by Lauren Wood
5
Dawson
I was working in my studio one afternoon, enjoying the bright sunlight bursting through the open windows—excellent light for painting. But I was interrupted by a knock on my door. I crept over to the door, trying to peek through the hole to see who it was—worried it might have been my landlord coming to berate me some more over the late rent.
“Open up, you old scoundrel,” my buddy called out from the hallway. “It’s just me.”
“Pete! This is a surprise.” I beamed, opening the door to usher him in. “What kind of fresh hell are you here to lure me into today? Must be something big from the looks of it.” I eyed him up and down, seeing he was dressed to the nines in his tux.
“Oh do I ever have a treat for you,” he winked. “Go shower and put on a nice suit. We’re going to a ball, my friend.”
“A ball? Psh.” I scoffed.
“No, really. It’s the social event of the year. I’m going and you’re going with me, whether you like it or not,” he argued.
“What’s the occasion for this ridiculous ball?”
“Some big dating app is touting a rich single chick as their big bachelorette,” he explained. “Every rich eligible bachelor in the city is going to try and win her over.”
“Sounds like a shit show to me,” I grumbled, wondering why the hell anyone would willingly participate in such a thing.
“It sounds like a big party, for free, with lots of good contacts and money all crammed into one room,” he retorted.
“I don’t know, Pete,” I winced, turning my attention back to my painting. “I’m in a good flow here and not really feeling social. Especially if it involves those kinds of people.”
“Listen, this chick is smokin’ hot and she’s desperate enough to find a man that she’s going along with this whole thing,” he told me. “If nothing else, it will be fun to see all of those drooling idiots lining up to fight over her. It’s like trash reality TV, but playing out right before our very eyes while we sip champagne.”
“I don’t watch trash reality TV, even if it is playing out in real life.”
“Dawson, you’re coming,” he insisted again. “Come on, man. Think about it. There will be other women there who will be awfully jealous and insecure that they’re not in the spotlight of all this fuss. They’ll be desperate for an ego boost and will be taking home random men left and right. Most importantly, everyone there will be filthy rich. We’ll snag some rich women to be our patrons and support our lazy, starving artist asses.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, a smile creeping across my face. “You may have a point there,” I admitted, coming around to the idea. “How are we going to get into this thing anyway?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out two invitations, waving them before my eyes. “Don’t ask me how I got them. Just take it from me when I say I had to pull some serious strings. Now go clean up and put on a tux or whatever you have. Cinderella and all of her rich friends are waiting for us at the ball.”
“Free drinks?” I asked, raising a brow.
“All the champagne and Cristal and expensive brandy you can stomach,” he winked.
“Well why didn’t you just say that from the beginning?” I teased, taking off for the shower.
An hour later, I was dressed in my only tux and heading to the ballroom of the big local museum with Pete. There was a line of limos out front with a red carpet stretched out between them and the big front doors. Photographers snapped photos of the more notable guests on their arrival. When Pete and I approached the carpet, they stopped and talked amongst themselves long enough to confirm that no one knew who we were. And if we were nobodies, there was no reason to take our pictures.
“Fine by me,” I shrugged, heading up the stairs.
The ballroom was exactly what I imagined. Immaculate, glossy marble floors spread out under my feet, and big chandeliers dangled overhead. Men in their tuxes milled around with women in evening gowns, draped in sparkling diamonds. It reeked of money and brought on a sick feeling in my stomach.
“I need a drink,” I grumbled, looking around for the nearest bar or waiter.
“There. That’s her,” Pete announced, pointing to a crowd on the other side of the room.
The hoard of people parted just long enough for me to catch a glimpse of the guest of honor. This desperate bachelorette everyone had come to see or try to date. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was her.
“That woman right there? In the silver gown?” I asked.
“Yep. Isabella Landson,” Pete nodded. “Her family has more money than god. Or they did anyways, before her parents died. Now the whole fortune is hers, and word on the street is her brother is adding to it every day with his fat salary. It’s always the people who already have money who seem to come by it the easiest.”
“I can’t believe it,” I murmured, watching her from across the room.
Then the crowd parted enough for her to look around, and she spotted me within seconds. She was quick to look away, but I saw the brief moment of recognition flash across her face. She remembered me, and she was just as surprised to see me as I was to see her.
But I wasn’t taking my eyes off of her. No matter how hard she was trying to pretend like she hadn’t seen me, I was watching her like a hawk…just waiting for my chance to catch her alone.
With her being the guest of honor and all, and every guy in the joint clamoring to talk to her, an hour went by before I was able to corner her outside the ladies’ room. She tried to spin on her heels and go in the opposite direction the moment she spotted me.
“Oh no you don’t,” I laughed, chasing after her. “You’re not getting off the hook that easily.”
“I’m not on a hook,” she snipped. “I just don’t want to talk to you, and I don’t intend to.”
“Why are you avoiding me?” I huffed. “You’re the one who failed to mention you were in the middle of this big spectacle when we first met.”
“Actually, I did try to mention it,” she fumed. “But you were the one who lied and said you didn’t know what I was talking about. And yet…here you are.”
