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She’d been wearing jeans and sometimes yoga pants to her recent dates with Jacob. For visiting the ballet with Hugh, she carefully scoured the contents of her closet, looking at dresses she’d almost forgotten she owned. No matter what the scale said, she was feeling thin and toned, the way you do right after your period ends and you haven’t eaten salty things for a couple of days. Janey finally found what she was looking for all the way in the back of the closet. She zipped the dress out of the plastic cover and was enveloped in a tumble of black fabric. Lorna was the only other person who’d ever worn this Giorgio Sant’Angelo, and that was before Janey was born. She could almost smell her mother’s lavender perfume as she pulled it over her head, allowing the material to wind and flutter with attitude around her curves. She paired it with an Elsa Peretti gold cuff, and as she slipped into her simple black ballet flats she was surprised to notice that her stomach now had a bit of a flutter in anticipation of the date.
Janey went to Lincoln Center all the time for Fashion Week but hadn’t been to the ballet since Ivy’s accident, and she’d never even heard of this particular piece, La Sylphide.
There was an intimate reception in the lobby prior to the performance where Janey had agreed to meet the silver fox, but when she arrived he was nowhere to be found. She helped herself to a glass of sparkling water and politely refused a champagne (too many calories) and a petite lettuce cup filled with puréed vegetables.
“Silly little things, those lettuce cups,” she heard a posh British voice say behind her. “But I think the mayor passed a law saying appetizers can no longer be served on toast in New York City. I’m so sorry, my dear. I promise to feed you as soon as this is all over. In fact, we can leave and I’ll feed you now if you like.” His blue eyes twinkled mischievously.
“I’ll survive.” Now Janey remembered why she’d said yes to this date in the first place. No man had ever looked so comfortable in a tuxedo. She imagined he had a whole section of his closet dedicated to nothing but tuxedos, vests, cummerbunds, and Italian shoes. “I do miss toast, and not toast with avocado, but real toast with real butter and real jam.” She let her southern accent seep into her voice when she mentioned butter. She didn’t add that she hadn’t eaten any of those things in two months.
“I knew we’d get along splendidly. My people aren’t known for their food, but I invested in a new gastropub not too far from here where the chef does wonderful, wonderful things with proper toast and bone marrow. We’ll go when we’ve had our fill of culture. Just say when. We can leave absolutely anytime.”
They were interrupted by a savagely tall and slender teenager wearing a long tulle tutu over a sleek black leotard.
“Can we ask you to say a few words, Your Excellency?”
Hugh smiled out of the corner of his mouth.
“You can call me Hugh, Natasha. I keep telling you that, but I think you like saying ‘Your Excellency.’ Does it make you feel like we’re on Downton Abbey?”
Natasha blushed. The assistant was brand-new at this, and trying to be polite. Janey smiled at her and answered on her behalf.
“It makes me feel like I’m on Downton Abbey. I think I’ll start calling him ‘Your Excellency’ too.” Janey winked at Natasha.
“If you like.” Hugh shrugged. “I’ll call you Madame CEO. So what should I say to this crowd of ballet fans? I never know what to do in these situations. The truth is I donated a certain sum to the new wing of this place because my daughter decided she wants to be a ballerina and my soon-to-be-ex-wife made us patrons. Don’t get me wrong. I love the arts, but no one here knows who the bloody hell I am.”
Janey thought back to all the times she’d found herself in a similar situation, fancy dinners for FIT alums, CFDA galas, once a political fund-raiser for a state senator. Most of the time they’d invited Beau to speak, but he rarely showed up at those things unless he knew he’d be photographed for the Times Styles section.
“Just make a toast,” Janey said with confidence. “No one wants to hear a speech. You have a damn sexy British accent. Raise your glass to the dancers and the good-looking people here in this room who made tonight possible. You’ll make everyone feel like a million bucks and get them into their seats that much quicker.”
“You’re a genius.” Hugh’s compliment made her feel like she’d aced the most important exam of her life. He was good.
Someone dimmed the lights, and Hugh clinked his glass. His toast was much wittier than the one she’d suggested, and the entire room fell in love with him, women and straight men alike. Without her having to ask he strode assuredly to the bar and picked up a glass of champagne for her and a neat whiskey for himself.
“I think I’d like one of what you’re having.” She smiled. “That’s what sweet southern belles like to drink. None of these bubbles.” For the second time in less than ten minutes she could tell she impressed the silver fox.
“Will you marry me?”
“Your divorce doesn’t sound final yet.” Janey had no idea if she’d be so confident on a date if she hadn’t already been practicing with Jacob. Shit! Did she really just think of Jacob as practice? And just this morning she couldn’t imagine going out with anyone but him. The truth was, any man would pale in Hugh Albermarle’s shadow, even sweet, sexy Jacob.
He took her ribbing in stride. “And who knows how long it’ll take? Probably longer than usual since she refuses to come back from Europe.”
Janey softened. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t joke. I’m going through my own divorce and it’s awful. Simply awful. Even if you want it to be over, nothing is worse than legally ending a marriage.” As the words came out of her mouth she thought about how much worse legally ending her business partnership with Beau might be. Stop it, she thought. Do not do this tonight. Not when you’re on a date with this wonderful-seeming man.
“Thank you for that. For understanding.” Hugh guided her to a private box with two plush velvet seats. “I’m only just starting to date again. Stella told me not to say that, but what’s the point in pretending? I have no idea what I’m doing.”