Page 118 of Unmasking Mr. Crown

"My power tie. And don't say it's awful. It's supposed to be, so go with it."

"Darlin', I say we skip tonight's hoopla and hop on the next flight to Paris. That dress is too grand for a simple Chicago debut." Cecil twirled his wife around, the cut lace skirt of her dress fanning out in soft, flowing waves.

"And miss out on a front row seat to our own personalized version of The Bachelor? No way in hell."

"You're not actually thinking of proposing to this woman tonight, are you?" Cecil asked.

"Cecil Everett, I may be wild and reckless at times, but I am not stupid." Dash tucked a small pair of gold scissors into the inner pocket of his jacket.

The threesome took the elevator down to the hotel lobby. Colt, Kate, and Foster stood waiting near the main doors, all dressed in various shades of black and gray.

Is this a party or a funeral? Might be a little of both.

He took inventory of the five faces around him, their hopeful expressions locked on him, anticipating a pregame speech. He hadn’t prepared anything, so he kept it short and sweet.

"I want to thank all of you for coming along. I've done some crazy things in my life, but this is a new level of crazy, even for me," Dash said with a smile.

"Well, the night is still young." Cecil clapped him on the back. “Let’s see where it takes us.”

Chicago traffic followed its usual stop and start pattern but the conversation inside their limo flowed with ease. Cecil and Foster led the way, laughing and joking like old friends. The real story in the limo, however, involved Colt and Kate. Dash couldn’t take his eyes off them, sitting so close, you couldn’t slip a postcard between their bodies. Of course they made sense. Both incredibly smart. Both snarky and adventurous. Both losing their significant others in tragic ways. They’d been out every night since they’d met. Dash had yet to get all the details, but Colt’s permanently-in-place smile told most of the story.

“They’re pretty cozy, aren’t they?” Miranda whispered.

“Yep.” Dash nodded in agreement. “They look good together.”

“Not any better than you and Natalie are going to look. You’ve got the envelope, right?” she asked.

Dash patted his jacket pocket. “It’s safe and sound, right here. I still think you should be the one to present it.”

“Nope, I think it’s better if you give it to her later, when it’s just the two of you. I’d start crying and making a big scene and no one wants to see that.”

“I just hope I get the chance to be alone with her later. This might not go the way we think it will.”

“Are you kidding? Tonight is gonna be everything you’ve dreamed of and more.”

"Well, no matter what happens, know that I love you and I appreciate everything you've done for me and for Natalie." He pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"Stop that. I spent three hundred dollars on lash extensions, and the best mascara money can buy." She dabbed away tears at the corners of her eyes.

"We've logged a lot of miles together recently. I'm gonna miss taking you out and showing you off. Promise that tonight you’ll save at least one dance for me."

"Like hell you are. And as far as saving a dance goes …” She took his hand and gave it a loving squeeze. “Only if you let me lead.”

Natalie examined herself in the full-length mirror for the millionth time, falling more in love with each look. She'd hit the jackpot at a resale shop. Another white dress, perfect for the role of future bride. The first and only dress she'd tried on—long sleeved with a low-cut back and hundreds of sparkling diamond-like jewels embellishing the cuffs. The best part? It only set her back forty bucks.

She dumped the contents of her large purse onto her bed and selected a handful of things. Keys. Breath mints. Fifty dollars emergency cash. A safety pin, in case of a wardrobe malfunction. Her gaze fell on Dash’s monogrammed handkerchief, still stained with red wine and smears of lipstick. She picked it up, tracing his initials yet again. DSB. Every time she looked at it, she couldn’t help but hear Journey’s famous chorus, “Don’t Stop Believin’”. His middle name remained a mystery. Samuel? Stephen? Seth?

"The mystery ends tonight, Mr. Crown." She slipped the handkerchief inside her sequined bag.

Her phone pinged with a text. She laughed when a picture popped up on her screen: a selfie of Noah standing outside her door, wearing a sinister grin with the caption, “Here's Johnny!”.

She tucked her phone into the small bag and slipped her feet into a pair of strappy heels. With every step she took toward the door, her smile widened. Her chance at true happiness, now moments away–if her plan fell into place as designed.

"I'm coming!" she hollered.

When she opened the door, the look on Noah’s face said it all. He took two steps back, motioning for her to turn around. "Let me look at you," he commanded.

Natalie gave a twirl. "Do you approve?" she asked, striking a pose against the doorframe.