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For a brief moment, I observe him as if I’m just another unsuspecting pedestrian. He’s paired a navy suit jacket with a slightly darker sweater underneath it. From his cuff, his silver Jaeger-LeCoultre watch peeks out. His black hair is impeccably styled and his shoes look as if they’ve just finished being shined, but he hasn’t shaved this morning, leaving a tantalizing amount of stubble that I’m unaccustomed to seeing on him. He somehow looks more French today than ever.
Sacré bleu.
He looks up into the crowd and catches me staring; the intensity of his brown eyes makes me feel momentarily off balance, but his expression doesn’t change. There’s no hint of recognition, no kindness.
I’m the same as everybody else, watching with a slack jaw as he escorts Miranda to the waiting Range Rover. He reaches it first, and rather than getting in, he stands back and ushers her forward then offers his hand. She doesn’t need it. She is fully capable of sliding onto the back seat without his help, but she doesn’t pass up the chance to gently lay her hand in his and bestow a beautiful smile of thanks in return for his gallantry. Then it’s Emmett’s turn to get in, but for a moment he stalls, his hand on the roof above the door.
I stand frozen, my breath arrested, hope growing with every millisecond he fails to get in after her. Then his head turns as if listening to something Miranda’s just said, and without another moment’s hesitation, he slides into the vehicle beside her.
I’m left on the sidewalk, waiting for my taxi while everyone around me chatters loudly about Emmett and who they think he could be.
“Probably some big-time actor. Did you see how smug he looked walking out of the hotel like that while we all stood here, waiting?”
“He’s not an actor,” someone corrects. “He’s a businessman. I recognized him. Can’t think of his first name, but he’s that French guy’s son. Mercier something.”
The hotel attendant directing the taxi line hears this. “That fucking billionaire guy? Are you shitting me?”
“We should have asked for an autograph or some spare change.”
They laugh at this, and then someone cuts in, “You see the girl he was with? Damn, she was fine.”
Having had enough, I step out of the line and decide I’ll take my chances with the subway.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Lainey
The week after I return from New York City, my grandmother thinks it’s a wonderful idea to throw Emmett and me an engagement party. The invitations go out without my knowledge. In fact, I only find out about it the morning of when a bevy of floral designers and event planners overtake the house in preparation for the evening’s festivities.
I catch my grandmother in the foyer, directing the catering crew to the kitchen.
I lead with, “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
She completely ignores me, so I’m forced to cut in front of her again and reach out for her hand, demanding her attention.
“I wish you had asked me before doing this.”
She sighs. “It’s tradition. I hardly need your permission to throw a party in my own home.”
“Yes, but perhaps it would be best if we skipped all of this. I just think—”
Her brown eyes level me with a glare of impatience. “Elaine Evangeline…if you think I’m not going to throw my only granddaughter an engagement party, you’re sorely mistaken. In fact, I’m going to throw you and Emmett a party the likes of which Boston has never seen.”
At that, the front door opens to a woman holding up a stack of linens so tall it towers over her head, blocking her vision.
“A little help please!” she begs.
Jacobs swoops in and takes half of the folded items from her before they all go crashing to the ground.
Wanting no part of the party setup, I slip out of the house around lunch time and head for Morgan’s. It’s not my usual day to work, but I’m eager for the distraction the gallery is so good at providing. Collette is there, sitting behind the counter in the main showroom, answering emails. Her eyes widen when I walk in the door.
“I didn’t expect to see you today.”
I smile brightly. “I thought I’d see if you needed help with anything.”
“Umm…hello, don’t you have a party to get ready for?”
My good mood evaporates in an instant. How does she know about the engagement party?
She laughs, sensing my confusion. “Your grandmother invited half the city. I think everyone from St. John’s received an invitation—which, by the way, looked like they cost a thousand dollars a pop. I’m shocked a swarm of butterflies didn’t spring forth when I opened the box.”
Oh god.
“Right. Yeah…she gets a little carried away.”
I sound apologetic, which might be why she eases up.
“They were pretty, really. I’m just still in shock. You and Emmett? Since when?”
