Page 142 of Painted Truths

Flattening my lips against my teeth, I deadpan him with slitted eyes.

Touché!

He grins easily, something that would have been a hard-won emotion to see on his face only months ago, and my chest tightens in gratitude.

“In the words of you, many hands make light work, right? So, the quicker you can finish this, the quicker I can finish you.”

His grin turns heated as his intention becomes more than evident. Shaking my head at his insatiable appetite, I try to suppress my own grin and fail miserably.

“Well, get to it then, soldier. Chop, chop.”

* * *

Saturday rolls around much quicker than I’d like, but somehow, we manage to get everything organised, and by we, I mean Martha. Because holy shitballs, that woman is a machine!

Jo had taken it upon herself to give me the works once again, insisting on a soft curled up style sitting on the nape of my neck and that smoky eye effect she is so fond of, which, she tells me, makes my eyes shine.

I’m feeling entirely like a princess in my blue full-length ball gown. The draped sleeves sit below my bare shoulders, and the tightly fitted bodice hugs my body to my hips before flaring out into a tulle skirt that floats around my legs as I walk. My sandals are the exact same shade of blue as the dress, and the only jewellery I’ve chosen is some low hanging diamond earrings that sparkle with each movement.

Standing in the entryway to the marquee we’ve hired for the event just half an hour outside of the city, I take in the stunning display before us.

Ten black Chiavari chairs surround each circular table, which are covered in bright white linens. Black candelabras tower above the guests with various white flowers climbing from the base to nestle among the tall white luminescent candles. The full lights within have been dimmed so that only warm white fairy lights glow around the space, giving the room a magical effect.

The dance floor is front and centre, black and white squares alternating and the area where the band will set up after the meal is shrouded in darkness, though I know from the event manager that there’s purple up-lighting in place to set the musicians apart.

I’ve gotten to the venue with Martha and Father T around thirty minutes before we should be seeing others arrive, just to do some final checks, finishing up as the first guests make their way inside.

The first half of the evening is a blur of faces I don’t recognise. Still, Martha smooths the way with Ted taking up the mantle of my protector of sorts, standing close beside me and whispering the names of each potential donor discreetly in my ear moments before I greet them while Father T makes sure the rest of the venue is running smoothly.

It turns out to be a perfect strategy, and we’ve smashed our pledge target within the first hour and long before the meal has even started, though there’s still no sign of Henry.

Pushing down my nerves at his absence, Father T, Martha, Ted, and I take our seats with the tenth setting at our table, Henry’s, remaining empty for the entirety of the meal. Martha clucks over me like a mother hen.

“Liv, sweetheart. He will be here in no time. But, really, I didn’t think he’d take this long—”

She trails off, turning to her husband on her other side and Father T beside Ted as I try to quell my nervousness.

Mila, who is seated on the other side of Henry’s empty one, keeps sending me anxious looks, both of us fearing something has happened as that’s where our minds go now after the events of two months ago. Graciously, our worries are unfounded as, just when the band sets up, Henry appears looking slightly more dishevelled than I’ve come to expect, but even more heart-stoppingly sexy as a result.

Dropping a kiss to my lips, he sits beside me before grabbing Mila’s hand to squeeze it reassuringly, having noted the apparent distress on her face.

“Where were you? You missed dinner.”

Holding my chin, he looks deeply into my eyes, smiling broadly. “You’ll see.”

The servers have just finished clearing the tables, when Martha, seated to my right, gently taps my shoulder, her eyes lit up suspiciously, to let me know she’s going to get the speeches started.

Forgetting about that glint in her eyes, for now, I try steeling myself, not at all looking forward to this part. I inhale a deep breath, knowing she’s about to announce my name to make a thank you speech that I’ve struggled to write for days now, if not weeks.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for such a wonderful turnout as we launch Katherine’s House, an intermediary home for those who don’t currently have a residence to call their own. We are taken aback by the support you have given us before we’ve even opened our doors, and here, to thank you in a unique way all of their own, I give you Henry DeMarco.”

Unhearing the final words that come from her lips, I’m already pushing myself into a standing position, when the realisation strikes. Henry gently eases me back into my seat, gifting me with an exceedingly smug grin before all but skipping toward the podium where Martha awaits.

The crowd applauds loud and lingeringly when I realise another body has filled Henry’s seat.

“Nate?”

The man in question just smirks beneath his impeccably groomed dark beard, handsome as ever, before placing his forefinger over his upturned lips in a shushing gesture and turning to watch as Henry addresses all and sundry.