Chapter Fifteen - Rachel
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Rachel
Leaving Lyla with my parents is harder than I’d like to admit, but when my mother sweeps her inside—promising ice cream for dinner—I know she’ll be just fine.
I considered backing out of the gala a million times, but in the end, I didn’t. Instead, I slipped into a forest-green, floor-length gown with a mid-thigh slit and pulled my hair into a sleek ponytail that grazes my shoulder blades.
I deserve the night out, right?
We pull up to the Sacramento Art Museum, where the Mayor’s Green Initiative Gala is being held. Ryder hands off the keys to the valet, then turns back to me, offering his hand.
I expect Ryder to release his hold once I’m out of the car, but he only redirects my hand to rest on his arm as he leads me up the stairs.
Maybe it’s because I don’t trust myself to walk in heels, or maybe it’s something else—something more complicated—but I don’t mention that he’s ignoring the no-touching rule.
The men at the door wave us in without a second glance, while other guests stop to give their names, and I feel silly for letting that surprise me in the least. This is Ryder, after all. Wherever he goes, doors open for him.
I’ve been here before and know it’s breathtaking without any decoration. It has high ceilings and meticulously painted clouds surrounding the cathedral-style windows that let sunlight pour in during the day.
But now?
Tonight, it’s a fairytale garden come to life.
Whatever event coordinator was hired for this event should be given a generous bonus for the decor alone.
Red and pink lights cast a romantic hue over the spacious room, complementing the hundreds of roses that line every wall.
Dark green vines drape across the ceiling, and the chandeliers have pink bulbs just for tonight’s event.
Each table has a floral arrangement that would put any bride’s bouquet to shame, and the porcelain plates with dark leaves painted on them are effortlessly elegant.
Several candelabras taller than me are placed on either side of the main walkway as we pass, and each one is lit with a live flame. The pathway leads to a wide dance floor, where couples sway to a contemporary tune I don’t recognize.
I’m so busy taking it all in that I don’t realize Ryder is leading us through the crowd until I hear someone call his name.
I recognize the men as the Sacramento capos, but only from meeting them in passing over the years.
Harris, who called out to Ryder, has a woman tucked under one of his arms. She wears a black gown and a small smile on her plain face.
Knox stands to his left, seemingly deep in conversation with who I assume is his date. She’s a tall, slim girl with petite features that seem fitting for a model.
Then there’s Briggs, standing stiffly at Harris’s right. His grimace deepens the moment he looks at Ryder, a stark contrast to the beaming woman on his arm. She looks to be around Briggs’s age, but unlike him, she has laugh lines that soften her grin.
“Gentlemen,” Ryder greets, and they all nod in response.
Harris steps up and claps Ryder on the shoulder. “Bates, good to see you.” His eyes fall on me, and I appreciate that they don’t linger. “Rachel, it’s lovely to see you again. How are you?”
I offer a polite smile. “I’m well, thank you for asking. And yourself?”
“Doing great,” he says and gestures to his date. “This is my girlfriend, Ava. Ava, this is Bates and Rachel, his…”
Harris’s eyes widen as he realizes that he has no idea what I am to Ryder.
Join the club.
I save us all from the awkward mishap by widening my smile and holding my hand out to Ava. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Harris looks relieved, then takes the opportunity to introduce Ryder and me to the other women. The one with Knox is Emily, who is just his date for the evening, but the woman with Briggs is Donna—his wife of almost a decade.
The women are nice enough, and before long, we’re chatting about our jobs, drawn together by the unspoken camaraderie of being outsiders in this world of men.
Ava is a secretary for a law firm, Emily actually is a model—which I was proud to have guessed—and Donna is a teacher.
I explain what I do, which takes a while since it’s such a hodgepodge of tasks at the moment, and I find myself smiling as I do.
It’s a good reminder that I don’t just work to have a job. I enjoy what I do.
It’s then that I feel Ryder’s gaze on me. I don’t even have to look to know the level of intensity that I’d find there. I can feel it.
My back straightens on instinct, and only a moment later, his warm hand settles on my waist.
The women continue their conversation, which has shifted to how bad the local construction has become on populated roads, but Ryder has my attention.
“Excuse me,” he says, guiding me away without breaking eye contact. When we’re a few steps away, he leans in to ask, “May I have this dance?”
