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Dreaming of the Governor’s Son / Chapter 1: Magnolia Ball Secrets
Dreaming of the Governor’s Son

Dreaming of the Governor’s Son

Author: Mandy Friedman


Chapter 1: Magnolia Ball Secrets

Somewhere between the clink of champagne flutes and the scent of lilies, my eyelids slid shut—and there he was again, the man from all my reckless, hungry dreams.

The smell of white lilies from every centerpiece drifted over me, their sweetness tangled with the faintest whiff of perfume and the mellow notes of a jazz band tucked in the far corner. My head rested against the crisp linen napkin, the hum of Southern voices blurring to a distant lull. The air buzzed with anticipation, the velvet hush of Savannah’s elite nearly lulling me under.

"Babe, I missed you," I teased, grazing his lips with a playful nip.

He tasted of mint and bourbon, a wild heat beneath that cool, unruffled mask. My laughter bounced off the porch swing that always appeared in my dreams, fireflies winking in the dusk. The weight of the day evaporated when I pressed into him. A distant clink of glassware tugged at the edges of my dream, pulling me back to the ballroom.

Right then, the Governor’s son—also drifting off on the stage—suddenly hissed in pain.

It was a sharp, animal sound, jagged and out of place in the genteel hush. Heads snapped around. Someone dropped a flute of champagne, the glass shattering.

The ballroom erupted in confusion, the shock jolting me awake.

Chairs scraped against marble, the quartet faltered mid-note. Socialites on either side of me leaned in, necks craned for a better look. My heart hammered, pulse roaring in my ears.

The famously cold, distant Marcus Sterling—always so composed—simply wiped a smear of blood from his lip with an unflinching calm.

He dabbed the crimson with the starched cuff of his white shirt, jaw clenched, eyes sweeping the room as if nothing had happened. Not a strand of hair out of place, not a flicker in his icy gaze.

"It’s nothing," he said, voice as even as ever.

His words cut through the whispers—cool, unbothered, echoing off marble and crystal.

That’s when the realization crashed over me—

My secret dreams weren’t just mine—he’d been in them too.

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