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I walk back into my room ready to crawl into bed and watch romantic comedies for the rest of the night when I remember I have a party to attend.Ugh.I could text Finn I’m not feeling well—because I’m really not—but then I stop, square my shoulders and tilt my head in heavy-duty thought. What better way to get my mind off Leo than to dance and drink and eat cake? Surely, there will be cake.
Tonight, I’ll dress up and pretend to be someone else for a little while. Tonight, I’ll be Just Chloe, not Cursed Chloe. I’ll celebrate with the rich and famous like it’s 1999. Heck, who knows? Maybe I did dodge a bullet with Leo. Maybe he secretly hoards fingernail clippings or belly button fluff. We did spend a lot more time at my house than his. He probably has a stash somewhere and nowAdelegets to deal with it. I laugh. I just realized Adele rhymes with hell.
My maid of honor dress hangs over the back of my closet door. The sleeveless, floor-length champagne-colored gown has a crepe bodice, flowing tulle skirt, and open back, or T-back detail, if you want the exact wording from the bridal shop salesgirl. Basically, it shows off my shoulder blades. It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever owned.
I blow-dry my hair, use my curling iron to add big curls, then gather it into a low chignon. Without Jillian to help me with makeup, I’m left to my own devices. That means tinted face lotion, mascara, and my peach lip oil, which is a ChapStick and gloss mashup that leaves my lips shiny and plump. I stare at my reflection in the mirror and smack said lips together.
Lastly, I slip into my dress, slide my feet into the matching pair of satin pumps, and throw a few essentials into the one and only clutch I own. It’s black, but black goes with everything, right?
This time when the doorbell rings, it’s my driver. His name is Benjamin. He escorts me down the walkway then opens the rear passenger door of a sleek town car. I slide into the leather seat and almost cheer out loud when I see there is a minibar. With chilled champagne.
“Is this for me?” I ask Ben once he’s in the driver’s seat.
“Yes. Mr. Auprince wanted me to let you know to enjoy it if you’d like.”
“I’d like,” I say. “Thank you.”
Ben smiles at me in the rearview mirror. “Have a favorite music station?”
“Anything is fine.” I pour myself a glass of bubbly while Ben turns on the radio. Jazz music plays through the speakers. It’s not my go-to, but my dad loves jazz and plays it often when he’s home. “You like Miles Davis?” I ask, recognizing the trumpet sound.
“He’s one of my favorites,” Ben says.
“My dad’s too.” I raise my glass in the air. “To great musicians.”
Traffic is terrible. So terrible that I have time to drink not one, not two, but two-and-a-half glasses of the best champagne I’ve ever tasted before we arrive at the hotel. I’m tipsy, but thankfully the peanut butter sandwich I ate before getting into the shower has absorbed some of the alcohol.
A valet opens my door. Ben wishes me a good time and says he’ll be ready whenever I am to drive me home. “Okay. Thanks,” I say, wondering how he’ll know when I’m good to go. Then I decide tonight is about being carefree and Benjamin is my carriage driver. He’ll magically appear after I’ve eaten cake and before the clock strikes midnight.
Running a hand down my gown, I attempt a graceful walk into the hotel, but the combination of heels and champagne equals more bull in a china shop. I forget all about my inelegant amble, though, when magnificence greets me inside the lobby.
And I don’t mean the furnishings. I mean Finn.
All-star center fielder, brother, son, grandson, puppy owner, whale watcher, egg maker, and the hottest tuxedo-wearing man I have ever seen. Black slacks. Black jacket. White collared shirt with black buttons and a black silk bow tie, oh my. My breath whooshes out of me. My knees go weak. (I had no idea that was a real thing until this second.) If Chris Hemsworth and Henry Cavill had a love child, he would look like Finn Auprince.
This is not an exaggeration, people.
Total heartthrob.
“Hi,” I say, and manage to sound halfway normal.
“Hi. You look gorgeous.” Finn gives me a thorough once-over, his appreciative gaze setting off a powerful string of tingles down my spine. “How was the drive?”
“It was good. Thank you for arranging it and for the champagne.”
“My pleasure.” He gives me his arm. “Shall we?”
I wrap my arm around his, grateful for something to hold on to. Lucky that something is him. He ushers us into a ballroom that is both opulent and simple in shades of gold, red, and plum. Chandeliers with large glass globes bathe the room in white light. Tables are set with crystal and towering floral centerpieces. A band plays soft music in front of a large dance floor.
“Can I get you a drink?” Finn asks, steering us toward the bar.
“Sure.” It appears everyone else in the room has a glass in their hand. Including Grandma Rosemary, who sees us and excuses herself from a group of people.
“Chloe, it’s good to see you again.”
I smile. “Good to see you, too.”
“Hello, Finn.”
