“It’s a pleasure,” he says gruffly, leaning in to kiss my cheek. He smells of the ocean, which I guess isn’t a surprise since he came over on the ferry not long ago.
“Right back at you.” I smile at him. But before I can say anymore, Skyler grabs my hand.
“We need a girls’ night,” she says, her voice determined. “Soon.” The way she looks at me leaves me with no doubt that she wants all the juicy details about me and Zach.
“I think I’m washing my hair,” I say with a smile, because even if they’re all the nosiest people I know, it’s so nice to be part of a girl gang.
Before Skyler can say another word, the music stops and Autumn steps onto the small platform in front of the stage, microphone in hand, her signature heels clicking against the polished floor in a steady rhythm. The spotlight comes on, its golden glow sweeping over the crowd as conversations hush around us.
“Good evening, everyone,” she says, her voice confident and smooth. The whole room goes silent, like they know she’ll throw a fit if they don’t. “Thank you all for coming to the Grand Liberty Hotel this evening. I know there’s plenty of art still to explore, but dinner is about to be served in the ballroom, and we have a few surprises planned you won’t want to miss.”
She lifts her glass, her eyes sweeping the room. “But first, I’d like to say thank you to those people who made tonight and the art trail possible. To the artists, to the island, and to my family, friends, and the people of Liberty who’ve thrown themselves into making the art trail and gala a success.”
There’s a murmur of agreement, the soft clink of champagne flutes rising around us.
“Now let’s go into dinner. And remember, keep those wallets warm, because after dinner the silent auction begins. We have thirty pieces up for auction, with part of the proceeds going to the amazing children’s charity that my brother and sister-in-law have set up. So eat, drink, enjoy, and spend, spend, spend.”
I laugh softly, because that’s so Autumn. And I’m absolutely certain she’ll make sure everybody bids way over the odds for the pieces that are available for sale.
Zach takes my hand. “Shall we sit down?”
I blink. “I’m not sure where I’m sitting.” There’s a seating chart on the other side of the room. I go to walk over but Zach pulls me closer.
“You’re sitting with me. We’re hosting the table together.”
“We are?” I say, my breath catching at how easily he says it. Like us sitting together in public is the most natural thing in the world.
I open my mouth to ask him what this means. Then I close it again, because this isn’t the time. But it doesn’t stop me from feeling a fizz of heat sliding through my chest as his fingers curl tightly around mine.
Then, like he knows I have so many questions, he leans forward and softly kisses me.
It feels like everybody’s watching us as we weave our way through the crowd toward the dining room. But he doesn’t let go or look away from me. When we get to the table, he greets everybody who’s already sitting there, pulling out the chair for me like a true gentleman, before he introduces me as his guest.
As soon as he sits next to me, I feel his hand curl aroundmy thigh, his fingers pressing against the silk of my dress under the tablecloth.
I turn to look at him and he smirks back. Like he knows his touch is enough to set me on fire.
“Hello,” I say, turning to look at the man on my left. “I’m Sadie.” I hold out my hand.
“Jean Mauret,” he says in a French accent, reaching out to take my hand. He lifts it to his lips. “Enchanté.”
“Knock it off, Jean,” Zach says, shaking his head. “We both know your French is as bad as your taste in art.”
“You know each other?” I ask.
Jean is grinning at Zach. “Unfortunately.” He sounds completely American now, all traces of his French accent gone. “This asshole walked into my apartment in Manhattan, told me my art stank, then proceeded to fleece me for millions.”
Zach rolls his eyes. “Your taste is terrible. You begged me to fix it.”
“I was vulnerable,” Jean says, placing a hand to his chest. “And hungover.”
Zach looks at me. “He had four Warhol prints and that was it. I did him a favor.”
Jean grins, sipping his wine. “And charged me accordingly. Though to be fair, he does have a good eye. My collection’s actually worth something now. And it helps me with the ladies. I look like I know what I’m doing.”
“Glad to be your wingman,” Zach mutters, but the smile is still on his face.
“What do you do, Sadie?” Jean asks.
