Lillian comes shopping with me Monday evening. We don’t find a dress that meets the requirement of black tie and tattoo coverage. On Tuesday, we increase the radius of our search to North County. And… nothing. By Wednesday evening, I’m resigned to turning down the invitation. After another fruitless stop at the mall, Lillian drags me to our bistro.

“Tell Alex,” she says for the third time. “Aren’t you going over there tonight? Perfect timing. He’ll make a few calls—”

“No,” I say, stabbing a ravioli with more force than necessary. “I’m not going to ask Alex to call a personal shopper. Even the thought makes me nauseous.”

Lillian laughs. “You’re prejudiced against rich people.”

“I’m not!” I say in affront.

She rolls her eyes. “I’m pretty sure Alex realizes by now that you’re not impressed with his money, but has it occurred to you that he might enjoy taking care of you?”

I groan. “He is taking care of me. I let him buy me breakfast and lunch every day.”

“How noble of you,” she quips, laughing. At my glare, she lifts her hands. “Sorry, I know what matters is that he’s taking care of you emotionally. And he’s doing that, right?”

Warm suffuses my chest. “Yes,” I murmur. “He’s been coming to Margaret’s with me. We’re reading through Robert’s journals and exploring the library. He’s going to help me find me someone who’ll catalog and appraise all the valuables in the house.”

Lillian’s hand flutters over her heart. “I freaking love this man.”

“Me too,” I mumble.

She hesitates, then, “Still haven’t told him?”

I shake my head resolutely. “You’ll be the second to know, Lil. Besides, my new life motto is enjoy it while it lasts.”

“God, you two are idiots.” She sighs. “Just promise me one thing, Thebes.”

“What?”

“You tell him before Hemlock opens.”

I choke. “No way!”

She points her fork at me. “He’s a man, not a mind-reader. Most men need concrete evidence—pros and cons—before taking risks.”

“What if I need that too?” I retort.

“Too bad,” she snaps, though not unkindly. “What’s the absolute worst thing that could happen if you tell him you love him?”

I gape. “Seriously? Which of the twenty options do you want to hear first?”

She stares at me gravely. “I don’t have an encyclopedia of literary works in my head like you do, but I know one or two things about life. If you follow your heart, you won’t have regrets. Sure, it’s always a risk, and sometimes a broken heart happens. But you’ll never wonder what if. Follow your heart.”

I blink a few times, then smile weakly. “You’re a wise woman, Lil.”

She snorts and fidgets. “I probably read that in a greeting card once.” I shake my head and smile, used to her habit of deflecting compliments.

Jeremy appears tableside. “I’m wrapping up, girls. You want to hit The Field for a drink?”

The emotionally heavy air clears as Lillian and I smile at each other.

“Yes, Uncle Jeremy,” we say.

* * *

Thursday during my lunch hour, I find The Dress in a designer resale store Alice recommended. The color and design of the gown aren’t what I normally gravitate toward—a figure-hugging tulle in soft blush, with delicate, allover beading.

When I try it on for Lillian Saturday evening, her mouth drops open.

“Holy shit, you’re Daisy in Great Gatsby. Turn around.” I do, and she sighs in delight. “Tattoo coverage, check. And my jealousy for your butt just reached new heights.”

I smirk. “What about my hair? Is it okay?” The curling took close to an hour, the pinning another thirty minutes. My arms still hurt.

“It’s fabulous. Your makeup, too. Katherine’s training really pays off sometimes.”

“That it does,” I murmur.

“Do you want to borrow a necklace?”

A flush creeps up my neck. “Alex said I shouldn’t wear one.”

“Ohh!” she gushes. “Presents!”

The doorbell rings.

“Showtime,” I mutter, and fetch my clutch from the coffee table.

Lillian opens the door with a flourish. Her giggle is immediate. “Nothing quite like a man in a tux, eh Thebes?”

I turn and my mouth opens soundlessly. Alex leans against the doorframe, one hand pocketed, his gaze burning my face and tracking down.

I’ve seen him in a tuxedo before, but this is different. I know him intimately now. I love him. What was impressive before is now emotionally flooring.

Lillian chimes, “Who needs a napkin for their drool?”

Although my feet feel disconnected from my body, I manage to cross the room without falling on my face. “Bye, Lillian,” I say, and step into the hallway. The door closes, but Lillian’s laughter travels through the wood.

“Ms. Sands,” Alex says, tone low and dark. “You’re a vision.”

I trail a finger over a smooth lapel. “As are you, Mr. Hughes.”

