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And the beauty doesn’t sleep.
She’s stuck.
In a nightmare.
Three hours later, we walked through the doors of a ballroom situated at the Madison, one of the glitziest hotels in Chicago.
With a cool wind, the twinkling buildings of the Magnificent Mile and the red Michigan Avenue Bridge reminded me that I was still in my favorite city, breathing hope into my body.
I wore an off-the-shoulder blue Armani gown that highlighted my eyes and had my hair twisted in a Dutch braid.
Ms. Sterling practically squeaked when she did my hair and makeup, reminding me just how much I missed Clara. Home was just across town, but it felt like oceans away.
Things I loved and lived for—my parents, my garden, horseback riding—were untouchable. A distant memory that grew an inch farther away every second of the day.
With his dazzling all-black suit, my fiancé put a possessive hand on the small of my back and led me through the entrance of the reception area.
Crystal chandeliers and curved stairways greeted us. The room was hued milk and honey, the marble floor a checked black and white. We hadn’t been invited to the ceremony at the Bishop’s local church and spent the drive here in a silence that shredded my nerves.
Senator Keaton hardly shared the sentiment. In fact, he answered emails on his phone, barked orders to his young driver, Smithy, and pretended I wasn’t there.
The only attention he did give me was when he noted, “That’s not the dress I told you to wear.”
“Would you be surprised to hear I have a mind of my own?” I stared out my window as the vehicle slowed through Chicago’s downtown traffic. “After all, I’m nothing but a sheltered teenager.”
“And a disobedient one, too,” he said.
“A terrible bride,” I concluded.
“I can tame a dozen of you before breakfast.”
The minute we sauntered through the glitzy wide doors, people began to swarm around Wolfe as though he was the groom himself.
He drew me close to him by the waist, making a jolt of heat travel down my belly as he smiled and made polite conversation with his admirers.
His personality outside the walls of his house or his car was completely different, his charm turned up to an eleven. With his two bodyguards huddling behind us, he oozed wide grins and polite conversation.
A far cry from the formidable man I lived with.
The first people to set us apart and corner us into a private tête-à-tête was a fifty-something politician couple who came all the way from DC.
Wolfe introduced me as his future bride, then chided me with a good-natured sneer. “Don’t be shy. Show them the ring.”
I stood frozen, my heart pushing through my throat and ready to jump out of my mouth before Wolfe pried my hand from the side of my body and showed them the huge engagement band.
The woman grasped my hand, examined it, then slapped her chest.
“Oh, it is so perfect. How’d he propose?” She batted her eyelashes at me, the suspense obviously killing her.
That was my chance to ruin all of Wolfe’s hard work. I grinned, moving my hand slowly, letting the diamond catch the lights in the room and blind everyone in our vicinity.
“On the steps of the Art Institute. My poor fiancé made a spectacle of himself. Tore his dress pants from behind as he went down on one knee. His entire butt was on full display.” I sighed, not daring to look up at his reaction.
“You did not!” The man burst out laughing, clapping Wolfe’s shoulder.
The woman snorted and flashed Wolfe a smile open with both admiration and lust. I chanced a look at Wolfe and saw his lips thinning in irritation.
Unlike them, he did not find my story entertaining.
