Anthony and Liam busy themselves with loading everything back onto the rolling rack while I make my way across the room to Zander.
“I’ve never witnessed anything so beautiful in my life,” Zander says softly, causing my stomach to flutter with nerves.
“Thank you. Anthony did a great job, huh?” I blush.
“Yes, he did, but that wasn’t what I was talking about.”
“What?” I shake my head from side to side, feeling confused.
“Your laugh,” he says simply. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh. Really laugh. It’s beautiful.”
“Oh,” I breathe, stepping close to him and sighing as his arms wrap around me, his palms going to my mostly bare back and pulling me to him. “You look incredible, Zander.”
“Only because you’re my date.”
He presses his full lips to mine. I smile against his mouth at the sound of Anthony muttering his disapproval of me ruining my lipstick. Zander smiles too.
I love that smile.
Chapter Twenty-One
My True Garment
Sadie
I’m less than the other women in this room. They’re far more glamorous and worldly but…I feel like the most gorgeous woman in the room. He makes me feel like the most gorgeous woman. Wearing Zander’s adoration as my only true garment makes me feel so much more secure about myself. It’s not a piece of fabric that I can slip in and out of. It didn’t come from some high end designer boutique. It didn’t cost me much and yet it has proven to be invaluable. Zander named his price without even knowing it and all it required from me was the courage to take a small step forward out of the little cave I call grief and guilt. I’ve called that cave my home for two years and the hopeful part of me wants out. Zander has been the best choice I’ve made in recent history, which isn’t saying much, but it is saying something. It says that I’m willing to invest in Alexander McBride. It says that without even really trying, he has drawn me out of a sad, lonely place. I’m eternally indebted. I have a long road ahead of me, but Zander gives me something to hope for.
My ardent prayer, my silent mantra, my budding sense of hope?
Zander is it.
The security at the venue is tight. Men in suits with earpieces are scattered throughout the hordes of formally-dressed Atlanta high society. People mill about in every direction and congregate in small groups to chat. The women gather in little cliques of no more than three or so, but the men are in groups of four, five, or six, some more than that. They all clap each other on the back and shake hands vigorously with wide smiles, but they all have agendas. Every single one of them.
I’ve been in this massive ballroom for less than ten minutes and I can see it as plain as ever. Eyes scan, whispers are bartered, and tight nods are exchanged between foes while the socialites buzz from group to group, seeking to gain a little measure of social and political relevance.
It’s fucking miserable.
Zander’s hand hasn’t left my back since we arrived in the Lincoln, which was driven by the same beefy driver from this morning.
A waiter strolls through the crowd, handing out flutes of champagne as he goes. I snag one from his tray and take a generous gulp. My nerves are raw and the urge to escape somewhere for a cigarette is threatening to overwhelm me. I focus on staying balanced and graceful in Anthony’s masterpiece. The chandelier earrings sway to and fro with every cautious step I take at Zander’s side.
“Zander! Zander!” someone calls out. We both turn in the direction of the voice from the crowd.
Travis sidles up next to Zander and casually slips one hand into his pants pocket, the other holding a flute of champagne. He gives a curt smile and nod to a party guest before speaking.
“Your dad wants to see you two before he comes in.”
“Where is he?” Zander asks quietly.
“Follow me.”
Zander takes my hand and follows Travis, leading me through the throng of party guests. I toss back the contents of the champagne flute and set it on an empty dinner table. We exit the party through a door on the far wall, guarded by two more men with earpieces and a stance that screams “bodyguard.” Travis downs his champagne too and hands it off to a passing staff member of some sort. We take a left and walk down a short hall to enter a sitting room filled with the low buzz of just a few people talking amongst themselves. All eyes turn in our direction as soon as we join them and I feel a little lightheaded. The catalyst to my dizziness is either the champagne that I gulped down in a hurry or the anxiety that just kicked into high gear.
Travis leads us to Governor McBride, the Governor McBride, Zander’s father, who is sitting comfortably in an armchair, a cigar clenched in his teeth and a tumbler of amber liquid in his hand.
“Thank you, Travis,” Governor McBride says without looking.