26. Alba
TWENTY-SIX
ALBA
If our last date had been one for the history books, this one was too—but for different reasons. Vaughn’s ex-wife sat directly across from me, her eyes slightly narrowed as she scanned my face. Judging. Finding me lacking, evidently.
I resisted the urge to go on the offensive and smiled blandly at her. “The way Vaughn talks about your daughter, it sounds like you’ve done a wonderful job.”
“What is it that you do for work again?” she asked, tilting her head as she ignored my compliment. Her tone made Vaughn sigh and Dale, her current husband, move his arm so it was slung around the back of her chair, his hand making soothing strokes over her shoulder.
My smile remained stuck on my face through sheer force of will. This reminded me of countless events where I had to make nice with someone awful because of their last name. People weren’t so different, no matter how many zeroes they had in their bank account.
“I’m a consultant,” I replied, nodding in thanks as the waiter filled my glass of water.
“Huh,” Tiffany replied. “And what is it, exactly, that you consult on?”
“Tiff, come on,” Vaughn said. “We’re just here to get to know each other.”
“Why do you think I’m asking these questions?” she shot back. “I’m trying to get to know the woman you’ll be bringing around my daughter?—”
“ Our daughter?—”
“—and make sure she’s not some sort of sociopath?—”
“Honey, come on?—”
“I knew this would be a disaster the minute I suggested it,” Vaughn growled.
“The minute your assistant suggested it, you mean?—”
“Honey,” her husband said, gentle warning in his tone.
“I’m just saying?—”
“Well, say less,” Vaughn snapped, then sighed as he rubbed his temples.
I sipped my water, and I wondered if this was worth it. Then Vaughn slid his hand onto my thigh, and I turned to meet his gaze. He gave me a tight smile, something like an apology in his gaze. The tension that had stolen up my spine dissolved away.
Yeah—it was worth it. Worth it to have Vaughn here beside me, touching me like I belonged to him. Worth it to make a life for myself, finally. To choose something for myself.
I leaned forward, and Tiffany’s gaze snapped back to me. “I’m an image consultant,” I told her. “I helped Vaughn update his look.”
“I see,” she said, eyes flicking from me to him. “I had noticed the haircut. You’re not so scruffy-looking anymore.”
“That’s what she called me,” Vaughn grumbled, tilting his head toward me.
Tiffany huffed, and it looked like she’d tried to hold back her laugh. “She wasn’t wrong. You still have that old pair of clippers you bought for ten dollars?”
“They worked, didn’t they?”
“Depends on your definition of ‘worked,’” I cut in, which made Tiffany huff again.
“Oh I get it,” Vaughn said, leaning back in his chair. “The way to get you two to get along is for you to pile on me. I’m sure Dale has his own clippers that?—”
“Keep me out of this,” the taller man said, lifting his palms. “I’m just here for the food.”
Tiffany elbowed his ribs. “Liar.”
He laughed, leaning over to press a kiss to the side of her head. Tiffany relaxed slightly, her smile turning softer as she glanced at her husband. He gave her a long look that seemed to say, Give her a chance, honey . She rolled her eyes. Fine .
Turning back to me, Tiffany took a deep breath, like she was preparing for a long and arduous session scrubbing scum from her bathroom tiles instead of an evening at a fancy Mediterranean restaurant getting to know me.
Her smile was forced, but she was trying.
“So—image consulting. How did you get into that?”
“Um,” I said, frowning, “I kind of…fell into it.”
“Barged into it, more like,” Vaughn corrected, and it was my turn to elbow him in the ribs.
At Tiffany’s questioning look, I shook my head. “Long story.”
“I see,” she said.
From there, the waiter came to take our orders.
Conversation turned to Charlotte, then to sports, and to Tiffany’s work (freelance copywriter for various online publications, including a fashion e-magazine I loved).
By the time we turned down the waiter’s offer to bring over the dessert menu, I felt like I’d run a marathon.
We said goodbye to the other couple, and then Vaughn stood with me to wait for a cab.
