knew that Benjamin Worthington Jr. was here with a man.