‘I’m going to return it tomorrow,’ I tell her. Remarkably, the dress fits perfectly. ‘How did he know?’
Sandy chuckles mischievously.
‘Did he ask you?’
She shrugs. ‘I got a call from Harrods.’
I can’t begin to understand the logistics of that but from what little I know of Gregory Ryans, nothing should surprise me.
Sandy helps me put on the jewellery and gloves. She holds my hand as I step into the Louboutins. The dress elegantly trails the floor by an inch at the back.
Sandy gasps as she turns me to face the floor-length mirror. I watch her reflection as she considers my hair then the dress and eventually meets my eye. It’s a look I’ve seen before: when she watched my first school play, when she got me ready for my high-school prom.
‘I can’t believe he bought this for me,’ I say, smoothing the sides of the dress against my hips.
‘He obviously has very good taste.’
‘We’re not, you know?—’
‘Mmm-hmm,’ she says, tittering again.
Jackson is waiting outside as promised and from their brief exchange, it’s clear that Sandy’s uncommon flirtation is reciprocated, a thought that makes me feel both happy and cringy all at once.
Jackson pulls up to the edge of the red carpet around seven forty-five. I’m suddenly nervous, my pulse rate higher than I would have thought humanly possible.
‘He’s in there,’ I say as Jackson gives me his hand to step out of the Mercedes.
He smirks and I’m instantly embarrassed.
An extravagant gold and mahogany staircase descends from the hotel entrance into a large reception room. I stand at the top searching the crowd of dinner suits and dresses nibbling canapés and sipping champagne from waiters in black, buttoned waistcoats and black trousers or skirts. Lights glisten in the regal, crystal chandeliers. A female soloist sings soft soul music against her backing band.
I see him. A beacon in the crowd. His back is to me but the chill running the length of my spine tells me it’s him. He turns. His eyes meet mine and I’m breathless. There’s only him in the room. He moves his right hand to his chest and opens his mouth as if about to speak. My legs continue to move me down the staircase, my mind elsewhere. I blink and he’s gone, as if he’d been a figment of my imagination. I’m almost at the bottom of the staircase, desperate to find him again, but I cast my focus down to watch my satin shoe as I take the last step.
When I look up, he’s here, in his dinner suit and black bow tie, his dark hair slicked back.
‘You’re stunning,’ he says, his hand still held to his chest.
My smile spreads across my entire face. ‘Thank you for the dress.’
‘God, you’re welcome,’ he whispers, bending to kiss me on the cheek.
His lips send fire through my veins. I close my eyes and liquefy under his touch, overwhelmed by his voice, his scent, him.
He leads me back to his group. Williams has brought Amanda and they appear in every way to be the perfect couple, his easy manner, her smiles, her royal-blue, sculpted dress and dazzling, auburn hair. She’s barely an inch from his side as they laugh with the others.
‘Scarlett, you already know Williams, Lawrence and, of course, Amanda. This is my mother, Lara,’ Gregory says.
Lara grabs me with her champagne-free arm and kisses me on both cheeks. ‘It’s so nice to finally meet you, Scarlett,’ she says, with a strong South African accent. ‘How are you?’
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lara,’ I say, slightly startled by her overly friendly greeting and processing that word, finally. ‘I’m very well, thank you.’ I glance at Gregory, who seems to purposefully avoid my eyes.
Lawrence wraps an arm around Lara’s waist. ‘Shall we take our seats?’
‘Okay, darling.’ Lara floats away from us, her movements the epitome of elegance. Her long, demure, black dress trailing the floor as she leaves. Her brunette chignon exposing her neck and emphasising the length of her slim body.
The gents – Gregory, Lawrence, Williams and another business partner of Gregory’s – take their seats at the table in unison after the ladies.
‘Lawrence and your mum?’ I whisper to Gregory as he takes his seat next to me.
