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I get up with renewed vigor the next morning. I’ve slept better than I have for days, and somehow, I’m more able to cope. I eat and wave Sarah off to work, telling her I have a day off to prepare for the gala. It’s not a complete lie as I intend to get ready in grand fashion, going to lengths I’ve never bothered with before. Wilma is right; a good dress and a girly night with Leila will help. Something she taught me on the yacht was that pampering is an enjoyable girly pursuit and can almost fool you into believing you don’t have a broken heart. She also told me that a good night with a girlfriend can change your whole outlook on life. I intend to follow Leila’s example.
I manage to book an appointment at a beauty salon for just after noon, and I will have the works: nails, hair, waxing, and make-up. I have a room full of people to impress who have seen nothing but gaunt and lifeless Emma for weeks. Carrero Senior will be there, and I want to regain some of my pride in front of him. This event means so much more than a night of fun for me; it’s a chance to save face and present my old self again, Emma, reborn as who she used to be.
I spend the morning trying on dresses and finally settle on a long, slinky, red dress. It clings to every curve with a low-cut back, corseted front, no straps and falls in a pool of fabric on the floor. At Jake’s request, Donna had chosen this dress for an elegant banquet weeks ago that we never attended. She’s his personal shopper and shops for anything he needs on demand. His Armani tux was sent back, but this was mine to keep. Jake never expected me to return anything bought for me; always generous to a fault. I find the shoes to match in the pile of unopened boxes in my bathroom. Donna’s gone for Hollywood glam, vintage heels in matching red satin. Jake always said red suited me, and I hope he’s right. It’s a color I’ve only worn once … at his insistence on that damn yacht.
I arrive for my appointment with time to spare, feeling more nervous than I should, as this is something I’ve rarely done in my life. Leila was my first proper experience with salons and beauty treatments. So, I’m glad when they don’t keep me waiting long. The full glam treatment starts with a hair trim and highlight retouch. I want my hair back to how it was the first day I cut it. It’s grown so much and tickles my shoulders a lot. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know I’m thinking about Jake’s reaction the first time he saw my hair, and deep down, I want him to see me that way again.
Don’t go there. Tonight is neither about him nor for him. It’s about moving forward.
* * *
Standing at the mirror in my bedroom, nauseous with anticipation, I look red-carpet ready. I even wow myself, and I wish Sarah were home to see. For the first time in my life, I look elegant and, dare I say, a little bit beautiful. They’ve given me subtle nineteen-fifties style make-up with nude lipstick and winged eyeliner, my skin flawless, my cheeks blushed and high, my nails au natural French manicure, so clean and polished. My hair is left down in its natural waves; it’s shorter and brushed to one side. I can’t believe the girl in front of me is my own reflection. The dress is sculpted to a body I’m rather proud of, and I stand elegantly in my heels. I look seductive.
A tremble of nerves courses through me, anticipation and dread in equal amounts. I know tonight is either going to be wonderful or disastrous. I hope that it won’t be the latter. I know Leila can get me through this, and I need to see her badly.
I grab my silver clutch and pull on the silvery fur stole; Donna had chosen it for another outfit, but it looks good. The taxi I’ve booked will be here any minute. I feel sick to my stomach; my hands shake badly as I slide the ticket into my bag with my cell and some cash. I steel my nerves and head out to wait for my ride in the cool evening air.
This is a new me. Be brave. Take a deep breath and smile. You can do this.
* * *
The huge venue is as glamorous as any I’ve been to with Jake, complete with a red-carpet entrance, flashing cameras, and tuxedo-wearing security. I pass easily with my ticket, getting some interest from photographers as they try to decide if I’m a celebrity or not, a few flashes just in case. I’m a little proud, but keep my chin down and walk inside. Leila knows I’m coming; her text said she’d find me, so my only task is to get inside and amuse myself until then, find something to do until she rescues me.
The reception has been going on for an hour and seems almost full, with no huge wave of latecomers to this merry event. The ballroom is crowded with people milling around in various degrees of expensive formal wear. The music from the full orchestra is loud and invading, and the noisy bustle of chatter, scraping chairs, and clinking glasses are almost overpowering.
I weave my way through the crowd around the entrance to the huge easels in the corner holding the large, printed table plans, and I pale as I locate my name among the guests. I’m still seated at the Carrero table next to Jake as his date.
Shit! What was I thinking? I should’ve known this would happen. No one informed them of a seating change. Margo would’ve known this.
I lose all my bravado as my blood runs cold. Panicking, I turn and rush off toward the entrance, flustered and emotional.
I’m not staying and doing this. The meal takes up more than an hour of the night; I can’t sit beside him sipping wine and acting like all of this is okay.
What the hell was Margo thinking?
I can’t breathe. I need to go. Go home and forget all of this. All my confidence is gone, and a sickening feeling is rising inside me, urging on the breathlessness of an anxiety attack. My face heats as color creeps up my skin, and I desperately push across the overcrowded floor, rushing to find my escape through the crowds haphazardly. I feel like an idiot and start tugging and twirling a strand of my hair manically.
I’ll text Leila and tell her I felt unwell.
I move forward into the room and realize the quickest way out is across the dance floor. It’s less crowded and easier to navigate than the bustling side aisles. I push on, rage and emotion spiraling inside me, and I’m not looking where I’m going, blinded by watery eyes and complete disappointment in myself.
Pushing my way through a group of people in the middle of the dance floor, I look up and come face to face with Jake; stopping dramatically, I almost have a heart attack.
Shit!
Literally two feet away.
My breath halts in my chest painfully. The sight of him spins my world and drowns out everyone around me. His eyes meet mine with equal trepidation, and I’m captivated, a prisoner under that steady green gaze, pushing away everything else that surrounds us.
We stand motionless, feet apart, an instant tension around us making me want to crumble. Flawless perfection in a black tuxedo and white shirt, he looks every bit like James Bond and bad boy rolled into one. He looks like my dreams, a doorway to my soul, and it’s painful to witness. His gaze is steady on me, never leaving my eyes as neither of us moves or says anything. His expression is calm, but I want to know his thoughts. I long for him to say something instead of just staring at me that way.
“Oh, my God, Emma!” Leila’s excitable voice grabs my attention as she dives into me from the left. Jake was obviously with her, and she begins hauling me into an overeager embrace around my neck, turning me to her. I grimace in surprise but let my arms wrap around the energetic creature and tear my focus away from the one man holding all my attention.
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