Francesca
After another day of preparation, they ran out of time for more lessons. The night of the Gala came up on them quickly, making Francesca shake with nerves. She quizzed her quiet bodyguard over and over again, making sure he remembered all of their rushed lessons.
The Gala came up on them, and before Francesca knew it, then two of them were dressed and at the Foundation Building, ready for a long night of dancing.
Francesca fluttered her eyelashes at another of the older gentlemen who bowed her way. While everyone was dressed in formal attire for the Gala, it was the older generation that really got into it. They kissed the ladies’ hands and curtsied or bowed to one another, like actors in an old-fashioned play. Francesca liked the harmless flirting of the old men, not only because it made her feel beautiful, but also because of the half-serious, jealous looks that Logan kept shooting their way.
With all of his tattoos covered and his sexy, muscled body wrapped in a very expensive and excellently-fitted set of tails, Logan actually looked like he belonged here. He bowed and winked at the women, shaking hands with wealthy businessmen from all over the city like he belonged there. And Francesca got to hang on his beefy arm like a jewel for everyone to admire. Men and women eyed them longingly from every corner of the ballroom, and Francesca drank it in, her head reeling like she’d down half a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.
Francesca was happier than she’d ever been at one of these events, and she knew it had nothing to do with her new glittering dress, the absence of her mother, or the glass of wine she’d drunk on the way over in the limo; no, it had everything to do with her date.
She’d always gone with her brother to these types of events until she’d met Davis, then she’d gone with him. They were always dull partners, never wanting to chat about anything interesting or dance.
But Logan was game for nearly anything, from nearly charming the pants off of every woman in the room to having polite discussions with the men. He was delightful, attentive, and pleasantly possessive throughout the evening, and Francesca was aglow with the feeling it gave her. They had dressed up, she was going to pretend that Logan actually belonged in her world. It made her happy to see him mingle so effortlessly.
“Of course, if the world continues to insist getting its news from social media and pseudo-news websites, we’re going to continue to have a problem,” Logan said, his beautifully carved face intent and smiling. If he was even a touch nervous, he didn’t show an ounce of it.
“Here, here!” an older gentlemen, Baron Roderick, agreed. “Whatever happened to people reading the newspaper?”
Francesca nearly rolled her eyes at Baron. Who on earth read the news from a paper anymore? The idea was positively medieval. But she smiled at him instead, blinking her huge, emerald eyes at him. “I can’t stand the smell of newspapers,” she answered after a moment’s pause. “My iPad doesn’t smell like it just came out of a press.” She giggled a little, playing up her silliness to take the edge off of the comment.
“I suppose you’re right, my dear,” Baron admitted, his wrinkled face glowing from a smile. “Did I hear right that they are auctioning off a real Jasper Johns painting from the 1950s?”
Francesca smiled again, wrapping her arms closer around Logan’s arm. She glanced up at him for just a second, to fill her eyes with the sight of him. He smiled down at her, his eyes glowing with something that turned her stomach into a butterfly exhibit. “It’s very real. I couldn’t believe it myself. It was donated as an item by Mrs. Beth Carey’s will when she passed away this year. Without her generosity, the Gala wouldn’t be quite so amazing this year.”
Everyone inside of their little circle bowed their heads for a moment in memory of the incredibly wealthy and generous Beth before conversation resumed. They chatted with that group for a little while longer before going over to refreshment table and selecting a few choice tidbits to nibble on. Francesca caught Logan swallowing an entire glass of wine in a single gulp; under all that charm, he must have been just as nervous as Francesca felt for him.
“This evening has been so perfect, though.” Everything was going so well, and Francesca couldn’t seem to keep her eyes off of Logan for long. Everything else faded away when he was around, everything but the electricity between them that filled her belly with embers.
Caught up in the memories of the pleasure of his body and the more immediate pleasure of his company, Francesca almost completely forgot about Davis.
But once she noticed him in the background, it was hard not to notice him again and again; his beady little eyes followed her all over the room. He sat alone, his date long since abandoned him for more lively company, drinking himself into a sloppy mess in the corner. Davis vacillated between looking like a kicked puppy and looking furious whenever Francesca’s eyes found his corner again.
She thought she would feel vindicated seeing that look in his eyes. That she would feel warm and fuzzy at his obvious desire to have her back. But instead, she felt nothing. No regret, no pity, no remorse. Just a feeling of slight relief that he wasn’t currently part of her life.