“A friend dragged me along. Trust me, I would never be caught dead at something like this unless someone forced me to come.”
She rolled her eyes and avoided looking back at me, still seeming desperate to get away from me. God, she was something in that silver sparkling gown that plunged in front and back. There was a long slit going up her thighs, showing off her gorgeous legs. She looked like a diamond in human form, only in the sexiest way possible. I wanted more than anything to get under that dress and see the rest of her.
“You look fucking incredible, for what it’s worth,” I told her.
“It’s not worth much. Compliments are a dime a dozen this evening.”
“You say that like you’re not eating up every second of it,” I teased.
“I’m really not,” she shot back. “This whole thing is a favor to my brother.” Her eyes drifted up and down my tux. “I have to admit, you clean up surprisingly well. Or maybe you just look different when you’re not selling things on the street corner.”
I laughed, crossing my arms as I leaned against the wall. “I’d hardly call having a coveted booth of paintings in the art district just selling junk on the street.”
She raised a brow. “Well, I would.”
“Shows how much you know about the art world.”
“I apparently know more than you do,” she said, flashing a cocky smile. “Let me guess. You never step foot in a real gallery either. Does someone have to drag you to those exhibitions just like someone dragged you here tonight?”
“What are you implying?”
“That you’re one of those guys who tries to act like you’re too cool and too good for everything. You snub all things bourgeoisie so you don’t have to feel inferior, but deep down it eats at you more than it does the people who just accept it and move on.”
“You mean people who
feed into it and play along with it.” I looked over my shoulder, back towards the ballroom. “So, what’s the deal with this ball? Are you claiming to be the woman who has it all…All except love? Is that it? I could help you out with that, you know.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” she scoffed sarcastically. “You and every other guy in here tonight.”
“Well, I ask again, sweetheart. If you hate it so much, why are you going along with it?”
“Same reason I went out for a drink with you, I guess,” she shrugged. “I’m a masochist.”
I mocked a motion over my heart like someone was shooting me in the chest, which she took as her chance to storm off back into the ball. But I kept watching her for the rest of the night. She was a vision, and I could see an intense restlessness in her. Her eyes glossed over with boredom.
Isabella was an enigma indeed. She really did hate being in this spotlight, being the belle of the ball. So why was she doing it? And if this wasn’t her kind of thing, what was? Did she even know?
6
Isabella
I was fuming as I raced back into the ball, away from Dawson. He had ruined my attempt at a brief escape, and it made me resent him even more. It was funny to think how awful he had to be for me to see the crowd of sparkling, dazzling, empty people with all eyes trained to me as more appealing than a conversation with him.
But I did. Because as far as I could tell, he was a liar. He pretended he didn’t know who I was, but he obviously did. Why else would he be there? I shook my head and clenched my fists, remembering when we met and how clueless and aloof he acted.
All along it was a ploy. He recognized me instantly and thought he’d use the opportunity to get me alone and get some kind of upper hand before he was thrust into the ball with the hoards of other men fighting for my attention. His competition.
Well, his plan had failed. Because it only made me dislike him more. I hadn’t even really thought badly of him before. There was something intriguing about him, but I didn’t think much beyond that. Now I lost all interest. The last thing I needed was a clever liar stalking around trying to corner me.
“There you are,” my brother’s voice sounded in my ear. “I was wondering where you went. Are you enjoying yourself?”
I darkened my eyes at him. “You know I’m not. Everyone’s staring at me.”
“You should be used to that.”
“Not like this,” I groaned. “I can’t move an inch without someone using it as their chance to strike and corner me into another dull conversation. Seriously, what was the criteria for the men in attendance? Beyond being unbearably boring.”
“Every woman in the room wishes she was you right now,” he reminded me, as if that made it any better.
“I need a drink,” I scoffed, snatching the first glass of champagne that passed by on a tray.
Jack wrapped his arm around me as I threw back the bubbly yellow liquid and started guiding me across the room. “There’s someone I want you to meet. Someone who I don’t think you’ll find so boring and unbearable.”
“Here’s hoping,” I laughed, snatching another glass of champagne which I threw back just as quickly.
I relished in the momentary relief of being in my big brother’s protective grasp. He pushed past clusters of people, making it clear I was off limits, at least for a minute, while I was with him. Until he stopped in front of one man that the crowds seemed to part for.
“Isabella. This is Richard Hayes,” Jack announced.
Richard Hayes. He flashed a perfect, big, white mesmerizing smile and his blue eyes sparked over me, drinking me in from head to toe. But not in the way other men had been doing all night. He had a confidence about him that said he could take me or leave me, though his preference was obvious. He wasn’t hurting for female companions either way.
He was tall and muscular, impeccably dressed. And I could tell by the way Jack’s eyes widened and nodded towards him that he obviously loved the guy.
“Isabella,” Richard smiled, reaching for my hand to kiss it—just like some kind of Prince Charming. “I was hoping I’d have a chance to meet the guest of honor. You’re even more dazzling in person than in your photos.”
