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It’s been two weeks since Cal asked me to join him for the fundraiser. The only time I’ve seen him since then was the night I ran from a madman into the safety of his arms.
This morning, a package arrived at my door. Inside, there was a stunning black evening gown with a pair of crystal encrusted Louboutin’s and a diamond choker.
The floor length gown is sexier than anything I’ve ever worn. The black satin hugs my skin, splitting from the top of each of my thighs all the way to the floor so that when I move, the entire length of my legs is exposed, much like something a dancer would wear. Which is fitting, since I spent my high school years doing just that. Did he know?
Don’t be silly, Makenna. How would he know that?
Wearing a bra is out of the question, because the gown is completely backless. Dresses like this are the reason women work out religiously. Thank God I’ve been running every morning. I have no doubt Cal will have the attention of every woman at the event, and I want to make sure I’m the only one that has his.
I still can’t believe how excited I am about it all. Aside from buying this house, I haven’t looked forward to anything since Reid died. Maybe this is it. Maybe this will be the night when Cal finally lets me in—really lets me in.
I spend forty-five minutes on my makeup and just as long on my hair, which I leave in long curls that hang loosely down my back. I pair simple diamond studs with the gorgeous choker Cal sent, and even though I hesitate a beat, I slide Reid’s ring on my finger just like I would any other day.
Just as I’m slipping into the heels, the doorbell rings, and I’m suddenly anxious. I’m in way over my head. I’ve never worn anything like this. I’ve never been anywhere with a man like Cal. As a matter of fact, outside of Reid, this is my first date.
Ever.
“Carlos,” I say, a little shocked to see Cal’s father standing at the door when I open it.
The older gentleman smiles when he sees me then extends his arm. “Makenna, you look stunning.” I hook my hand in the crook of his elbow, and he walks me to his car. “Cal will meet us there. He’s running a bit late.”
Carlos looks flawless in his tuxedo. Looking at him now, I see Cal in his features. The strong jawline, the dark hair, even though Carlos’s has streaks of gray. They’re both remarkably tall and carry a quiet confidence only certain men can pull off. The only difference is that Carlos doesn’t seem to have ice running through his veins.
“Okay,” I say, trying to mask my disappointment. What if he’s having second thoughts about this? And why does the thought of that make my heart want to stop beating?
We pull up to the country club thirty minutes later. Carlos releases his silver Audi to the valet then takes my arm and leads me inside. He is immediately greeted by dozens of people begging for his attention, yet he never lets go of my arm. The building is elegantly decorated with crystal chandeliers suspended from satin ropes and huge arrangements of pastel florals scattered on tables throughout the room.
Carlos leads me through a set of double doors into another room with several tables, large and small, spread wall to wall, all with various items displayed on top. Next to each item is a touch screen clipboard that resembles an electronic tablet and a brief description of the item up for auction. At the back of the room is a cashier booth where each guest goes to receive a number with which to bid on the item of their choosing. This number is linked to the bidder’s identity and entered into the clipboard along with the amount of their bid.
I let Carlos know I’ll be fine by myself until Cal gets here. “I’d like to look at the auction items anyway,” I tell him, and he smiles.
He needs to socialize without guilt, and I need a minute to take this all in.
I’m deeply engrossed in a breathtaking oil painting that stands on an easel in one corner of the room when I feel Cal behind me. I close my eyes and inhale his clean, masculine scent. I know it’s him before he even speaks.
“I apologize for being late,” he says, his voice as smooth as silk.
“It’s okay.” I don’t look back, even though I’m dying to see him. He doesn’t want me to look, not yet.
“No. It isn’t,” he says as he places a hand on each of my shoulders. Then he leans forward, bringing his mouth next to my ear. “She’s nothing like you.”
I stare at the painting, letting myself focus on the feel of him so close to me. “She’s exactly like me.”
The painting portrays a woman standing in her bedroom peering into a full-length mirror—just an average woman wearing jeans and yellow sweater. She’s standing in the middle of her understated bedroom, no fancy furniture or décor. Her blonde hair is in a ponytail, her eyes full of regret, and she has one hand on the mirror as if trying to reach the reflection on the other side. The reflection she longs for is of an elegantly dressed woman, her expression one of immense satisfaction. She is standing on top of a glass building, an obvious symbol that she’s conquered something, and in the background are ten or twenty other massive skyscrapers. She is fearless, this reflection. She is beautiful.
“She’s remorseful. She’s afraid. She longs to be fierce, but she lacks the strength,” he says, “You are fierce. You are strong. But you see yourself as afraid. Ordinary. When you look at yourself, you see the woman in the room. Everyone else sees the woman in the reflection.”
How he manages to say the exact words I need to hear at the exact moment I need to hear them, I don’t know. But they resonate with me more than anything I’ve heard in as long as I can remember. I don’t want to play this game anymore. I have to see him. My skin is burning beneath his touch. I need to see his face.
As soon as I turn around, I am spellbound. His hair is its usual tousled mess and his jaw covered with unshaven stubble, but he still manages to look as perfectly put together as if he had just stepped out of a painting himself. His black suit jacket is unbuttoned, revealing a bold, royal blue oxford that he left unbuttoned just enough to drive a girl’s imagination wild. The shirt is tucked into a pair of loose fitting, black pants that match the jacket, and his eyes meet mine in a dark, heavy gaze.
“Wow,” I whisper, and he smirks.
His eyes move up and down my body. “I should say the same.”
“You certainly had a lot of faith in me when you chose this dress.”
“And you didn’t disappoint.”
