“You were,” he insists. “I couldfeelit.”
“Now that’s just... arrogant.”
“Accurate.” He finishes his bowtie. “Ready?”
I take one last look in the mirror. Custom gown. Hair actually cooperating for once. Makeup that took forty-five minutes but looks natural. Wedding ring catching the light.
You got this, Briana Sutton Dawson-Rossi.
“Ready.”
The gala is held at a stunning venue in Reykjavik with floor-to-ceiling windows that frame the darkening sky. We arrived in Iceland yesterday,and I still can’t believe Nico planned this entire thing. The Foundation’s first international event, timed perfectly with aurora season. My dream since I was twelve years old, watching Planet Earth with my parents and swearing I’d see the northern lights someday.
I’d told him that dream during our one night stand, between rounds two and three.
He remembered. Of course he remembered.
He’s helped me obtain all of my dreams, actually. Doing work that matters. Directing a nonprofit. Being loved.
We walk in together, hand in hand, and the flashbulbs start immediately. No hiding. No pretending.
Just us.
Inside, it’s a who’s who of everyone we know. Dominic and Tatiana are near the bar, their son apparently wreaking havoc somewhere with a nanny. Dom catches my eye and raises his glass. Tatiana winks. She pulled me aside earlier today to tell me she’s pregnant again, sworn me to secrecy, and then immediately told me I’m the worst secret-keeper so she’s only giving me two hours before she announces it.
Fair.
Marco Fiore and Jessica are holding court near the hors d’oeuvres, their daughter Ben running circles around them. Jessica catches my eye and gives me that knowing nod. The one that saystwo women who survived difficult men and somehow made them better. I nod back.
Christopher and Lucy Blackwell are discussing Foundation partnership opportunities with Dashiell, who looks thrilled to have someone else to talk spreadsheets with. Gideon and Ava King are admiring the venue’s architecture. Leo and SabrinaMaxwell are attempting to corral their twins while Mia Grace lectures them both about proper gala behavior.
Dr. Helena Vasquez intercepts me near the stage. “Nervous?”
“Terrified,” I admit.
She squeezes my arm. “You’ll be wonderful. You always are.”
I circulate through the crowd, greeting donors, answering questions about our hospital partnerships and prosthetic programs.
I catch Nico watching me from across the room. That look. Still possessive after all this time. Still intense. But different now, too. Proud. Like watching me command this space is his favorite thing in the world.
I blow him a kiss because I’m mature like that.
He pretends to catch it. Even more mature.
Then it’s time for my speech.
I stand at the podium, looking out at the sea of faces. Donors. Partners. Friends. Family. The man I love, watching from the front row with that slight smile that used to be so rare.
“Several months ago,” I begin, “I took a job as an executive secretary thinking it would be temporary admin work while I figured out my life.”
Soft laughter from the audience.
“I met a difficult boss who taught me that challenging people sometimes do it because they’re being challenged themselves. That the best partnerships are built on honesty, even when it’s hard.” I pause. “Especially then.”
I talk about the Foundation’s mission. The patient impact stories that still make me cry. The twelve-year-old who got her first customprosthetic and wrote Nico a letter telling him she finally felt like herself.
Then I take a breath.