“And just how did you come by this chance to meet me?” I asked, my eyes sparking over his perfect, plump, kissable lips. “With a direct introduction from my brother, no less?”
“Jack and I have done some business together before,” he replied, cool and calm. “Truthfully, I’ve been intrigued by rumors of the little Landson sister long before you became Heartstring’s prized bachelorette.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed between us before he turned to me with a wink. “I’ll leave you two alone to talk.”
We moved in closer to each other as Jack left us. The crowd was closing in around us, and I could feel everyone glaring—especially the other guys who were waiting impatiently for their own chance to talk to me. But Richard seemed to attract his own small crowd of groupies. Several women scoffed at me and the way we were looking at each other.
“Hey Richard. Think you could indulge me for a moment?” I asked.
“I was certainly hoping for the chance to,” he smirked.
“I need some fresh air. It’s starting to feel rather…suffocating in here.”
“Say no more.” He set down his empty glass on a tray as it passed by and took me by the arm. “I know just the spot. Come with me.”
The dirty looks aimed at us only intensified as he led me through the crowd towards the balcony doors. Several people ignored the signs and tried to start up a conversation with us anyways, but we just kept walking. Some of them even tried to squeeze out onto the balcony with us, but Richard was clever enough to evade them and lock the door behind us.
“Much better,” I sighed, taking in a deep breath of the crisp night air. “So, tell me, Richard…What is it about you that has my brother so smitten?”
“Is he smitten?”
“He definitely wants me to be smitten by you at the very least,” I chuckled.
“Well, I can’t speak to Jack’s opinion of me…” he said slowly. “But I’m a high-profile lawyer. I guess you could say I’m pretty well off. I come from a good family, and I’m pretty active in the community.”
I felt a tinge of disappointment at just how predictable his response was. Of course Jack liked this guy.
“In other words…You’re a rich, big-shot lawyer. I’m guessing you come from a long line of lawyers, judges, and politicians, meaning you’re connected. And by being active in the community what you actually mean is you can be found at some high society ball like this on any given weekend? Is that about right?”
His brow raised with a grin. “That’s one way to put it. Why don’t you tell me more about yourself?”
I leaned over the railing of the balcony. “There’s not much to tell. I love to travel, eat good food, and I used to love socializing at parties…though that seems to be losing its appeal lately. Hence my disdain for this ball.”
He leaned down next to me, inching closer. His voice dropped to a deep, sexy rasp that made me ache inside. “In other words...you’re popular with lots of money and friends. You’re an ‘it’ girl who’s used to people wanting to be near you and be seen with you. But deep down, you’re bored and lonely?”
I swallowed hard, hating to think I was so transparent. I wanted to believe Richard possessed some magical ability to peer inside of me, but that it was special and unique to only him. It was cringe-worthy to think I spelled it out so easily to everyone around me.
“Lonely,” I echoed, my eyes floating across the view. “Yes. I’m afraid I am. That’s why my brother is doing all of this. He doesn’t want me to be lonely anymore, but he doesn’t know what else to do about it other than forcing me into dating.”
“You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink,” he quipped.
“Don’t tell Jack that,” I laughed. “You’ll burst his bubble.”
Richard was quiet for
a moment before turning to me and holding out his hand. “Hey, do you want to dance? Even if you never want to talk to me again after this, dancing is a great momentary cure from loneliness. Especially when you do it under the influence of alcohol.”
“Is that so?” I smiled. I glanced over my shoulder, back towards the ball. “No, I don’t want to go back in there yet.”
“Who said anything about going back?” He took my hand and pulled me close to his body, spinning us in soft circles around the balcony.
After a minute or two, I leaned in and rested my head on his shoulder, inhaling deep whiffs of his cologne. There were truthfully few things I loved more than the feeling of my cheek against an expensive suit over a big strong chest, manly scents wafting around me. I loved how a man’s cologne would cling to your clothes and hair so you could steal a few more whiffs of it later, even after he was gone.
As we danced, barely able to hear the string quartet playing inside the ball, I started softening up to this Richard Hayes. Why not? He fit my brother’s criteria for the type of guy he hoped to see me with, and mine too, as far as I knew. I hadn’t given as much thought to what I wanted…but a gorgeous, rich, prominent lawyer oozing charm and wit? What wasn’t to like?
More importantly, he was better than this Dawson creep who had taken to stalking me, with his bad art on the street corner and pitiful work ethic, his smelly bars, weird foods, and cheap beer. No. Richard Hayes was obviously on another level entirely. He was on my level.
“Isabella, I have a confession to make,” he said softly, his chest humming against my ear. “I know I said I wanted this dance even if we never spoke again…but the longer we do it, the more I hope that’s not the case.”
I smiled up at him. “I have to admit…I’m feeling the same way.”
“Good. Then you won’t object to me taking you out some time?” He asked, bringing our dance to a close. “I’m not blind or naive. I know you’re probably walking away from this ball with a calendar full of dates. I’ll wait a month or more if I have to. But I’m worried I’d regret it for a long time if I didn’t at least try for a chance to take you out and have an evening alone with you.”