But that wasn’t right, was it? Had Logan driven Davis so completely out of her mind, body, and soul with merely his company and a couple of sessions of mindblowing sex? Was that all it took to forget someone you were hung up on? Pondering the mysteries of her own feelings, Francesca didn’t notice as Logan continued to stare her, his eyes filled with a soft and serene feeling that defied words.
# # #
Logan
“This evening has actually not been a complete disaster.” Or at least based on the looks that Francesca had been shooting him all evening it wasn’t. Logan tried his best to remember to be charming and witty, leaving behind his old, crude life for this new one of glitter and manners. It was strange, talking to people about subjects Francesca had just been teaching him mere days or hours before. He had several practiced lines he could throw in for any given conversation. Logan felt like a telemarketer with a selection of canned responses at ready. It was hilarious that these parties were so predictable that Francesca could share with him all of the conversations they would be having before they even had them.
Keeping his hands locked on Francesca’s shoulders protectively, Logan regularly surveyed the room, keeping in mind he was playing the bodyguard boyfriend angle. But it was sometimes hard to remember that he was just playing at this role instead of actually filling it.
Francesca would look up at him with her big, doll-like green eyes lined with thick, black lashes and smiling like nothing else mattered in the world, and Logan would forget whatever he was in the middle of doing. What was it about this woman that seemed to turn off the whole world around them like a lightswitch?
Logan noticed Francesca’s asshole ex, hovering at the edges of their conversations. He looked like a toddler who was envious of someone else’s toy. Logan could feel his anger rising every time Davis looked at Francesca like he owned her. Never in his life had he ever wanted to murder another human being as much as he wanted to kill Davis. But he pushed that urge down, keeping his hands on Francesca instead of around Davis’s selfish little neck.
No, he wouldn’t ruin this night for Francesca for anything. Keeping himself in check was hard, but he could manage.
And the light in Francesca’s eyes was worth every second of it.
The night wore on and Francesca’s brother, Marston, approached them. He’d managed to catch them in the middle of one of their rare moments outside of conversations with some of the other patrons. He had a stupid smile across his handsome face that Logan didn’t like.
“I’m the brother, Marston,” he said, his face filled with a kind mischievousness that Logan didn’t like. He was too old for the types of pranks he was playing; what grown adult bet his sister money over her newly broken heart? Not a kind one, Logan thought as he inched closer to Francesca.
“I’m Logan,” he answered stoically, placing a protective hand over Francesca’s shoulder. “You must be the fool with the deep pockets making bets with Francesca.”
Marston laughed, a very unpleasant sound. “Yeah, man. And she got so worked up that she actually took the bait. And you are losing, little sis. Don’t forget it!” He walked away, smiling at everyone he walked by. There was no an ounce of empathy anywhere inside of that man’s body; he must have been one of the successful, ruthless psychopaths who make their money through the misery of others.
The bastard even walked right over to a very drunken Davis, smiling as he chatted with him, probably about the same thing he had with Francesca.
Furious, Logan had to bite down on his anger, keeping it in check even as Francesca muttered curses under her breath in Marston’s direction.
Surprisingly, however, it wasn’t Marston or even Davis that managed to ruin the evening completely. No, that honor was reserved for Logan himself, despite his best behavior and killer suit.
But despite Davis and Marston, the evening was going quite well. Until the cops showed up.
When the police entered the ball, people scattered to the walls like marbles rolling away, leaving the center of the Gala completely bare. Logan stared them down, feeling his muscles tighten involuntarily, as if his body was preparing to flee without him. Francesca clung hard to his arm, her fingers digging deep into the flesh of his elbow. But he barely felt it over the waves of horror that flooded him as the police swept the crowd with their eyes.
They were looking for him, he was sure.
Holding his breath, Logan watched them as they looked from face to face, dismissing each before moving on to the next. It wouldn’t be long before they came to him.
“I almost forgot tonight that Francesca’s world wasn’t meant to have men like me in it. I suppose this is my punishment for forgetting that I can never be part of her world with her.”
So when the police came forward, their hard eyes locked on him, his name on their lips, he didn’t resist. He didn’t fight them. But most importantly, he didn’t look back. He wasn’t sure he could handle the devastation on Francesca’s face and the smirk he knew would be on Davis Thorne’s.