by T. K. Leigh
“And he wants me.” I look back at the dress.
“Yes, sweetheart. He does. He has since the night you met.” She places her hands on my shoulders, forcing me to face her. “He may have lied to you, things may not have gone as planned, but I don’t think your story could have been written any other way. Do you?” She cocks a brow.
There’s only one answer that seems fitting. “No, I don’t.”
“Good.” She beams. “Now, let’s get you ready for the ball, Cinderella. This time, there’s no turning into a pumpkin at midnight.”
Chapter Forty-Two
I look down at my dress, a hint of the same inadequacy I experienced my first weekend in the Hamptons with Julian washing over me. Curious eyes float in my direction the instant I enter the elaborate ballroom at the Four Seasons. I summon every ounce of courage I possess, aware most of the people present have learned of our breakup and are probably wondering why I’m here. Men don crisp tuxedos. Women wear stunning gowns, glittering jewels covering their necks and ears. Impressive crystal chandeliers hang overhead, the ambient lighting not too bright as couples dance to a jazz band playing an old Ella Fitzgerald tune.
As I continue farther inside, my eyes zero in on the bar. My nerves are at an all-time high and I need something to help settle the butterflies in my stomach. With each step I take, I feel the whispers of the other guests against my skin. All summer, I never felt as out of place as I do now. I had Julian at my side back then. This is just another reminder of everything he did for me, how he made me feel empowered amongst those who view it their duty to judge others.
Once I have a manhattan in my hand and take a sip, I return my attention to the enormous ballroom, searching for Julian. But it’s hard to find him in a sea of what I estimate to be over five hundred people.
After Sonia’s passing, I’d received word of this event to raise funds for the foundation her sister had started in her name with the purpose of providing help and resources to other women in similar situations as Sonia found herself in.
Thankfully, the police brought Ethan in for questioning based on the information I, as well as Julian, provided. When the robbery gone wrong angle didn’t pan out, they took a closer look at Ethan and ended up arresting him after his alibi fell through. Once I learned that, I felt a bit of vindication for Sonia, knowing Ethan wouldn’t get away with what he’d done. But there are times I turn on the TV and listen to newscasters discuss recent developments in her case that I can’t help but feel I could have done something to prevent this from happening in the first place. I can only imagine what Julian must be going through, the guilt that must consume him over the fact he tried to help, but it wasn’t enough. Just like with his mother. I should have stood by his side and comforted him during this difficult time that must have reopened old wounds. I hope it’s not too late to do that.
As I search for Julian, or at least a friendly face who could point me in the right direction, a voice comes over the speakers and everyone turns their attention to the stage in the center of the room. Cameras flash, reporters lifting audio recorders to get a few snippets. That’s how it usually is at these functions. The media is invited to ensure the event makes headlines, padding egos. But here, it’s not about that. It’s about sharing Sonia’s story and encouraging more people to help those in similar situations.
“Hello, friends,” the woman says in a slight Spanish accent. Her olive-toned skin and dark hair make it apparent she’s Sonia’s sister, their appearance nearly identical. “My name is Isabella Moreno. I wanted to take a minute to thank all of you for coming out tonight to support this foundation.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Sonia would have wanted to know her death wasn’t in vain, that something good could come out of it, that perhaps she could have a hand in preventing the same tragedy from happening to someone else. It’s because of your generosity that can become a reality.”
There’s polite applause from the crowd before she continues. “I had no idea what was going on in her personal life. When the cameras were on, she was all smiles, telling everyone how happy she was in her marriage. We all believed it was the perfect love story. It wasn’t until this past year that I learned the truth. It all started when she told me she’d hired an escort named August Laurent. Or, as many of you know him, Julian Gage.”
She steps away, revealing a man in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, like many of the other men here. But he’s not like any of the others, not to me.
Low murmurs and a few gasps ring out as he steps up to the podium, many of the attendees just as surprised about this revelation as I was when I first learned the truth.