The well-mannered side of me wants to accept this invitation graciously, but the logical side wonders why on earth Ryder would want to dance, of all things. It’s much safer to politely decline the offer and continue socializing with the other women.
I do not need to be tangled up in Ryder Bates more than I already am.
But when he softens his gaze, letting go of the rough exterior he wears like a badge, I feel my resolve slipping.
“One dance,” he whispers.
Apparently, that’s all it takes.
I nod and take his hand, letting him lead me to the dance floor.
As if someone is playing a cruel joke on me, the band plays the opening notes of Yesterday by The Beatles.
Only now do I realize we garner significant attention from those around us. I have no doubt their fascination is for the man whose hand leads me through the crowd. The air that surrounds Ryder is thick with an authority that they can’t figure out.
While their attention stirs the nerves I thought I had a handle on, Ryder is the picture of perfect confidence. It’s as if he can’t feel the hundreds of eyes that follow our every move.
When we reach the center of the floor, one of his hands splays across my lower back, pulling me into him, and I wrap an arm over his neck. Our free hands meet, and we interlace our fingers with ease.
I clear my throat of the nerves that clog it. “So, what’s all this about?”
“I’m not sure I know what you’re referring to.”
I begin to roll my eyes but stop when I remember that we continue to draw a lot of attention.
“I didn’t take you for a dancer,” I say as nonchalantly as possible.
He deliberates for a moment before answering, “We’re keeping up appearances.”
I huff at that but don’t say anything.
We dance in perfect time to the music, and I admire Ryder’s ability to lead, though I’m sure he’s never done it before. That’s just how Ryder is. He can step into any role, and even if he has no idea what he’s doing, he’ll make it seem like he was born to do it.
As we dance, I begin to relax, the same way I always do when I’m in Ryder’s arms. There’s nothing careful or thoughtful about how my body moves as I let the music and Ryder guide me.
I don’t have to worry about stepping on his toes or how we’re perceived by the crowd, and I relish in this moment of blissful peace.
I hadn’t noticed how closely he leaned in until his words are spoken directly into my ear.
“You look absolutely stunning tonight,” he whispers, and I tighten my hold on him.
“So you’ve mentioned.”
It’s the first thing he said when I walked down the stairs earlier this evening.
“Not enough.”
“Well, thank you,” I say, and drop my eyes to our feet, focusing on how we move together and not on how my stomach is nearly bursting with butterflies.
Butterflies? Really?
Still, I can’t look up and risk him seeing how much those words affect me. How much he affects me.
“Why am I here?” I ask, still unable to meet his gaze.
“What do you mean?”
“Why did you ask me to come with you tonight?”
“I told you—”
“It’s not because of Lyla. We could’ve done different things tonight and still let her go to my parents.”
He pauses for only a moment. “I wouldn’t want to be the only one without a date, now would I?”
“Your ego can handle it. Or you could’ve found another date,” I say, ashamed of how much I dislike that idea.
A long moment passes, and I think he won’t answer me at all, but his forehead touches mine, shooting a wave of excitement and nerves straight to my core. He pushes until I have no choice but to roll my head up and meet his gaze head-on.
In this position, we’re so close that our noses are almost touching, and our lips are a breath away.
“Is it so hard to believe I want to spend time with you?”
“Ryder, be serious—”
“I am serious, Rebel. I wouldn’t want to be here—or anywhere for that matter—with anyone else.”
It feels like my heart beats louder than the music, and I get so lost in his eyes that I feel like I could just fall right into them.
Our bodies slow but don’t stop when the song fades out. We’re chest to chest, holding onto each other as if letting go would leave us shattered beyond repair.
Right now, I can pretend that things went differently three years ago. I can imagine that Ryder is my safety net, source of comfort, and steady anchor. I can imagine that being this close to him is a luxury I have every day and not every few years.
I can imagine that he’s mine.
But he isn’t, and that realization brings me back to earth. The tingles jolting through my fingertips go still. The heat of his skin on mine burns with shame, and the excitement of our closeness thickens to guilt with the gravity of the reality check.
I believed that he was mine once, and I barely recovered.
With that thought, I release my hold on him and step back, hating the emptiness I’m left with. I expect to see surprise or maybe even hurt when I look up, but Ryder’s face is set in its usual neutral expression.
Well, if he can turn off his emotions so easily, then so can I.
I force a smile and nod in the direction of the bar.