“Mmm.” I tilted my head to the side as if considering the risk versus the reward. “I guess I can let you down for a few minutes.”
“I think we both need to make a lot of phone calls.” She walked over to her nightstand, grabbed up a slip of paper and then tore it in half longwise. “You take this half of the list and I’ll take the other. Let’s get this done quickly or we are going to be up until midnight.”
I pulled out my phone and as silly as it was, we sat on her bed side by side and made it through the list in just a few hours.
When we were done, I sighed and flopped back on the bed. “We’ve got that Bay Island charity house tour thing tomorrow but after that we need to do something special to celebrate.”
She seemed to deflate at the mention of the benefit. I turned, propped my head up on my hand to watch her. “I hope you don’t mind… I bought some tickets for our friends. So there will be people that you know there—Jenna, Alex, Heath, Kat, my cousins…”
She threw me a slanted smile. “We don’t need to crash your charity thingy with my nerd herd.”
I laughed. “I thought you might be more comfortable if they were there.”
Her lips pursed. “Actually I was going to bow out of that, if that’s okay with you.”
I didn’t say anything and she scrutinized my face.
“It bothers you, doesn’t it?”
“I’d like you to go—to be by my side.”
She hesitated and looked down for a long moment, then squared her shoulders. “Okay. I can do it for you. I’m sorry. That hadn’t even occurred to me.”
I did want her to go. But it was more for her good than for mine. She’d have to get used to being seen in public again. It had been easier for her in Paris, where everyone was a stranger. But work acquaintances and friends, apparently, were a much tougher crowd for her.
I called up Sonia and asked her to come over, bring us a new batch of clothes and arrange for a make-up artist to come on the day of the benefit. The better Emilia felt about her looks, the easier it would be for her.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Mia
I was doing this for Adam. He wanted me there. I had to repeat that to myself several times the next morning when I wanted to hyperventilate and back down, the fear so strong it threatened to steal my breath.
Hanging out with my friends, in small groups, was one thing. Even in public where the public was at a distance—like in Paris—that was fine. But here…at his house, it was different.
There would be people I’d worked with at Draco, and some of Adam’s rich and important friends. I had decided to chicken out when the make-up artist had finished with my face. She’d done my eyebrows realistically and applied some lovely fake eyelashes—though my natural ones were almost all the way in. But nothing could account for the tiny bit of fuzz covering my scalp. We tried on three or four different wigs but none of them looked right. I settled on one with a short bob cut, the hair similar to my own natural color.
I was wearing a colorful dress that fit my standards—a high, scooped neckline. There was little to complain about, really, with my looks. Yes, I looked different, but I now looked better than I had in months.
I clamped my hands over my knees, rocked back and forth. I didn’t want to go and there was no way I could force myself to do it. Not even with the lure of my friends, who had been invited. I was going to cower in the house until the last possible minute and hope that eventually, they’d come inside and hang out with me while we watched the hoity-toity charity-giving crowd mill around the gardens, board the yacht and schmooze with Adam.
There would be drinks and hors d’oeuvres on the lawn and then the group would progress to a dinner at a nearby exclusive restaurant. Partygoers would tour the grounds and homes of Bay Island, including the downstairs of Adam’s house and his yacht. If I hid up in my room and locked the door, I wouldn’t have to worry about a thing.
Except disappointing Adam. And he was somewhere in the house, getting ready and totally unaware of the inner war I was fighting. I was terrified and I didn’t want the pity looks, or worse, the “why is he with her?” questions. And every time I thought about it, it made my throat close up more.
When he came to get me, I didn’t move.
“I’m sorry,” I said, yanking off the wig. “I can’t do this.”
He sat down on the bed and looked at me. He was absolutely stunning in dark jeans, a white button-down shirt and a black blazer. His beauty took my breath away. How could I stand next to that?