“Good evening.” Placing his hands on the podium, he pauses in contemplation, briefly closing his eyes before looking at the assembled guests. “Since Sonia’s death, I’ve debated what to do, what to tell all of you. I’ve kept this secret for years. My work depended on me being able to maintain my anonymity, and it worked. But losing Sonia made me reconsider things. It made me realize the importance of telling those you care about how you feel. You may not get another chance.”
He momentarily averts his gaze, drawing in a deep breath. “Sonia was surrounded by people she thought were her friends and was in a marriage that, on its face, was the picture of perfection. But she’d never felt so alone. That’s why she sought me out. And over the weeks we spent together, she confided in me. I think she just wanted someone to talk to, someone who would listen and not judge her for staying in an abusive relationship. Because of our time together, she finally found the strength to file for divorce.”
He grips the podium tighter, his expression fraught with emotion. When he looks at the audience again, tears are visible in his eyes and his voice wavers.
“Unfortunately, despite the courage she demonstrated, her husband carried out his threat. She called me that night, panicked. I tried to get to her. But I was too late.”
My heart drops to the pit of my stomach as I recall the night he left me for what I thought to be another woman. He claimed it was a matter of life and death. I can’t believe how true that was.
He clears his throat, his voice becoming strong once more. “And that’s why this work is so important. Sonia had her freedom ripped from her, but our hope is that other women won’t have to suffer the same tragedy.
“Sonia isn’t the first victim of domestic violence, and she certainly won’t be the last. But we can try to combat this epidemic, this idea of patriarchy and male dominance that seems to permeate society. Yes, men can be victims of domestic violence, too. It’s the idea of exerting power and authority over another person that needs to stop. It happens far too often and to people we never expect because of how happy they appear on the outside. Hell, Sonia always smiled, no matter what. I should have known something was off, considering my mother did the same thing…until she was murdered by her husband, my step-father, when I was twelve.”
An eerie silence falls over the room as people absorb his confession, his truth. This is a man who’s spent the past decade in these social circles, pretending to be someone he wasn’t so they’d accept him. It warms my heart to witness him finally discuss his past so freely. I hope it will encourage more to do the same.
“I haven’t spoken about my mother in years, not until a few months ago when I had the pleasure of meeting a woman who made me rethink everything.” He laughs slightly, a sparkle in his eyes, as if recalling happy memories. “She had this strange habit of being herself all the time, which completely captivated me, considering we all have a tendency of pretending to be someone we aren’t. Not this woman. And by being herself, she helped me see that it’s okay to talk about my past, about the skeletons in my own closet. All the past trauma, torment, hurt… She called it my ‘ugly’. And she embraced the ugly. It’s what makes us who we are. We can’t erase it. Do we wish we could? You bet your ass. Instead of doing everything to bury it, we should embrace all the pieces that make us uniquely us.
“So tonight, in honor of Son
ia, I’d like to announce the groundbreaking of a project I’ve been working on. For those who may not be aware, when I inherited Theodore Price’s fortune, I used a great deal of that money to open women’s shelters here in the Tri-state Area. A few years ago, I wanted to do something bigger, so I expanded my charitable foundation reach into every state in the country. But it still wasn’t enough. I wanted to do more. Now, thanks to all your generosity, I’m able to do that. Working with Isabella, we’ll be going overseas, helping women born in cultures where abuse is so pervasive, it’s considered normal. It’s not. And it’s my mission to help even more women realize this. Thank you.”
Thunderous applause erupts as he steps away from the podium, pausing for a few photos before making his way from the stage. Reporters descend on him, all of them shouting questions about his identity as August Laurent. Instead of humoring them, he responds that they’ll have to wait until the February issue of Blush magazine hits the newsstands to get the answers they’re looking for. My heart expands, thinking how those magazines will now fly off shelves even more so than they would have.
