Chapter 21 Jenna #2
My companions seem firmly on my side. Vivienne and Alison are outraged on my behalf, while Gina glances between us like she's watching a tennis match—and loving every second of it.
I hold Anastasia's gaze as her face grows redder and redder.
"You have no idea who you're making an enemy of, you… bitch," she spits, fury radiating from her.
"You already called me that," I reply smoothly. "Can't you think of another insult? Anyway, to answer your question—yes, I think I know exactly who I'm dealing with. May I remind you who my husband-to-be is? If I were you, I'd think very carefully about my future before doing anything else stupid."
Her face drains of color. She sniffs, then turns sharply and storms away, leaving me with the server and the gathered crowd.
"Wow," Mrs. Rockson says. "That was incredible."
"I can't believe she'd do something like that," Vivienne murmurs. "I mean, I've always known she was temperamental, but in public?"
"Oh, honey, let's get you cleaned up," Alison says, taking charge. "I'll have my driver fetch another dress for you."
"Bring one of mine," Vivienne adds. "The Seraphina would look amazing on her figure."
"I'd appreciate it. Thank you."
"I'm so sorry," the server begins again, voice trembling, but I wave it off.
"Don't worry. I know it wasn't your fault. I'll let your manager know so you don't get blamed for something you didn't do."
I give her a reassuring smile, and she returns it gratefully. Poor girl—she looks barely out of high school. This must be mortifying.
"The only thing I'd ask," I continue gently, "is if you could find me a bag to put this dress in, and maybe some vinegar and lemon juice. I'd like to see if I can get the stain out."
"Yes, of course! I'll do that right away, ma'am."
"Great. I'll be in the bathroom."
She nods and hurries off.
"Ladies," I say to the group, "I'm so sorry to cut our conversation short, but if you'll excuse me…"
We exchange numbers before I walk toward the bathroom, head high, ignoring the curious stares that follow me.
As I cross the room, I catch sight of Grayson watching me. His expression is unreadable, intense. I wonder if he saw the whole thing—and if he's proud of how I handled it.
Maybe this was a test to see how I'd react under pressure.
Judging by the hint of a smile tugging at his lips, I'd say I passed.
I smirk and wink at him as I head into the bathroom.
Someone's already inside—a striking dark-haired woman checking her makeup in the mirror.
She glances at my dress and smirks. "I saw what happened out there. You didn't handle it badly at all."
"Thank you," I say, stepping up to the sink. "Your dress is gorgeous, by the way. Cavalli?"
"You really do have a good eye," she replies with a smile.
"That's what they say." I wet a napkin and begin dabbing at the stain.
"I don't really blame Ana, though," the woman continues conversationally. "I mean, Grayson Wolfe has a way of making women go crazy. It's an addictive kind of thing. When he's gone, it feels like you're crashing to the ground."
I meet her gaze in the mirror. "Let me guess—you dated him too."
She smirks. "Something like that."
Finished with her makeup, she heads for the door, then pauses and looks back. "Just… be careful, okay? With him, things aren't always as they seem."
She leaves before I can ask what she means. I frown, replaying her words as I inspect the stubborn red blotch on my gown. The water alone isn't helping much. Hopefully the vinegar and lemon mix will.
I wait about five minutes for the server to return, but when the door finally opens, it isn't her—it's Grayson, carrying a garment bag.
I raise an eyebrow. "You know this is the women's bathroom, right?"
"I know," he says easily. "It's a woman I'm looking for."
His voice is low, his eyes simmering with heat as he approaches. My pulse jumps.
"You saw what happened?" I ask.
"Yes. I was on my way to step in when I heard what you said." He shakes his head, half smiling. "You were incredible. I couldn't stop watching."
I shrug, blushing. "Well, it's not my first time dealing with a rich brat—and probably won't be my last."
"Rest assured," he says darkly, "you won't have to deal with that one again."
"Why? What did you do?"
"Nothing terrible—less than she deserves. Let's just say she won't be getting invited anywhere for a while. At least, not anywhere we'll be."
I shake my head. "That's sweet, but unnecessary. I can handle her."
"I know," he says softly. "But I don't want you to have to." He lifts the garment bag. "I got you a new dress from Chanel. Rush delivery."
"Wow. Vivienne was going to lend me one of hers."
"I heard," he says with a smirk. "But no one else is buying my future wife's clothes but me."
I can't help but smile at that.
After I change into the new gown, we walk out together, returning to the glow of the chandelier-lit ballroom. The night hums with music and chatter, but all I feel is the warmth of his hand at my back.
"Oh, by the way," I tell him. "Have you seen the girl who spilled the wine? I need to find her and give her a big tip. She's had a rough night."
He stops, looking down at me for a long moment.
I raise an eyebrow. "What?"
He just shakes his head, a slow smile forming—and right there, in the center of the room, beneath the glittering chandeliers, he pulls me close and kisses me passionately.