“Honestly, Lane.” Her mother checked her makeup in the foyer mirror. “How long have you known about this event?”

Long enough to come up with an excuse not to attend. Not that she needed one. Sheriff Huggins asked her more than once if she wanted him to call her father and explain what happened, but Lane really didn’t want to rehash a story that would lead to questions about what she was doing and where she was coming from before the incident.

“Noah, let’s take your shoes and socks off.” Meagan knelt next to him. She rolled up his pant leg and removed his small shoes and white socks before handing them to Lane.

Lane was grateful Meagan didn’t comment about the length of Noah’s pant legs being a little on the short side.

“He’s not going to wear shoes all night?”

“It’s a backyard party, Mom. It’ll be alright. Besides, he looks cute.” Meagan ruffled Noah’s hair with her fingers.

“I don’t want to wear shoes either,” Owen whined.

“Me either,” Paige added.

“If they don’t wear shoes, then I don’t wear shoes.” Wes came out of the kitchen with a chocolate-covered pastry in his hand. He popped it into his mouth and started to untie his shoes.

“That’s enough. Only the children may take their shoes off.” Her mom shot an exasperated look at Wes. “Children under ten.”

Wes stuck his lips out in a pout.

“We don’t have to wear shoes?” Meagan’s husband, Ian, came down the stairs with Lane’s father.

“Enough with the shoes.” Her mother’s tone had grown impatient. “Guests are arriving, and I won’t have my family greet them looking like cave people.”

One look at their family and it was clear they would never be confused with cave people. Models for a J. Crew magazine shoot maybe, but definitely not cave people.

Lane’s father gave her a cursory look. “You look nice.”

“Thank you.” Her cheeks warmed at the compliment. The second one in as little as five minutes felt unfamiliar and left her suspicious.

“Ray, the media has started to arrive,” Jeffrey Adams, her father’s campaign manager, said. “We’d like to get a couple shots of you greeting your guests and then we’ll give them a quick interview before the event begins.”

Ah. That was it. Eyes were watching and perfection was the name of the game. Nothing ever changed. In orderly fashion, Judge Sullivan and his wife would be escorted out of the home, followed by their children and grandchildren. They would receive their guests on the wraparound porch with a shake of the hand, kiss on the cheek, and a multitude of false sentiments.

And the media and voters would eat it up. Everyone loved a good fairy tale. Right?