True, maybe my family was all on their best behavior. But even at their best, they were the rough-around-the-edges sort. Not charity galas and personal drivers sorts.
But, somehow, he’d won them over.
Why couldn’t they see that he didn’tfithere?
Maybe more importantly, why didn’t Harrison see that he didn’t belong? Thatwedidn’t belong together?
Well.
I guess I was just going to have to show him.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The directions for the stylist weren’t easy ones.
“I need a dress that is inappropriately sexy but won’t get me turned away at the door of a snazzy charity gala.”
And, hey, the woman delivered.
I stood in front of the mirror in the hotel, smoothing my hand down the front of the dress.
I looked like one of the celebrities who inexplicably had their tits almost fully out at a black-tie affair.
The dress itself was black, floor-length, and had long sleeves. But that’s where the classiness ended.
The neckline positively plunged. And if I were of the top-heavy variety, it would be borderline breaking decency laws. But since I was very average in that department, it managed to just seem pushing it.
On top of the neckline, there were the slits. Not just one. Multiple. A slit up each leg. So when I was standing still, you really didn’t even know they were there. But as soon as I started moving, both my thighs would be almost completely exposed.
It was a whole lot.
And while I wasn’t someone who typically felt uncomfortable in scandalous outfits, my belly tripped over itself at the thoughtof infiltrating a charity ball wearing it under the sole guise of embarrassing Harrison.
Taking a deep breath, I slid my engagement ring back on, grabbed my tiny bag, and made my way downstairs.
I’d been careful to make sure Harrison and John didn’t know I was in the city. I wanted my arrival to be a surprise.
Of the unpleasant sort.
I just hoped name-dropping Harrison at the door would get me in.
I had the cab drop me off at the corner so no one saw me exiting it, then walked up the steps of the building that felt like a relic of old wealth—all pale stone, soaring arches, and gilded details that felt lifted from another century.
“Ma’am?” the man in a black suit with a clipboard said as I got to the doors, carefully holding my slits together while looking like I was trying not to slip on the stairs.
“Valentine. Layna Valentine. I believe my husband is already here.”
He didn’t even consult his clipboard. He just glanced at my face, then my ring hand, and waved toward the door.
Inside, the ceiling stretched high, painted and ornamented, catching the golden light from the massive chandeliers. Beneath my heels, marble floors gleamed, making my footsteps echo in the vast space.
The thrum of music and chatter of voices led me deeper into the space.
The main event space opened wide, revealing columns and arched windows that climbed toward the ceiling.
Everything was washed in warm light, reflecting off all the gilt woven into the architecture.
Round tables were dressed in crisp linen with low arrangements of flowers and candlelight.