I’m so lost in the gift he’s given me I almost don’t realize he’s leaving. Snapping out of my stupor, I rush toward him, but after his revelation, it seems everyone wants to know more, people swarming him as he makes his escape. He must have predicted this would happen because two bodyguards flank him, ushering him out of the room as other security personnel escort the media from the event now that the speech portion is over.
I call Julian’s name, but he can’t hear me over everyone else. All I can do is watch as he’s whisked away, without a single glance in my direction. As the excitement comes to an end, the sound of saxophones and piano playing a jazz standard fills the space. Out of nowhere, I hear my name.
I whip my head up to see Sadie rushing toward me. I don’t have a second to brace myself before she barrels into me, hugging me enthusiastically. Thankfully, I’m quick enough to save the remnants of my drink from spilling.
“I’ve missed you!”
I still at first, surprised by her sudden attack. Then I melt into her embrace. “I’ve missed you, too, Sadie.”
She pulls back, her eyes frenzied. “Did you know?”
“Know what?”
“About Julian being August Laurent? My god!” She loops her arm through mine, not taking a breath. “You were together while you were doing a story on August Laurent!” She gasps as she puts two and two together, facing me once more. “That’s why you broke up, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
Her brows furrow as she surveys me. “But if you broke up, why are you here?”
I take a long sip of my manhattan, draining it. “I realized I made a mistake and came here to tell him.” I shrug in defeat. “But I missed my chance.”
She gives me an encouraging smile, squeezing my bicep. “It’s okay. It’ll all work out. Trust me.” She winks.
“Thanks, Sadie.” I sigh as I place my glass on a nearby hightop table. “But now that Prince Charming has left the ball, there’s no reason for Cinderella to hang around. It was great seeing you again.” I start to turn from her.
“Wait!” she yells, forcing me to stop. I look over my shoulder at her, an eyebrow raised. Her frantic expression softens. “Since you’re already here, how about a drink? I’m buying,” she jokes, considering it’s an open bar.
“Honestly, I’m not sure I’ll be the best company right now. I should just—”
“Come on, Evie. One drink while I update you on all the gossip, and there is some juicy gossip. For old time’s sake.”
On a long exhale, I reluctantly nod. “Okay. One drink. Then I’m going home and curling up on the couch with a plate of Christmas cookies.”
“One drink. That’s all I need.”
I follow Sadie to the bar. She orders two manhattans, then we find a hightop table in the corner. The out-of-the-way location reminds me of the day we first met when we sat at a table hidden away, which allowed her to give me the dirt on the who’s who of the Hamptons. She does the same now, updating me on affairs, unplanned pregnancies, and even a few paternity tests. It’s like being brought up to speed on my favorite soap opera.
As she’s telling me about one of the guest’s affairs with the nanny, the music changes and the opening notes to an all-too-familiar song in three-quarter time fills the room. I stiffen, my breath hitching as memories of dancing to this song with Julian return.
The lighting in the room lowers, apart from a spotlight on the dance floor. When I look in its direction, my heart catches in my throat at the man I see standing there, a small smile forming on his mouth. His eyes locked on mine, he extends his hand toward me.
Sadie swipes the drink out of my hand and pushes me away from her. After passing her a look of appreciation, I slowly walk across the ballroom, the sea of people parting for me. With each step, my heart beats a little faster, my lungs struggle to capture a breath, my skin tingles with the memory of Julian’s touch.
Approaching him, I float my gaze to his outstretched hand, briefly hesitating. His expression falls, panic overcoming him at the idea of me walking away.
“Got ya,” I tease as I link my fingers with his.
Relief rolls off him in waves and, like so many times during our summer, he twirls me around to get a better look at the dress before yanking my body against his. He places his hand on my lower back and I drape my free arm over his shoulder. Then he leads me around the dance floor to the band leader singing “Moon River”, neither one of us saying a word. There’s no need. We share a connection, one that allows us to say everything we need with a simple look.
