A pair of huge sapphire drop earrings and matching necklace and bracelet complete the look. To all appearances I’m the lucky Cinderella who got herself a rich prince. No one would ever guess that I’d trade all the trappings of wealth for a warm word or smile from Elliot.
When the spa people are finally finished, I climb into the waiting Bentley. The black car stops in front of the penthouse, and Elliot joins me. He’s in a tuxedo that fits him perfectly. It emphasizes his broad shoulders and trim waist and the power inherent in his body. It’s like tuxes were invented just to make him look fabulous.
Suddenly all I can feel is the vibrant energy of him—his dynamic personality and magnetism. My skin prickles as though I’m surrounded by electric current, and I’m left breathless.
And it hurts that I can’t just reach over and run my hand along his arm or link my hand with his the way I want to. A week ago I would have. And he would’ve given me one of his long sideways glances, appreciation glittering in his eyes.
Now he barely looks at me. I clasp my hands together and gaze out the window, blinking away sudden tears. It’s that or throw away every shred of pride. I don’t think I can do the latter when we have an audience.
Elliot and I fly in the private jet with the butler. Parker is as solicitous as before, but I can’t take any pleasure in our trip. My mind keeps churning, and I can’t decide what I feel anymore.
“It won’t kill you to smile,” Elliot says when we’re in the limo on our way to the mansion.
“Do you want me to rub myself all over you and coo about how handsome you are while I’m at it?” It’s out before I can stop myself.
“If it’ll help, why not?”
I clamp my mouth shut. I don’t want to add a pointless argument to our existing issues.
When our car stops, he takes my hand and guides my face toward him, his index finger under my chin. “Relax and fake it for the evening. I timed it so we’d arrive late anyway.” He presses a quick kiss on my mouth just as the door opens.
Thankfully there aren’t any photographers with flashing cameras surrounding us. The Sterlings—the family that owns the mansion in front of me—don’t take kindly to paparazzi of any type—or so I read when I looked them up while getting my hair done. And what the Sterlings want, the Sterlings get. Apparently Elizabeth is good friends with Nate Sterling, younger brother to the new head of the family.
“Why are they having the dinner here?” I whisper as Elliot leads me to the huge main entrance. The three-story mansion is beyond grand, with soaring columns and a giant portico. Every window on the first and second floors is ablaze with light, creating stark silhouettes of socialites, tycoons of industry and celebrities.
“It gives more oomph to the event because it comes with Justin Sterling’s stamp of approval. Without it, she wouldn’t have been able to use the venue.”
“Does it really matter?”
“Yes, since Barron’s more or less retired and not interested in making his presence felt these days.” Elliot frowns. “It’s a good thing for Elizabeth’s foundation. A lot of people want to be on good terms with the Sterlings, and they’ll give more than asked for to support her cause.”
The security people at the door are in crisp tuxes, like the guests, but their body language is totally different, alert and watchful. Also, the earpieces are unmistakable. They nod as Elliot and I walk inside.
The place is unbelievably crowded, given how big the mansion is. Occasional loud laughter breaks the steady hum of conversation. Somewhere an orchestra is playing a classical tune. My guess is Mozart, because that seems to be everyone’s default composer for something like this—cheery and inoffensive, yet genius. When Mom hosted Lincoln City’s social gatherings, she always picked Mozart, declaring you could never go wrong with his music, and suddenly I miss her. I remember the way she would coax my dad out of a bad mood and make Nonny smile no matter what, and I can’t help but think that she would’ve known how to fix the problem I have with Elliot…and the cold, untenable situation with Nonny, too.
I stick close to Elliot, my cool hand in his. What seems like hordes of people come over to introduce themselves or say hello, and it’s all I can do to smile as faces and names blur and my head starts to spin. Most are courteous, but some stare outright, like I’m some kind of circus freak on display. And it’s not just the men. Some of the women give me a cool once-over, running their eyes up and down my body as if wondering what I looked like hanging off a stripper pole.
Elliot pulls me closer, and he says something I can’t quite make out over the ringing in my ears. Then he peers at me. “Are you all right?”
“A little overwhelmed.”
His gaze skims over my face, and something in his gaze shifts. A hopeful part of me wants to believe it’s concern. He starts to raise his hand, and I think he’s about to touch me…but then he drops it, and I hurt.
“If you don’t feel well, we can cut the dinner,” he says.
“Elizabeth—”
“Doesn’t care. She already got the money, and I can tell her we had to go.”
I shake my head. “No, don’t. I know you want to support her, and I just need some fresh air.”
“If you’re sure. There are benches and places to sit and rest in the back and on the second level.” Elliot dips his head. “Upstairs might be better. There are balconies.”
I glance upward and see a giant interior balcony connected to the stairs. “Okay.”
Reluctantly I let go of his hand and take the winding stairs. A few guests pass by, but they don’t give me a second look.
Once I make it to the second floor, I pluck a glass of ginger ale from a server and plunk myself down on an empty bench. There are fewer people up here, and being away from the crush lessens the claustrophobic feeling. I decide maybe I don’t need the outside air after all.