I glance down at my clothes before lifting my eyes back to hers. “I don’t think I’m dressed for that kind of event.”
“So? That didn’t stop Cinderella from going to the ball.”
“She had a Fairy Godmother. And a bunch of talking mice as friends. I don’t exactly have any of that.”
Camille’s eyes dance, her expression turning conniving. “I don’t think I can help you with talking mice, but I have something better than a Fairy Godmother.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“Come see for yourself.” With a wink, she turns from me and walks back into Julian’s home. I hesitate at first, then step inside.
The instant I do, his warmth and energy fill me. For the past few months, this place was like a home. I felt more comfortable here than I ever did in the apartment I shared with Trevor. Julian never reminded me he was the main bread earner in our arrangement, as Trevor so often did. The difference is just another reminder of the person Julian is. He never flaunted his money, except to spoil me. Our relationship was never a competition. It was a true partnership.
Camille stops outside one of the guest rooms, then pauses before pushing open the door. Curious as to what’s going on, I walk inside, my gaze instantly falling on a stunning sapphire blue ballgown hanging outside the closet. The fitted bodice has a sweetheart neckline and off-the-shoulder sleeves. Jewels overlay the satin material down to the waist, then the dress juts out into a flowing skirt Julian seems to like, considering most of the formal gowns I’d worn all summer were of a similar style.
“Like I said,” she sings as she approaches me from behind. “I may not have a magic wand or mice that can sew, but I do have a dress.”
My mouth agape, I spin around, my mind reeling with various thoughts, the most pressing being why there’s a dress waiting for me when I haven’t spoken to Julian in several weeks.
“He had Dana set something aside,” she explains, answering the question written on my face. “He’d hoped you’d have a change of heart by tonight.”
I can’t fight against the smile pulling on my lips. I want to be angry at him for being so arrogant and assuming, but I can’t. It’s further proof that I never left his mind, that he wasn’t lying when he insisted I was the only woman he thought of since he met me.
“He’s a bit cocky, isn’t he?” I mutter in a playful tone.
“He certainly is. I’ve known Julian Gage over twenty years now. The one thing I’ve learned is when he sets his eyes on something, he doesn’t stop until he has it.”
“And he wants me.” I look back at the dress.
“Yes, sweetheart. He does. He has since the night you met.” She places her hands on my shoulders, forcing me to face her. “He may have lied to you, things may not have gone as planned, but I don’t think your story could have been written any other way. Do you?” She cocks a brow.
There’s only one answer that seems fitting. “No, I don’t.”
“Good.” She beams. “Now, let’s get you ready for the ball, Cinderella. This time, there’s no turning into a pumpkin at midnight.”
Chapter Forty-Two
I look down at my dress, a hint of the same inadequacy I experienced my first weekend in the Hamptons with Julian washing over me. Curious eyes float in my direction the instant I enter the elaborate ballroom at the Four Seasons. I summon every ounce of courage I possess, aware most of the people present have learned of our breakup and are probably wondering why I’m here. Men don crisp tuxedos. Women wear stunning gowns, glittering jewels covering their necks and ears. Impressive crystal chandeliers hang overhead, the ambient lighting not too bright as couples dance to a jazz band playing an old Ella Fitzgerald tune.
As I continue farther inside, my eyes zero in on the bar. My nerves are at an all-time high and I need something to help settle the butterflies in my stomach. With each step I take, I feel the whispers of the other guests against my skin. All summer, I never felt as out of place as I do now. I had Julian at my side back then. This is just another reminder of everything he did for me, how he made me feel empowered amongst those who view it their duty to judge others.
Once I have a manhattan in my hand and take a sip, I return my attention to the enormous ballroom, searching for Julian. But it’s hard to find him in a sea of what I estimate to be over five hundred people.
After Sonia’s passing, I’d received word of this event to raise funds for the foundation her sister had started in her name with the purpose of providing help and resources to other women in similar situations as Sonia found herself in.
Thankfully, the police brought Ethan in for questioning based on the information I, as well as Julian, provided. When the robbery gone wrong angle didn’t pan out, they took a closer look at Ethan and ended up arresting him after his alibi fell through. Once I learned that, I felt a bit of vindication for Sonia, knowing Ethan wouldn’t get away with what he’d done. But there are times I turn on the TV and listen to newscasters discuss recent developments in her case that I can’t help but feel I could have done something to prevent this from happening in the first place. I can only imagine what Julian must be going through, the guilt that must consume him over the fact he tried to help, but it wasn’t enough. Just like with his mother. I should have stood by his side and comforted him during this difficult time that must have reopened old wounds. I hope it’s not too late to do that.
As I search for Julian, or at least a friendly face who could point me in the right direction, a voice comes over the speakers and everyone turns their attention to the stage in the center of the room. Cameras flash, reporters lifting audio recorders to get a few snippets. That’s how it usually is at these functions. The media is invited to ensure the event makes headlines, padding egos. But here, it’s not about that. It’s about sharing Sonia’s story and encouraging more people to help those in similar situations.
“Hello, friends,” the woman says in a slight Spanish accent. Her olive-toned skin and dark hair make it apparent she’s Sonia’s sister, their appearance nearly identical. “My name is Isabella Moreno. I wanted to take a minute to thank all of you for coming out tonight to support this foundation.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Sonia would have wanted to know her death wasn’t in vain, that something good could come out of it, that perhaps she could have a hand in preventing the same tragedy from happening to someone else. It’s because of your generosity that can become a reality.”
There’s polite applause from the crowd before she continues. “I had no idea what was going on in her personal life. When the cameras were on, she was all smiles, telling everyone how happy she was in her marriage. We all believed it was the perfect love story. It wasn’t until this past year that I learned the truth. It all started when she told me she’d hired an escort named August Laurent. Or, as many of you know him, Julian Gage.”
She steps away, revealing a man in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, like many of the other men here. But he’s not like any of the others, not to me.
Low murmurs and a few gasps ring out as he steps up to the podium, many of the attendees just as surprised about this revelation as I was when I first learned the truth.