The Debutante. Elizabeth Bevarly

a person liked to think she was valuable somewhere, to someone, in some capacity.

      No sooner had the thought unrolled in her head than Lanie glanced up from her plate to see someone very valuable indeed standing head and shoulders above a small group of people roughly twenty feet to her right. A member of the Fortune family, she realized, not at all surprised to find at least one of them in attendance tonight. Everyone in Texas knew who the Fortunes were, since they were one of the premier families of the state. It was only natural that they’d have an interest in state politics. And Lanie knew her father was presenting Ryan Fortune with the prestigious Hensley-Robinson Award later this month to honor and commemorate his many charitable contributions and volunteerism. The family no doubt wanted to reciprocate by showing their support for his campaign.

      And how nice of them to send one of the yummy Fortune triplets as ambassador, Lanie thought. And how appropriate, too, since she herself had been a supporter of the Fortune triplets since she was a teenager. Just not in any political capacity.

      Forget swooning over Leonardo and River in Tiger Beat and Teen People. Lanie, like so many Texas females her age, had found the Fortune triplets infinitely more worthy of admiration. She could remember more than one slumber party where copies of the newspaper and other local publications had been passed around so that all the girls could take turns cooing over photographs and stories about Steven, Clyde and Miles Fortune. Back then, the triplets were in their early twenties, eleven years older than Lanie and her friends. But everyone knew older men were so much more sophisticated and interesting than boys of twelve or thirteen. And the Fortune triplets had appealed to women of all ages.

      Lanie did some quick math. She was twenty-five, so the triplets would be thirty-six now. She wondered which of the three she was looking at. Steven and Clyde, she’d read, had both recently married. But Miles, as far as she knew, was still free and clear. Not that she had any intention of approaching whichever Fortune this was, of course.

      “Lanie, darling, there you are.”

      At the sound of her name, Lanie glanced in the opposite direction to see her mother striding toward her, and she smiled. Although Lanie had inherited her parents’ blue eyes and blond hair, it was her mother she truly favored. But where Lanie’s hair was long and straight and golden blond, Luanne Meyers wore her tresses bobbed at chin length, and there was an equal amount of silver mingling with the gold these days.

      The two women were also nearly an identical height—five feet six inches—and both wore the same dress size—eight. Not that they ever swapped outfits, even though Lanie lived with her parents at the governor’s mansion. Her mother’s taste in clothing was way too traditional and much too conservative, as befitted a Texas governor’s wife. Lanie certainly couldn’t see herself dressed in the pale, shapeless sheaths her mother favored, like the pearl-pink one she wore tonight, with no decoration and almost no jewelry. Lanie was much better suited to her little blue dress, and she had deliberately accessorized its plain design with flash and dazzle, in the form of a spectacular crystal necklace and chandelier earrings that glittered like diamonds when she stepped into the brighter lights of the ballroom.

      It wasn’t that Lanie was ostentatious. But she did rather enjoy being the center of attention. Just not when she was shoveling cake into her mouth. Hence, her temporary retreat to the darker regions of the ballroom.

      But her mother had found her, in spite of her efforts to remain hidden, Lanie thought. And there were a number of photographers from the press in attendance. Probably standing around pushing cake into her mouth wasn’t such a good idea, all things considered. The last thing she wanted was to have some huge photo of herself showing up in the tabloids, her mouth wide open to accept an enormous gobble of cake. So, reluctantly, Lanie surrendered her still-half-full plate to the empty tray of a passing waiter. And she watched in wistful silence as he carried away the chocolate torte she hadn’t even tasted. Maybe, she thought, if no one was looking, she could fill a to-go box before leaving.

      “Hello, Mother,” she said as Luanne Meyers drew nearer. Automatically, Lanie turned her cheek to receive her mother’s kiss, then dutifully kissed her mother’s cheek in return.

      “Are you enjoying yourself?” her mother asked.

      Without even realizing she was doing it, Lanie turned to look at her Fortune again. Whichever triplet it was continued to converse with one of the men in the group, and she smiled as she watched him. Oh, yes. She was enjoying herself very much.

      She nodded in response to her mother’s question, then surreptitiously tilted her head toward the man she had been observing. “Do you know which Fortune triplet that is?” she asked.

      Her mother followed Lanie’s gaze, and she smiled, too, when she found her target. Even her mother’s generation wasn’t immune to the triplets’ handsomeness, Lanie thought.

      “I believe that’s Miles,” her mother said, turning back to Lanie. “He’s a friend of Dennis’s.”

      Dennis Stovall, her father’s campaign manager, Lanie translated.

      “Plus, you can tell by the dimple,” her mother added. “For some reason, Miles is the only one of the three boys who has it.”

      Ah, yes, the dimple, Lanie thought. The utterly adorable, swoonworthy dimple. She turned to look at the man again, just as he was throwing his head back to laugh. Yep. There it was. That was Miles Fortune, for sure. And he was utterly adorable. Not to mention swoonworthy.

      As if she’d just spoken the thought loud enough for him to hear, he suddenly glanced over and met her gaze. His eyes widened for a split second, as if he were surprised to find himself being watched. Then he smiled, which brought out that luscious dimple again, and lifted his wineglass toward Lanie, as if toasting her. She blushed, but she wasn’t sure whether it was because he’d caught her ogling him, or because he was flirting with her, or because of the errant thoughts that suddenly exploded in her brain. Unable to help herself, though, she smiled back and lifted her own glass of club soda in silent salute.

      My brush with fame, she thought. Sharing a smile and a silent toast with Miles Fortune. The sad thing was, even that minuscule contact was enough that it would probably sustain her for the rest of her life. She really did need to get out more and meet people. Male people. Male people who might eventually come to mean more to her than someone with whom to have a good time.

      It wasn’t that Lanie was shallow. And it wasn’t that she feared commitment. But her upbringing and lifestyle hadn’t exactly lent themselves to forming long-standing, serious relationships. Not with the opposite sex. Not with anyone, really.

      Of course, much of that was probably due to the fact that her father had spent virtually Lanie’s entire life building a political career with his wife at his side, something that had prevented both him and Luanne from being the kind of parents Lanie would have liked them to be. It wasn’t that her parents hadn’t been attentive and affectionate when they were around—they had been. The times Lanie had spent in their company had always been wonderful. Those times had just ended too soon.

      So Lanie had never been good at establishing and maintaining sturdy relationships with other people. And she hadn’t exactly been molded into the most responsible, reliable person, either. She’d just never known what it meant to have boundaries. Since no one had ever really said no to her while she was growing up, she had always been one to act on whim. Hey, why not? No one had ever told her she couldn’t.

      So when she was five years old and had wanted a kitten, she’d brought one home from a neighbor’s litter and had kept it hidden in her room…until the smell from the closet alerted the housekeeper to the animal’s presence. Well, how was Lanie supposed to know kittens needed a litter box?

      And when she was ten and had decided after bedtime one night that she wanted to spend the night with her friend Susan, she’d packed her backpack and crept down the stairs so as not to wake her nanny—her parents, of course, hadn’t been at home—then she’d ridden her bike the two miles to Susan’s house. Well, how was she supposed to know the nanny would be frantic about her disappearance? The woman wasn’t even supposed to know she was gone!

      And