He steps close, radiating heat and shortening my breath. Fingers tilt my chin. Lips graze mine. He murmurs, “I want to tear those pins out of your hair, hike up that skirt, and bury myself inside you. Right. Now.”

My pulse drops. I forget how to breathe, then gasp as survival instinct takes over.

He kisses me lightly, passion leashed by rigid control. “Be careful tonight.”

“What?” I whisper, momentarily mindless.

His fingers curl around the side of my neck, thumb sweeping over my jaw. His eyes are a midnight ocean. “I’ve never been a jealous man, but if anyone touches you…”

Baffled, I frown. “No one’s going to touch me. It’s a charity auction.”

His eyes close briefly. When they open, the darkness has been driven back. It remains close, though. A living shadow. “Tell me you’re mine.”

I shiver but don’t hesitate. “I’m yours.”

“Good,” he says, and pulls a slim black box from his pocket and hands it to me. With a rare thread of nerves in his voice, he says, “I saw this and it reminded me of you.”

Heart pounding, I open the case to find a delicate, antique necklace. Interlocking platinum links crusted with tiny diamonds lead to an intricate, art deco pendant. It’s perfect, understated elegance.

I blink back tears. “Alex, it’s breathtaking.”

He lifts my chin, covering my mouth with his. Nipping and sucking gently, he whispers, “You can thank me in the limo.”

Laughter bubbles inside me. I palm him through his slacks and am rewarded with his rasping exhale. “Maybe. If you’re lucky.”

Shifting closer, he drives himself into my hand as his mouth veers to the sensitive spot beneath my ear. “I already consider myself very, very lucky.”

On the drive to Los Angeles, I do my utmost to prove him correct.

* * *

The event is in the backyard of Alex’s Pacific Palisades home, though outdoor estate is an apter descriptor. The property is immense, manicured with the same wild flair as the front. Brick instead of cement, gardens instead of grass. Fountains. Elegant gazebos. Hanging lanterns, space heaters, and fifty draped cocktail tables. A hundred Old and New Money guests, and a partridge in a fucking pear tree.

Within minutes of our arrival, I begin struggling to hold the flow of social grace. Margaret’s training is a thin veneer between me and rampaging insecurities. Imposter. Fraud. The external narratives are as loud as my own, and too many involve Alex and me. Our names are whispered often. Here, everyone follows the tabloids.

I have no armor, no Lillian. Even my mother would be a welcome sight. But it’s just me, being judged and found wanting. Cheap in my resale gown. I’ve been away from this world too long. The door hits hard on the way out.

After forty minutes of forced mingling, I slip away with a murmured need for the ladies room. Distracted by the Hollywood producer in front of him, Alex lets me go. I walk away from the lights, following a brick path. Away.

Eventually, the charming sounds of revelry are dampened. The path is illuminated by small ground lights, their soft halos winking at my shadow.

I reach a clearing and stop abruptly at the sight of a man sitting opposite me on a wooden bench. He’s alone, smoking a cigarette and staring at the dim, hazy sky. He looks vaguely familiar. Italian or Middle Eastern in descent, tall and handsome in a cutting, dangerous way.

An actor, I think. A famous one.

“I never see stars in Los Angeles,” he says, “but I keep looking, knowing they’re up there somewhere.”

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly.

His head lowers. I can’t see his eyes in the dimness, but they seem dark. “Sorry for what?” he asks, in the same measured, slightly bored tone. “For staring or for interrupting my vigil?”

I begin to turn away, but annoyance gets the better of me. “For your information, I wasn’t staring. I was only surprised to see someone.”

He lifts a placating hand—I see a flash of white teeth. “Forgive me,” he says, chuckling softly. “Please, stay. I’ll let you share my hiding place.”

If anyone touches you…

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say firmly, and turn again.

“Relax, Ms. Sands,” he says, freezing me in my tracks. “Alex won’t mind if we sit together. He considers me safe company for his female friends.”

Female friends? Angry, I snap, “Why? Do you bat for the other team?”

Laughter rings out, rich and cultured. “No, but I might as well. Now stop ogling and sit with me a moment. I’m dreadfully lonely.”

Despite my annoyance, there’s a dry cynicism in his voice that speaks to me. Whoever this man is, he’s too busy judging himself to pass judgment on me. I cross the clearing. He slides down the bench, making ample room for me to sit without touching him.

The action quirks my lips. “You do know Alex.”

