From here I can see everyone below. Elliot is chatting with a group of men and women—all couples. The women are a bit older than me, not by much, but they seem so much worldlier in exquisite designer dresses they pull off with aplomb, flutes of champagne in their bejeweled fingers. Their relaxed stances say this is their scene, their domain. They offer chirpy comments that make everyone laugh, including Elliot.
I feel like a piece of cubic zirconia among Cartier diamonds. What I wouldn’t give to have the wit and sophistication those women do. I’m certain none of them would let a problem fester as long as I have with Elliot, because they would know exactly how to cajole him out of his anger.
“Your first event?”
I start at the question, but manage a warm smile as Elizabeth sits down next to me. Always beautiful, today she’s positively radiant. Her golden hair is pulled into a sleek updo accented with a gorgeous leaf-shaped, diamond-and-sapphire pin. A few curls frame her model-perfect face, softening it. The makeup makes her brown eyes appear larger and brighter, and the lovely pink on her mouth emphasizes the fine lines of her lips. The white silk cape dress she’s in makes her look both regal and ethereal at the same time.
“You look amazing,” I say, slightly awed.
“And you look fabulous. I’m so glad you came! I haven’t been able to catch up or anything since you came back because I’ve been super busy with last-minute stuff for the event.” She makes a vague half-circle with her hand. “But I saw pictures from your honeymoon. You guys looked so cute and happy together.”
“Yes, it was a great honeymoon,” I say, forcing a smile. I don’t want to discuss the tabloid articles about my stripping. It’s easier to pretend that none of it happened, even though we both know better. Even though she said she’s been busy, I doubt she’s been completely isolated from news and social media sites.
Elizabeth leans closer. “Are yo
u all right?”
“I’m fine.”
She studies me, the angle of her head so similar to Elliot’s that it takes my breath away for a moment, then she nods. “Okay. If you’re sure.” She turns to the crowd below. “Just so you know, Elliot probably brought you here because he wanted you two to make a good show together. A united front, you know?”
“Um…I don’t, actually.”
“He hates charity events. Finds them boring, although he attends one or two a year for appearance’s sake. He says ‘money counts more than attendance.’” She leans toward me, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “The couples he’s talking to over there…”
I look at the women who made him laugh earlier.
“He finds them dreadfully dull, but he can playact. Sort of. I guess Ryder’s rubbed off on him.”
Right. Elliot apparently hangs out a lot with his actor brother Ryder Reed. Or at least he used to, before he married me.
“I generally don’t mind them. They always support my causes. I…”
I glance her way. She’s suddenly pale, and her lips are parted, but I know she’s holding her breath. If she hadn’t been sitting down, she might’ve fainted.
“Elizabeth, are you all right?”
I reach over and take her hand. It’s like ice. She doesn’t acknowledge me, her eyes focused somewhere on the first floor.
I swivel my head, trying to identify what’s caused her distress. But there are too many people below, and I can’t figure out what she’s seen. I then spot someone I recognize in the sea of faces—Annabelle Underhill—and my gut goes cold. What’s she doing here? She isn’t with her husband—at least I don’t see Stanton anywhere around. She’s talking with a man, but he’s angled so I can’t see his face at all.
Then I realize that it can’t be Annabelle Underhill who upset Elizabeth. Elliot said he didn’t tell anybody about what happened between him and his ex. So…who?
“Elizabeth,” I say, this time laying my hand on her shoulder and shaking her slightly. “Are you all right?”
Finally, she blinks and turns to me, the movement more of an automatic response than something conscious. I sense a tiny tremor under my palm, and frown.
“Do you need to lie down?” I ask in a low voice.
“No,” comes her barely audible croak. She shakes her head. “No.” This time it’s stronger, but her voice remains hoarse. “Sorry. I think I’m just caught up in the excitement of the moment…” She gives me a smile designed to make me think she’s all right when she’s anything but. I recognize it because I often used the same smile with Nonny after our parents were gunned down. “I haven’t been sleeping well. Hosting an event of this size at the Sterling mansion has been a bit…taxing.”
“Maybe you should just sit here and rest for a few minutes.”
“Probably a good idea.” She lets out a shaky laugh. “Gosh, I’m so embarrassed. I’m the host, after all.”
“Can I get you anything?”
“Vodka, please.”