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CHAPTER SEVEN
AUSTIN
She looks perfect. She looks amazing.
I don’t know that much about fashion, but I couldn’t imagine a more beautiful woman.
Certainly not one who’s more mine. The thought makes me smile, especially knowing what I know: that she’s the One. That I plan to make a life with her.
I couldn’t be happier.
The evening is delightful. There’s a charity auction, and I bid on a piece of jewelry I’d like to see around Belinda’s neck: a short strand of cultured pearls. The auction winners will be announced just before midnight.
We eat the delicious bite-size hors d’oeuvres passed around by waiters: tuna jicama tacos, coffee-crusted filet bites, mini lobster rolls, bruschetta. We sip champagne (real champagne, not cheap sparkling wine, because On the Mark sponsored the champagne and I damn well paid for the real deal). We dance to big-band standards and a Tony Bennett-sound-alike singer.
Belinda feels so right in my arms. When I touch her, she seems to melt into me. But when I look at her face she seems slightly anxious.
“Are you sure my dress is all right?” she whispers to me.
I put my lips right up to her small ear and whisper back. “Your dress is fabulous. But you are even more fabulous, you know.”
She gives me a nervous smile, but I pull her back and whisper in her ear again. “If you took a good look at me, you’d know how much I like looking at you in that dress. I’m about to burst out of my tuxedo trousers.”
She laughs quietly, her cheeks going pink.
We eat the first course of cold beet and Granny Smith apple salad, with poppyseed vinaigrette, and we have a nice conversation with my sister Pippa and her husband. Belinda suggests more pockets in the women’s clothes On the Mark sells, and Pippa looks impressed and makes a note in her phone.
We eat our main course—braised short ribs for me, citrus-fennel salmon for her—and we have a nice conversation with the surprisingly young CEO of Hopedale Hospital, Miles Peterson, and his wife Justine, who’s a marketing consultant in town.
We eat tomato focaccia and herbed goat cheese. We eat various two-bite dessert options: lemon tartlets, chocolate pots de crème, mini raspberry cheesecakes, and some absolutely amazing dulce de leche alfajores cookies.
We have a nice conversation with software tech nerd/billionaire Carson, from TechBridge, and his wife Lexie, also a marketing consultant.
We dance a little more. We drink more champagne. I try not to grab Belinda’s very tempting ass.
She excuses herself to the restroom, while I have nice conversation with my college buddy Elliot, who also works at TechBridge and hauls in quite the salary these days. “You look serious,” he says to me. “About Belinda Carter. Who is impressing the hell out of the upper-level management at Hopedale, in case you didn’t know.”
“Oh, I didn’t.” But that makes me happy. “That’s great news, though. I’ll tell her. She’ll be thrilled.”
“So,” he says, not quite grinning at me. “Are you serious? You look totally serious. You look completely dopey.”
I can’t help laughing. “Yeah. I’m serious.” And then I show him the ring box hiding in the inside pocket of my jacket. “Planning on asking a very serious question tonight, in fact.”
Elliot whistles. “Better not lose that!” He looks at me levelly. “How long have you been dating?”
I count. “Um…two weeks? Give or take a day?”
His eyebrows go up. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve known her since we were kids,” I explain. “Yeah, I’m sure. Absolutely sure.”
That gets me a smile and a nod. “Okay, then. Best wishes.” He toasts me with his champagne, and we make plans to take in a Virginia Tech basketball game early in the new year.
After ten minutes, I start looking for Belinda again, and I’m surprised she’s not back yet. I head in the direction of the restrooms, and run across several colleagues from the Chamber of Commerce, who compliment my taste in champagne. I offer congratulations to the woman who organized the gala, and to some of the other contributors. I’m feeling good all around when my Belinda finally comes back, and I sweep her onto the dance floor again.
She doesn’t look happy. “Are you okay?” I ask.
She nods, but doesn’t meet my eyes.
