Chapter 4
KIARA
I finished my look by adding gold hoop earrings and leaving my neck bare.
Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I made sure that my hair and makeup were perfect and the red satin dress, which Jake had bought for me for this event, hugged my body perfectly.
The material was soft and the full-length dress looked gorgeous with my golden skin.
Straps of the dress were thin. The neck was a little deeper than I would like, but it showed a bit of my cleavage without looking too revealing with the low cut back.
It was the Friday night of the fundraising gala where I would join Jake as his date.
I felt a nervous tug in my belly and ran a hand through my dark brown hair tumbling down in waves over my shoulder.
I didn’t know why I was so nervous suddenly.
I had agreed to go with him because of the children fighting cancer.
Taking a deep breath, I gave myself one last look in the mirror. I had subtle makeup on but a little red tint on my lips to match with the dress. My almond-shaped eyes looked hooded with the eye makeup Anya had helped me with.
Wearing my black strappy heels, I walked out of my room with a small clutch in my hand which held my phone, chapstick, a tampon, and a check for donation.
“So, how do I look?” I asked the duo sitting on the couch working on Andrew’s assignment.
Andrew’s eyes twinkled with awe. “Like a beautiful Indian Princess!”
My cheeks flushed with his honest compliment, and I ruffled his hair, thanking him. Anya stood up and gave an appreciative hum, her pale fingers brushing over my hair as she fixed them over my shoulder, smiling at me.
“I would be surprised if Jake doesn’t take you to his house instead of the fundraising gala,” she whispered with a mischievous twinkle in her dark eyes.
My fingers tightened over the clutch. “He won’t do such a thing,” I said and added. “And I wouldn’t mind if he did.”
She grinned at me and went to open the door when someone knocked. I felt the nervous churn in my belly again. I looked down at my left hand, the diamond ring glinting on my finger.
“My God,” Jake whispered, his cobalt blue eyes trailing over my body and face as he walked closer. His eyes turned a shade darker when they rested on my chest, and he gave me a secretive smile. “You look stunning, Kiara.”
I chuckled nervously when he wrapped his arms around me, his strong cologne making me feel heady. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” I whispered, taking in his navy-blue suit and polished shoes.
He looked handsome with the five o’clock stubble and his high cheekbones. Cupping his neck, I pulled him closer as his eyes twinkled with adoration, looking over every inch of my face.
I kissed him, a slow peck because I knew we had an audience, and pulled away when he closed his eyes and kissed the corner of my lips. My nerves relaxed when I heard him whisper,
“What did I do to deserve you?”
“Stop for gas?”
His ocean eyes twinkled with humor when we said our goodbyes to Anya and Andrew. She yelled from the living room, “Be back before eleven, kids. And no funny business.”
I hid my grin against his shoulder when he squeezed my hand and replied to her, “I can’t promise you that, Anya Wu.”
The fundraising gala was on full buzz when we arrived in Jake’s car, cameras flashing on both of us.
Jake held me close, his hand squeezing mine when we entered the hotel.
The hall was humongous and decorated with beige and satin where everyone mingled with each other, servers moving around with champagne, and there were many people from the fashion industry.
It looked more like a fashion event than a fundraiser as I recognized designers and models from all over the world.
“You doing good, Kiara?” Jake whispered in my ear, his arms wrapped around my waist.
I gave him a reassuring smile, and he pecked my temple. We met his agent, his friends. Even the host of this event, Mr. Stone, who was a sweet, kind man in his early sixties and wanted to help kids. I talked with Jake’s friend but slipped off, needing something to warm up my throat.
I don’t know why I am being so nervous.
Thanking the server, I gulped down the bubbly champagne, which left quite a burn in my throat. I watched Jake laugh with his colleagues and talk to them. I smiled and let him be as I ventured to hand over my donation check for the children.
I had a nice chat with the warm lady who explained to me where the money would go and how it would help aid kids fighting cancer.
I asked for their office card so I could visit their office personally and see if I could volunteer or help them in any other way.
She was taken aback by my answer and thanked me, even though I should be the one thanking her for supporting this alternative.
Mr. Stone arrived as I hugged sweet Olivia goodbye after talking to her.
“Among all the three hundred people, you are one of the few who came forward to donate, Ms. Sharma,” he said in his soft voice, walking beside me in his pristine suit.
I assured him, “I am sure more people will come after the dinner.”
He huffed, “You are being too optimistic. I wish that would happen, but unfortunately, most of the people are here for their popularity. At least it will get the word out.”
I agreed and my eyes drifted to the tall, bronze-skinned man with a beautiful raven-haired woman in his arm. I tilted my head to him, “Well, Khalid Al-Latif is here, so you shouldn’t worry about it. The press will do its work.”
He smiled kindly at the towering man who was busy whispering something to the lady in his arms, her cheeks flushing red. “Even as the Prince of Azmia, his paintings have made over two billion dollars for the fundraisers, so I believe it will go well.”
Khalid Al-Latif was not only the Prince of Azmia, the country that bleeds gold, but he was also the brother of Sultan of Azmia.
His paintings are inspired by grief, death, and a sad notion of life which my mother always found intriguing even though he was barely twenty at that time.