He chuckles. “I’m not even going to shake your hand,” he says. “I’m Sebastian Bellizzi, by the way. And you’re Thea Sands. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Definitely Italian. I also recognize the name from movies, but none I’ve seen. Granted, I’m a certified bibliophile. “How do you know Alex?”

“We grew up together in Boston,” he replies. A quality in his voice hints at the complex, hidden narrative behind the simple words. I watch him take a drag of his cigarette. It smells sweet. A clove. His lips curve slightly. “Do you always think so hard?”

I blink. “Yes, actually. Do you always ask strangers personal questions?”

His grins, eyeing me appraisingly. “Yes, actually. Especially beautiful ones.” For some reason, the compliment isn’t threatening. His charisma is as manufactured as mine.

“Why are you hiding?” I ask.

“The same reason you are,” he says easily. “I can’t stand putting on airs.”

“Isn’t that what actors do?”

His brows lift. “Ah, so you do recognize me. A shame. I found the notion of anonymity refreshing.”

“Don’t worry,” I say, smiling slightly, “I’ve never seen any of your movies.”

Sebastian laughs, and this time it’s real. “I’m glad our Alex found you, Ms. Sands. He deserves authenticity in a woman. He’s suffered much at the hands of false charms.”

“I’m not going to rise to your bait, Mr. Bellizzi, and ask about these so-called false charms.”

“Very astute of you,” he says softly. “However, I think you should. The queen of false charms is here tonight.”

My palms tingle and I shift on the bench. “If you have something to say, just say it.”

Sebastian drops his clove, snuffing it with the heel of his shoe. “Again, I apologize. It’s really none of my business. But I like you, Ms. Sands. I feel a certain camaraderie. Neither of us enjoys playing the game.”

“I try not to play it at all,” I retort.

“That’s a problem, then, isn’t it?” he replies without rancor. “Because Alex will always play. It’s expected, even demanded of him.” He pauses. I can feel the weight of his stare on the side of my face. “Her name is Eliza Holbrook. She’s a viper and has been trying to get her hooks back in Alex since—” He stops abruptly, swallowing the next words.

“Since what?” I ask mutedly.

He sighs regretfully. “Since she turned down his proposal six years ago.”

Breathe. Blink.

“Oh,” I say blandly. “Is that it? I thought you were going to say something horrible, like ‘since they broke up last week.’”

Sebastian chokes a little, then laughs softly. “You nailed the delivery, but you can’t fool me. We’re the same breed.”

My face feels tight, like a hard tap will shatter it. “Frauds?” I quip.

He touches my arm lightly. I startle at the contact, then meet his penetrating gaze. I decide his eyes must be black—they seem to swallow the light. “No. We’re not frauds. We’re woefully jaded and dangerously sensitive. It’s a toxic combination in environments like this.”

In the distance, partygoers laugh falsely, drink copiously, and mingle. Like sharks in the deep, they vie for dominance, all the while cataloging the weaknesses of their opponents. Playing the game.

Here with Sebastian, though, I’m safe from them. We occupy a bubble of quiet, a surreal space of moist earth and whispering trees. And slowly, a different kind of armor builds around me. Maybe, when two crazy people meet, they cease being crazy. I smile at the thought.

At length, I ask him, “If we’re so unsuited to this, why are we here?”

He lights another clove, takes a long drag, and blows smoke toward the absence of stars. “Because we love a man and a woman who thrive here. Because we don’t have a choice.”

I search his enigmatic features. “Who?” His lips curve wryly but he doesn’t reply. I don’t push, asking instead, “Does she know how you feel?”

He snorts. “Does Alex know how you feel?”

Footsteps and voices approach on the path. In moments, a couple comes into view, arms linked. They share laughter and a kiss. When they see Sebastian, they veer in our direction.

“Damn,” he mutters, and glances at me. “Our respite has ended.”

Standing, I fix the draping of my gown. Sebastian stays seated, smoking his clove. I watch subtle changes occur in him: eyes shuttering, lips taking a seductive tilt. He is drawing his mask into place. We’re the same breed.

By watching him, I finally find the flow of grace. It sinks through me, warm and sedate, before hardening.

“Ah,” he says, smiling rakishly. “The kitten is a cat, after all. I very much hope to see you again.”

I smirk. “I’ll rent one of your movies, and next time I’ll ask for an autograph.”

He shudders comically. “Please don’t.”

I laugh and turn away, and return to a world in which I don’t belong, but will face because Alex is there. And whoever this Eliza Holbrook is, she has no idea who she’s up against.