“That was nice,” I said as cold wind made me flip the collar of my jacket up.
Vaughn snorted. “You don’t have to lie to me,” he said, arm sliding around my back as he pulled me closer. “Thank you for coming tonight. It means a lot to me.”
And how could I stop the way my heart melted at his words? I knew I was falling too hard and too fast for him—but he wasn’t making it easy for me to slow down. Meeting his daughter, attending the Noble event with him, sleeping over at his place every night his daughter wasn’t…
He made me feel like there was a future for me other than drudgery.
Other than crawling back to the family fold so I could kill the part of me that thought for myself.
I could have a life with Vaughn. Sure, he had a snippy ex-wife, a daughter, a business that took up so much of his time, and a thousand other things that would make life complicated…
but it would be worth it, just to hear him talk to me in that dark velvet voice, telling me how much he appreciated me.
“I wish you could come home with me tonight,” he said, leaning down to press his forehead against mine.
I smiled, touching the tip of his nose with mine. “Me too. But I’ll see you Monday for your fitting at Koval’s shop.”
“Yeah,” Vaughn said, pulling back. His arms were still around me, but his head was out of reach for kisses.
The streetlights glinted over his hair, his cheeks slightly red from the wind.
He was beautiful. And I was distracted by it, which is why his next question made me jerk: “How much money do you need for your dress for the gala?”
I blinked. “Sorry?”
His shoulders dropped. “You’re still going with me, right?”
“The Noble Foundation Gala?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Yeah, I’m going.”
“Good.” His smile was a flash of white teeth. “So what do you need to get a dress? All that talk about finding the perfect one sounded expensive.”
“You don’t have to—” I stopped. He kind of did have to pay for my outfit, since I was still pretty close to destitute.
But Vaughn just frowned at me. “Well, I’ll reimburse you, obviously. You can just submit the purchase the normal way.”
My brows jumped, and my heart dropped. “Are you—is this—” Familiar fears rushed at me—that he was pushing me away, that I’d misread the situation—but I forced myself to take a deep breath.
“Is this a work event?” I asked, not liking the way my voice cracked when I asked the question.
“I thought… I thought you wanted me there as your date.”
“I do. What do you mean?”
“It’s just—if you’re paying me…”
It felt dirty. It felt like being used as a prop, which I kind of was , but it hadn’t felt that way when he’d asked me, but?—
“Hey,” he said, tilting my chin up. “I just didn’t want you to worry about the cost of the dress.”
My shoulders dropped. Vaughn was being thoughtful, not dismissive. Sighing, I nodded. “Right. Okay. Thank you.”
“Get a dress, shoes, whatever. Charge it to the company. I’ll cover it.”
I nodded, feeling silly. And it was helpful, because the gown rental companies I’d been trawling had a whole lot of nothing. A ton of gorgeous gowns, of course, but nothing that the keen eyes of my former peers wouldn’t immediately identify as untailored, ill-fitting, and cheap by their standards.
But did Vaughn really mean it? The people at the gala would be wearing outfits that cost thousands. Tens of thousands. He probably thought I needed a few hundred bucks. That would cover the shoes—maybe.
I never should’ve agreed to this.
Vaughn kissed me softly, then pulled back. “I told Billie I’d be back before nine.”
“Go,” I said, forcing a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He kissed me one more time, then hailed a cab and opened the door for me. I smiled at him as he closed the door, then exhaled and leaned against the squeaky leather seats.
Being taken care of like this took some getting used to.
I had to stop assuming the worst in Vaughn.
He was a good man, and he cared about me.
Everything he did had proved that to me.
Now I just had to stop doubting myself—stop doubting him— and enjoy our relationship blossoming.
Sure, it was fast, but it was also good.
But this out-of-control feeling was a little too familiar. It was how James had made me feel when we’d met. When he’d taken me out on the back of his motorcycle. When he’d kissed me and made love to me and told me I was special, right before he dumped me.
As I leaned my forehead against the cool glass of the back seat window, I wondered if I was making the same old mistakes all over again.