An Improper Ever After(13)
He turns around, and I tell his retreating back, "One day, Elliot, I'm the one who might not want to talk."
He doesn't acknowledge me, but I know he heard me from the way he hesitates for a fraction of a moment before shutting the door behind him.
Sighing roughly, I force myself to get up and go to the spa. It's more or less unavoidable if I don't want to embarrass myself at the event. The kind of people who drop tens of thousands of dollars without a thought spend a lot of money and time to be seen and admired.
By the time the spa people have worked on me for a few hours, I look like I'm a model about to strut down the runway. The only thing we disagreed on was the nail color. They wanted something more newlywed-like-dreamy and soft-and I wanted an assertive, bold color … maybe something like blood red. But the style coordinator insisted it would look too garish, especially with the blue dress. So we compromised on a glossy, dark coral. The staff keeps remarking how beautiful I am. But I feel woefully unprepared for what's to come, a public event where I'm supposed to pretend I'm happy and not at all bothered by what the media is saying about me.
A pair of huge sapphire drop earrings and matching necklace and bracelet complete the look. To all appearances I'm the lucky Cinderella who got herself a rich prince. No one would ever guess that I'd trade all the trappings of wealth for a warm word or smile from Elliot.
When the spa people are finally finished, I climb into the waiting Bentley. The black car stops in front of the penthouse, and Elliot joins me. He's in a tuxedo that fits him perfectly. It emphasizes his broad shoulders and trim waist and the power inherent in his body. It's like tuxes were invented just to make him look fabulous.
Suddenly all I can feel is the vibrant energy of him-his dynamic personality and magnetism. My skin prickles as though I'm surrounded by electric current, and I'm left breathless.
And it hurts that I can't just reach over and run my hand along his arm or link my hand with his the way I want to. A week ago I would have. And he would've given me one of his long sideways glances, appreciation glittering in his eyes.
Now he barely looks at me. I clasp my hands together and gaze out the window, blinking away sudden tears. It's that or throw away every shred of pride. I don't think I can do the latter when we have an audience.
Elliot and I fly in the private jet with the butler. Parker is as solicitous as before, but I can't take any pleasure in our trip. My mind keeps churning, and I can't decide what I feel anymore.
"It won't kill you to smile," Elliot says when we're in the limo on our way to the mansion.
"Do you want me to rub myself all over you and coo about how handsome you are while I'm at it?" It's out before I can stop myself.
"If it'll help, why not?"
I clamp my mouth shut. I don't want to add a pointless argument to our existing issues.
When our car stops, he takes my hand and guides my face toward him, his index finger under my chin. "Relax and fake it for the evening. I timed it so we'd arrive late anyway." He presses a quick kiss on my mouth just as the door opens.
Thankfully there aren't any photographers with flashing cameras surrounding us. The Sterlings-the family that owns the mansion in front of me-don't take kindly to paparazzi of any type-or so I read when I looked them up while getting my hair done. And what the Sterlings want, the Sterlings get. Apparently Elizabeth is good friends with Nate Sterling, younger brother to the new head of the family.
"Why are they having the dinner here?" I whisper as Elliot leads me to the huge main entrance. The three-story mansion is beyond grand, with soaring columns and a giant portico. Every window on the first and second floors is ablaze with light, creating stark silhouettes of socialites, tycoons of industry and celebrities.
"It gives more oomph to the event because it comes with Justin Sterling's stamp of approval. Without it, she wouldn't have been able to use the venue."
"Does it really matter?"
"Yes, since Barron's more or less retired and not interested in making his presence felt these days." Elliot frowns. "It's a good thing for Elizabeth's foundation. A lot of people want to be on good terms with the Sterlings, and they'll give more than asked for to support her cause."
The security people at the door are in crisp tuxes, like the guests, but their body language is totally different, alert and watchful. Also, the earpieces are unmistakable. They nod as Elliot and I walk inside.
The place is unbelievably crowded, given how big the mansion is. Occasional loud laughter breaks the steady hum of conversation. Somewhere an orchestra is playing a classical tune. My guess is Mozart, because that seems to be everyone's default composer for something like this-cheery and inoffensive, yet genius. When Mom hosted Lincoln City's social gatherings, she always picked Mozart, declaring you could never go wrong with his music, and suddenly I miss her. I remember the way she would coax my dad out of a bad mood and make Nonny smile no matter what, and I can't help but think that she would've known how to fix the problem I have with Elliot … and the cold, untenable situation with Nonny, too.