The midnight blue Valentinodress clings to my breasts and waist, then falls from my hips into a dramatic slit that will show a flash of leg with every step. Eve was right. The silk moves like something poured over my body rather than worn, and just wearing it makes me feel empowered and confident.
For the final touch, I fasten Nick’s pearl-and-diamond necklace around my neck. The infinity symbol settles into the hollow of my throat, cool but familiar, and reminding me of everything it witnessed that magical night on theIcarus. I can’t hold back the smile that curves my mouth.
In the mirror I see someone who looks ready to take on the world. Whether I’m ready to stand in front of four hundred people and speak about a woman I never met—Nick's mother, whose name is etched into the building we’re celebrating tonight—is another question entirely.
I smooth the silk over my hips one last time, then turn and walk toward the living room. Toward him.
Nick’s voice reaches me before I enter the living room, low, measured, the cadence he uses when he's managing somethingthat requires his attention but not his patience. He's standing in front of the windows with his phone to his ear, his back to me, and I let myself take him in before he knows I'm here. His custom-tailored tuxedo cuts sharp across his shoulders, the black fabric tapering to his waist. Black pants and gleaming polished black shoes complete the look. The way he holds himself, all that restless power banked behind his assured posture, makes my pulse race.
The moment I step into his line of sight in the reflection on the glass, everything changes. His shoulders go rigid. Whatever Beck is saying on the other end of that call stops mattering, because Nick turns my way and his mouth closes mid-word. His heated gaze moves slowly down my body with a rapt intensity that makes my skin tingle beneath the silk.
"I'll call you back." He ends his conversation without waiting for a response, and then his full attention is on me. He stares, practically gaping, taking me in from head to foot with the kind of focus that always makes me feel like the only meaningful thing in his world.
He closes the distance between us and his hand finds my hip, drawing me close. His thumb traces along the edge of the necklace where the pearls rest against my skin, his touch light, almost reverent, while the look in his eyes is anything but.
"You're not making it easy to leave this apartment tonight." His voice has dropped, gone rough at the edges.
"We have to leave. We have somewhere very important to be."
"I'm aware." But his gaze is still on my throat, on the pearls, and the muscle in his jaw tightens with the effort of his restraint. Tension vibrates through his hand at my hip, and I know it’s taking all of his control to keep from pulling me closer.
Nick's desire for me has never been quiet, but tonight he's keeping it leashed, and somehow that's more arousing than if he'd pinned me against the nearest wall.
“I take it you like the dress?”
“I love the dress, but I’m already counting the seconds until I can get you out of it.”
His mouth finds my temple, lingering there while his breath warms my skin. "Later," he says against my hair, and the single word carries enough promise to make heat pool low in my belly.
I smile up at him. "Definitely later." I smooth the lapel of his jacket, my fingers lingering on the fabric over his chest where I can feel his heart beating, steady and strong. "But first, your mother's night."
“Your night,” he softly corrects me. “This is as much about you and your work at the Elizabeth Xavier Center as it is about her.”
With a gallant nod, he offers his arm. We step into the private elevator together and he presses the button for the lobby where Patrick will be waiting to drive us to the venue. His hand covers mine where it rests in the crook of his elbow, his palm warm and soothing.
"You're nervous," he says.
"Not about speaking." I watch the floor numbers descend. "I've done gallery openings and press events. That part I can handle."
"Then what?"
I look at him, trying to find the words for what I've been carrying since I agreed to give this speech weeks ago.
"It's your mother's name on that building, Nick. I want to do justice to that. To her. I need to get this right tonight."
"You’re going to be great. As for doing my mother justice, you do that every day. You’ve done a hell of a lot more than that. You’ve put your heart into the art center, and into every kid we serve." His hand lifts from mine to my face, his scarred palm warm and rough against my cheek. "You honor her every time you walk into that building, Avery. Tonight is just saying the words out loud."
I turn my face into his touch and close my eyes, letting go of a small sigh. The knot of anxiety loosens, not gone, but softer. Its rough edges smoother under Nick’s tender reassurances.
"Thank you," I whisper, and he brushes his thumb across my cheekbone.
We exit the elevator and cross the lobby to the doors where Patrick stands. He greets us with a nod, then escorts us out to the waiting car. Nick and I slide into the backseat, Patrick jogging around to driver’s seat. Then we’re off.
We head south on Park Avenue to Fifth, traffic moving steadily for the handful of blocks before the St. Regis comes into view. The hotel with its old-money grandeur rises through the windshield, majestic and stately. Gabe's team has the press corralled behind barriers at a distance, cameras flashing but contained. Patrick pulls up to a designated area in front of the venue, our exit shielded from the clusters of press.
Nick gets out first, then turns and takes my hand to assist me out of the car while Patrick stands by, holding the door open for us. Nick and I walk toward the entrance together, and the steadiness of his touch at my back grounds me more than he probably knows. Reporters shout questions about the wedding, about the dress I’m wearing tonight, even a few rude inquiries about my mother. I hardly register any of them. Instead, I'm tuned into the rhythm of our footsteps, side by side, and the quiet contentment of walking into this lavish event with my husband.
Inside, the ballroom unfolds in amber light and murmured conversation. Easily two hundred tables, all dressed in ivory linen, with warm chandelier glow catching crystal and silver. Along the back wall, a projected slideshow features the Elizabeth Xavier Center in full operation. Children at easels. Teenagers collaborating on murals. Photographs I remember being taken,moments I was present for, frozen now in images that make my chest ache with pride.
