Invited To A Ball
Jo raised an eyebrow. “Right. And you didn’t just walk right up to him, practically daring him to say something snarky.”
I groaned, throwing my hands up. “Jo, you’re impossible.”
“And you’re in denial,” she retorted, crossing her arms. “Look, I get it. He’s annoying, and arrogant, and ridiculously good-looking—”
“Jo!”
“—but you can’t tell me you didn’t feel something in that room,” she finished, unfazed by my protests.
“I felt like I wanted to strangle him,” I muttered, slumping into my chair.
“Strangling can be romantic in some contexts,” Jo said with a mischievous grin.
I gave her a look. “That’s disturbing, even for you.”
She laughed, leaning against the desk. “Fine, fine. But seriously, what’s going on? You’ve been extra tense lately. And not just because of Mr. Tall, Dark, and Infuriating.”
I sighed, rubbing my temples. “It’s the money. We’re barely holding things together, Jo. If we don’t secure more funding soon, the research could stall. And that would mean—”
“No more groundbreaking surgeries, no more saving lives,” she finished, nodding sympathetically. “I know, Remi. I get it.”
“This isn’t just about me,” I continued, my voice quieter now. “It’s about the patients, the staff, everyone who relies on this place. That’s why we need these investors, no matter how annoying one of them is.”
Jo tilted her head, studying me for a moment. “You know,” she said slowly, “there might be another way to, uh, charm the investors.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Why do I feel like I’m not going to like this idea?”
She grinned. “Because you’re a workaholic who hates fun. But hear me out—there’s a masquerade ball tomorrow night. On a yacht. And it’s going to be crawling with wealthy people who love throwing money at shiny projects.”
I stared at her. “A masquerade ball. On a yacht. That’s your big plan?”
“Yes,” she said confidently. “Think about it. You could network, meet potential donors, maybe even get one of those investors to double down on their support.”
“And what, you expect me to waltz in wearing a mask and a ball gown, charming people with witty banter and champagne?”
“Exactly!” Jo said, clapping her hands together. “See, you get it.”
I groaned, slumping further into my chair. “Jo, I don’t have time for this.”
“You don’t have time not to do this,” she countered. “You just said it yourself—the research depends on funding. And this? This is a golden opportunity.”
I hesitated, torn between my instinct to argue and the nagging voice in my head that told me she had a point.
“Think of it this way,” Jo added, her tone turning persuasive. “It’s one night. You mingle, you charm, you secure funding, and then you go back to saving lives. Easy.”
I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. “I don’t even have anything to wear.”
Jo’s eyes lit up, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ve got you covered.”
I gave her a wary look. “Why does that sound ominous?”
“Because you’re about to trust me with the most important decision of the night,” she said dramatically. “Your outfit.”
“Jo—”
“Shh,” she said, holding up a finger. “No arguments. Just say yes.”
I stared at her, realizing too late that I was already out of excuses. “Fine,” I muttered.
She squealed, practically bouncing with excitement. “You won’t regret this, Remi! It’s going to be amazing. And who knows? Maybe you’ll even run into—”
“Don’t,” I warned, cutting her off before she could say his name.
She smirked, clearly unfazed. “Fine. But if the handsome rich Mr Vaughn shows up, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
I groaned, burying my face in my hands. What had I just gotten myself into?
****
I tucked my hands into my jacket as I walked toward Clara’s ward in the research facility. I’d created this space specifically for her, a place where she could get the best care, where I could monitor her progress and make sure she had a fighting chance. But today, as I stood outside her room, hesitation clawed at me.
The blinds were partially drawn, the faint sound of the ventilator filtering into the hallway. I stepped inside, closing the door softly behind me. Clara lay still, her body covered in bandages, the machines doing most of the work for her. Her face was barely recognizable under the burns, and the sight was enough to make my stomach twist.
“What are you dreaming, Clara?” I whispered, stepping closer to her bed. “Are you somewhere warm? Somewhere safe?”
I reached out but stopped short of touching her hand, unsure if it would bring her comfort or just remind me of the fragility of it all.
“I’m so sorry,” I murmured, my voice cracking. “You didn’t deserve this.”
The room felt suffocating, so I turned and walked out, my footsteps echoing in the sterile hallway. I found a bench just outside the ward and sank onto it, resting my elbows on my knees. The tears came without warning, hot and bitter, and I didn’t even try to stop them.
Clara had been my rock for so long, my anchor when everything felt like it was slipping away. Seeing her like this—it felt like a piece of me was breaking apart.
I barely noticed someone approaching until I felt a warm jacket being draped over my shoulders.
“It’s freezing,” a familiar voice said, quiet but firm.
I wiped at my face quickly, startled to see Rowan standing there, his expression uncharacteristically soft.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice hoarse.
“I saw you leaving Clara’s room,” he said, sitting down beside me. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and held it out.
I stared at it, surprised. “You carry a handkerchief?”
He shrugged. “Force of habit.”
Hesitantly, I took it, dabbing at my eyes. “Thanks.”
We sat in silence for a moment, the air heavy with unspoken words.
“You care about her a lot,” he said finally.
“She’s my best friend,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. “She’s been there for me through everything.
And now…” I trailed off, shaking my head.
Rowan nodded slowly, his gaze distant. “I understand loss.”
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