Page 120 of At His Beck & Call

In the center of the room is a long platform, raised up from the floor, leading back to an opening.

“Is it a catwalk?” I ask him breathlessly.

“You said you liked fashion. I thought I’d get us all tickets to a show.”

“Whose?” I ask, my eyes widening as he gives a low chuckle.

“Judith Linetti,” he says, as casual as can be, as I try not to collapse against him.

“Linetti?” I hiss, attempting to keep my voice down as the other attendees begin to take their seats. There are rows of white chairs on either side of the catwalk, and Oliver walks us to themiddle of the very front row, in prime position to see everything perfectly.

My heart is hammering as a member of the staff takes my coat, and we sit down. Henry is in the middle of us, looking excited but confused. This is hardly something he’s going to be enthralled by, but I snuggle him up against my side. He’s still fascinated by the lanyard, asking Oliver about the lights and why there are so many people in the room.

I am beyond thrilled by what’s about to happen. I have admired Judith Linetti’s work for years, ever since she debuted in Milan. She’s up-and-coming, just edging into the celebrity market, and her line of couture suits is incredible.

“After this, we’re going to go and get pizza and ice cream for Henry,” Oliver says decisively. “Henry, this is my present to your mom—what do you think?”

“Mom loves dresses!” Henry says eagerly.

“Well, lots of dresses are going to come out of that door down there,” Oliver says to him. “And after we’re done, your mom gets to pick the one she likes best, and I’m going to buy it for her.”

My head whips round to stare at him as my mouth opens and closes uselessly. I don’t have time to protest as the music begins and the show starts.

I can barely pay attention to the dresses at first, unable to wrap my head around what Oliver just said. The idea of owning a dress straight off the runway is such a foreign concept that my mind can’t compute it. Oliver just sits quietly beside my son, making it impossible for me to argue because Henry is so excited for me.

The designs are breathtaking, with pleats and lace and flowing, stunning tulle cascading from every piece.

I don’t realize I’m staring at one particular dress until it’s too late. It’s a sculpted sheath, with a deep Portrait neckline dropped from the shoulder. A diamond decolletage at the top becomes acollar all across the top of the dress, sparkling in the light as I stare at it in wonder.

I don’t notice Oliver speaking to one of the VIP directors until I turn back to him and watch, horrified, as he points to the dress, gives the attendant the number as it flashes by, and orders it.

I keep my eyes on the models, as they strut past one by one, each design more wonderful than the last.

The luxury on display is mind-boggling, and I can’t even think about how much the dresses must cost.

I totally immerse myself in the show, taking a few discreet pictures to show Bethany at some point in the future.

Maybe when everything with Oliver has blown over, I can tell her about this night.

As the show comes to an end, I stand, catching Oliver’s eye as I grab Henry’s hand.

“You aren’t buying me that dress,” I whisper to Oliver.

“Think of it as my apology.”

“You’re apologizing for giving me money by buying me a dress?”

“I’m giving you a genuine gift because the other wasn’t to your liking.”

I roll my eyes at him, but in truth, I’m still so overwhelmed by how incredible this was that I can’t stay angry with him.

I had never imagined in my wildest dreams I’d be a VIP at an event like this. I feel like a celebrity as we step out onto the sidewalk, and I can’t help grinning when Oliver looks down at me, his eyes shining in the light of the street lamp.

“My mom loved that,” Henry says to Oliver and then gives a little yawn.

Oliver frowns at him. “Do you need to go home? I don’t want you to be tired tomorrow.”

“You said pizza… and ice cream!” Henry protests, looking crestfallen as Oliver laughs, nodding.