Months ago, it would have bothered me to share such a personal moment in the company of others. Now it doesn’t. All I see is Julian. He’s all that matters. This moment is all that matters. Not his past. Not my past. Just us. Just now. He taught me to embrace the moment, to stop living life according to a predetermined itinerary. Life doesn’t always go according to plan. Julian’s living proof of that. I’m living proof of that.
“You came back,” I finally say once our song ends and we stop moving.
“I’ll always come back for you, Guinevere. Always.”
I run my hands through his sandy hair, relishing in the sensation I’d deprived myself of these past few weeks. “And I’ll always come back for you, Julian.” I bring my lips to his. “Always.”
He cups my cheeks, his grip firm and demanding. Then he covers my mouth with his, his kiss soft, sweet, and delicious in all the ways I remember it to be. But he doesn’t stop at a simple exchange, despite our audience. He sweeps his tongue against my bottom lip, begging for entrance, which I can’t deny him. His hold on me tightens as he pulls me closer, exploring my mouth in a way that makes it feel like it’s the first time. And that’s what this is. I’m finally kissing every side of Julian Gage. And I’m willing to accept every piece of him.
Pulling back, he rests his forehead on mine. “A symphony,” he murmurs.
“What’s that?” I ask in a breathy voice.
“That’s what I hear when I kiss you. Have since the very first time. And I have a feeling I will until our very last kiss, which I hope is when we’re both old and gray.”
“Is that right?” I flirt.
He nods slowly, his eyes locked on mine, the fire sending a chill down my spine. “That’s a promise. No more lies. No more games. Only the truth. Only you. You’re all I want. All I need. And I hope I can be that for you, too.”
It takes every ounce of resolve I have not to melt into a puddle on the floor. The only reason I don’t is because he’s supporting me, just like he always has, both as August and Julian. Truth be told, I love both men. They’ve molded the man in front of me into the person he is. For that, I’ll always be grateful.
“You’re more than that.” I beam, then chew on my bottom lip, my expression falling. “There’s just one thing.”
“Anything. Whatever you want, it’s yours,” he promises i
n desperation.
“Can we still play a few games?” I waggle my brows, giving him a coy smile. “Because I’d really like to try some roleplay with you.”
His jaw clenches as his eyes widen. Then he brings his lips back to mine, his kiss ravenous and insatiable. “What am I going to do with you?”
“I have a few ideas.”
Before I have a chance to register what’s happening, he hoists me over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold. The entire place erupts in cheers and applause. When I hear a familiar whistle, I crane my neck up, meeting Sadie’s infectious smile. I beam at her, grateful she encouraged me to stay. The moment fills me with so much joy, I don’t even care about the scene we’re making as he carries me out of the gala, through the hotel lobby, and down the busy Manhattan sidewalk, tourists staring. It’s not until we’re a few blocks away that he finally puts me down.
Always the gentleman, he shrugs out of his tuxedo jacket and places it over my shoulders. When I glance at the storefront to see where we are, I fall in love with him a little more.
Tiffany’s.
For someone who said he wasn’t cut out to be in a relationship, he sure knows how to make a woman happy.
Brushing my hair behind my ears, he brings his hands up to my face, admiring me as the tension between us shifts from one of playfulness to one of devotion. “I love you, Guinevere Fitzgerald.”
“And I love you, Julian Gage. And August Laurent. And any other personalities hiding in there. I love them all.”
He chuckles, the sound exactly what’s been missing. There’s nothing like hearing him laugh. I used to be desperate to make everyone around me laugh to mask the fact I wasn’t happy with the life I’d planned. Now I only care about making Julian laugh.
“That’s good to know, but from this moment forward, there’s no one else. Now that I finally have you, I don’t need to be anyone other than myself.”
He brushes his lips against mine and kisses me in front of the display window of Tiffany’s. I couldn’t think of a more perfect spot to begin our story of forever. It just goes to show you. The greatest things in life can’t be planned.