I had seen his artwork for the gala; every painting had a child in an abstract form, blended beautifully with sharp, contrasting colors that made your eyes hazy if you kept looking at it.
I knew from the start that most of the donation would be collected because of his paintings.
Mr. Stone asked, “Would you like to dance with me?”
I grinned at him and held his hand, “Of course, Mr. Stone. I wouldn’t dream of declining your request.”
He chuckled, the sound raspy and throaty as he led me to the middle of the floor where other couples were dancing and swaying to the soft music. We swayed together for a while, talking about the other initiatives for the children all around the world.
“Mr. Stone, may I please borrow my fiancée for a dance?” Jake appeared beside me, smiling at the old man.
“Of course, Jacob. Take care of her, she’s an angel.” He squeezed my hand when my cheeks flushed at his compliment. He patted Jake’s shoulder and walked to his husband, who was well known for his luxurious fashion brand.
Jake stepped closer, wrapping his arms around me, and raised his eyebrow. “Flirting with Mr. Stone, are we?”
I let out a soft laugh, “Don’t tell me you got jealous of him.”
He shook his head, swaying me and pressing me much closer to his body. “You should see how men are staring at you right now. I needed to step in and let them know that you are marrying me.”
My hands tightened around his. “I am one lucky woman,” I smiled up at him.
“I am a lucky man to have you,” he whispered, his eyes glinting with adoration. He kissed my knuckles softly, “I love you, Kiara Sharma.”
“And I love you, Jake O’Neal.”
Before he could reply, our dance partners changed, and he was whisked away by another woman. I smiled at him and was about to walk off the stage as I didn’t see anyone when someone held my palm, sweeping me back on the dance floor, twirling me around.
My breath hitched in my throat at the touch of his cold, firm hold when all the lights turned off.
The only source of light was the huge glowing chandelier above us.
I swallowed the lump in my throat at the strange sensation, my nose wafting with musky woodsy and cinnamon cologne.
I couldn’t place it, but I knew there was something familiar about it.
Something familiar about this person.
With the drifting shadows of the light across his face, I marked his sharp features gazing up at him.
His wavy onyx hair was slicked to perfection, but it seemed he had raked his hand through it a lot tonight, tousling it in the process.
No matter, it suited his fierce face well.
High cheekbones, pointed manly nose, slight stubble peppering his sharp jaw and his dark eyes glinting under the lights as he looked straight back at me.
His eyes. A small smile appeared on my lips when I stared up at them. They didn’t know which color they wanted to be, at one moment they were dark blue like the ocean or moss green like a forest. They were beautiful.
He was beautiful.
A shudder ran through my body when those dark, feral eyes raked over my body, his cold yet gentle palm sliding down my bare back, touching me skin to skin.
I instinctively arched up to him because of his touch, my front pressing up against the smooth fabric of his shirt, and I sighed at the feeling of his muscles stiffening.
He hummed, the sound rumbling from his throat making me shiver.
His hand dipped down my dress to stay at my lower hip.
My hand tightened around his other palm, and I looked away from his piercing, probing eyes.
It felt as if he could read me. Could see through me.
My eyes trailed down to his broad shoulders swathed in a black suit which didn’t help hiding his muscles.
He was wearing a crisp black shirt underneath the suit, and the top few buttons of his shirt were open, revealing a hint of tan skin.
Blood warmed my cheeks, and I looked away from his body, trying to keep up with his graceful dancing.
Who are you? My mind wondered. Do I know you? I feel like I have known you all my life and not at all.
This strange, handsome man took me by surprise as he twirled me around, almost forcefully, but caught me in his arms. I gasped and searched for his eyes as my palms flattened on his shirt, feeling his wild heartbeat. I could feel him gazing down at me, searching for something.
“Who are you?”
We both asked the same question. His voice was a rich timbre, much deeper than I predicted.
My mouth went dry when I trailed my hand up his neck to cup his jaw.
He didn’t mind because he was doing the same.
We had stopped dancing and were standing in the corner, away from the glowing lights of the chandelier, in the dark where his palm cupped my cheek, making me look at him, demanding his attention.
His touch was soft but firm, warming my cheek and neck.
I felt hot and cold when I blinked up at him. “I feel like I know you.”
I know you by my heart.
His arm around my waist tightened, and I bit my lip when my breasts pressed up against his shirt.
I shouldn’t be here, standing in the dark corner, leaning up on a handsome stranger.
I was about to push him away when his hand lowered to my neck, his finger brushing up on the crook of my neck, feeling my increasing pulse as I felt his heartbeat.
“I have known you for my entire life,” he muttered darkly, his voice rich and smoky, “Haven’t I? I am not so sure anymore.”
Lights flickered on in the hall and I saw him.
That voice. Those eyes. That hair. Those lips.
A sharp exhale escaped my lips and my heart thumped loudly in my chest. I stared back at him, his dark pupils widening. Blue and green eyes gazing at every little inch of my face, my skin.
No, it couldn’t be.
But it was happening.
His heterochromic diamond-like eyes drilled into me as if I was naked and bare and he could see me. See everything that I was feeling right now.
After all these years . . .
I shivered when he exhaled sharply, warm breath caressing my bare neck.
“Ethan,” I whispered.
“Bella,” he whispered as if it was a prayer.