“Good. That’s the plan,” Ronan says. I’m surprised to see that he looks pleased, rather than alarmed, at the crowd forming to meet the stars. “Let’s head into the auction room.”
“I’ll ask a waiter to bring us some drinks,” Emma says as Ronan herds the rest of us into the smaller room off to the side of the ballroom.
As we walk in, I feel a little queasy at seeing my pictures hanging in the makeshift gallery. Items for auction surround us, including paintings, drawings, and photographs from other artists.
Ronan steps up to my art work, and we’re soon inundated by party guests wanting to be introduced to the stars in our midst. I watch as every time someone tries to talk to Ronan, he brings their attention to one of the auction items first, especially my paintings, complimenting them proudly and bringing up the good cause. Chase and Sebastian do the same.
The guests place their bids with enthusiasm, each trying to one-up the other. The auction is going to be a far greater success than ever expected, and I know it’s because of Ronan. Time flies as I’m helping people, answering questions, and greeting friends and neighbors.
I’ve become quite popular since my nanny gig to the stars. And now, with the addition of Sebastian and Chase, everyone is clamoring to find out how I got them to attend tonight.
And the simple answer is, I’m not sure. And the not-as-simple answer is Ronan. Ronan made it happen. I’m too much of a coward to give a name to the hope in my heart. So I tell myself once again that he’s just a great guy, one who helps his friends.
Is that what I am to him? Are we friends with benefits?
My mom walks over to me, beaming. “Darling! Everything is fabulous! We’re so proud of you.” She gives me a big hug.
“Well done, Poppy girl,” my dad says. “You organized everything beautifully.”
I swallow. “Thanks, guys.” No matter how much I want to be like Ronan and cut back on my people-pleasing, I can’t help but bask in the glow of my parents’ approval.
“Are these your paintings?” my mom asks, moving closer to my winter landscapes.
I nod with a nervous swallow. I take a sip of my Christmas cocktail.
“They’re gorgeous. Darling, look at what Poppy painted.” My mom calls my dad over.
He peers quickly at my paintings. “Very pretty,” he says. “It’s a nice little hobby you have here.”
“Thanks.” That proud glow dims, and my shoulders slump. I know my dad means well, but I’m not sure if he’ll ever understand me or realize that being an artist isn’t just a little hobby—it’s an intrinsic part of me.
I frown, mulling over that sobering thought as my parents move on to bid on a special dinner at one of their favorite restaurants, when Ronan breaks away from the crowd and walks toward me.
“Are you okay?” he asks, looking so debonair with his large body all wrapped up in a black suit.
When he places a hand on my waist, almost spanning the width of it, I lean into his side, not able to hold back my elemental response.
He leans down, and his lips brush my ear. I make a sound that’s a cross between a mewl and a moan.
“Dance with me,” his says in a rough voice.
“Okay.”
With his hand still on my back, he leads me to the dance floor. It’s been so busy that I haven’t danced all night, and I realize that the evening will soon come to a close.
The beginning chords of a song I try to place start up. It’s familiar, nagging at me. They’ve been playing Christmas music for most of the night, but this isn’t a holiday song.
I tilt my head, and then it comes to me.
“‘Lady in Red,’” Ronan murmurs, confirming my guess.
“That’s it,” I say as he takes me in his arms.
“I love this song.” I’m mesmerized by being held so close to him.
“I know,” he says. “I requested it.”
I back away just enough to look up at him and catch my breath at his expression.
