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The limo is accented with brown leather and a bottle of champagne awaits us in an ice bucket at the back. The driver is a friendly, older man who glances at me and whistles as I come in.
“Wow, she’s prettier than the last one,” he comments, and I blush.
“Mind your business, Montfort," Luke says eye glittering fondly. "This one’s special."
And just like that, my stomach bottoms out as desire flashes across his expression. I look away denying him, denying myself.
To my surprise, we don't head straight to the gala. Instead, Luke takes me to a tall glass building, with golden metal trim that extends to the sky. The building looks like a cross between something you would find in old Parisian streets and the Hunger Games.
"Bardaeux Atelier?" I inquire glancing at the sign.
“Designer, dressmaker," Luke answers easily. A valet immediately jogs up to open our door, and Luke goes to take my hand instantly.
I'm grateful for it. I would feel lost in this environment if he wasn't here.
I try to match his confident stride, as the doors open to allow us into the elaborately decorated boutique. The staff spring into action, chorusing, "Welcome, Mr. Hardy."
"Hey," he says simply, returning their smile.
They then smile at me too, in association, and treat me with the same admiration because I’m with him. Before I knew what was happening measuring tapes were being draped over my body and fabrics were matched to my skin. Then suddenly, a bunch of dresses are picked out, and narrowed down and I’m in the dressing room being told to try on the most beautiful silk dress I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s shining silver and glides along my whole body, its backless design adding an easy sensuality, and the color makes my eyes even more blue.
I've never looked better in my entire life.
I walk out nervously, feeling a little like an imposter wearing a princess dress.
But the look in Luke's eyes banishes that thought completely.
He's talking to a designer when I walk out. The moment he spots me, his expression turns from stunned, to reverence, to burying desire in a single moment.
His jaw tightens.
And he looks pretty good himself, changed into a black, fitted suit that fits him like a glove. Butterflies expound in my stomach and get worse the more he stares at me. God, he’s the most handsome man ever and he stares at me like that...
“Mia," he says in a husky voice, striding to me. For a second, I think he's going to kiss me, passionately in front of all these people.
But then he stops a few feet away, warring with himself.
Finally, he offers his hand. "Shall we?"
I swallow and pray for strength. "Let's do it."
The gala isn’t as intimidating as I thought it would be. Sure, there are a lot of rich people floating around in designer fare but everyone I meet is nice enough and doesn’t look at me like a gutter rat.
Of course, that just might be because the man of the night has his arm around me the whole time. He has the most commanding presence, so controlled and uncaring of what anyone else thinks. And there are so many eyes on us. Women and men. Everywhere we look, people are trying to talk to him but after a few seconds, he always steers us away from them. A beautiful woman even comes up to him, blatantly flirting, but he sidesteps her after a few seconds. He even looks irritated about the whole thing, shooting me an apologetic look.
“Am I your shield?” I joke, as we sidestep yet another person trying to talk to him. "I thought you wanted to talk to someone about a partnership."
“I changed my mind," he says. "I don’t like anyone interrupting my alone time with you."
And just like that, my heart starts racing all over again.
The night is a whirlwind and although we're only at the gala for an hour or two, it feels like a lifetime. By the time we’re on the private jet back home, I’m exhausted.
But reality hits me as we stare at each other, silently, across the table.
And I feel a little like Cinderella waiting for the clock to strike midnight.
14
