Chapter Forty-Five Damion
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
“Is there anything as painful as waiting for the love of your life?”
—Remington
Damion
“You have to respect the location,” Beckett said, pointing at the stone walls and high ceilings. “Gothic glamour on Halloween night? Your mom fucking killed it with this.”
I looked around and yeah, he wasn’t wrong.
The ball was at the Cloisters, the medieval museum that was part of the Met, and the setting was money. Candlelight, sconces, Gothic artwork, stone floors, dark corners—it worked.
Hosting the ball was a coup and the only reason my mother had volunteered on the committee for half my life, and the fact that she’d been able to book space there gave her ball GOAT status.
She was winning at everything, it seemed, although she was still pissed at me for wearing an all-white modern suit (instead of a ridiculous costume) and for taking “that” girl.
But my parents had been surprisingly nice since the minute we got into the waiting car.
My mom was in her long black gown, my dad in his black tux, and they seemed almost smug when we left the house, like they were A-OK with the situation. Which probably should’ve worried me, but I was too excited to care.
Not excited about the ball, but about having this night with Julia. I was excited to see her in her gown, to dance with her, to have permission to keep her out until all hours of the morning.
I just hated that I had to wait to see her.
It was a Gardenwood tradition that couples didn’t show up to the ball together.
The guys waited in the huge ballroom, and the girls were presented at the top of the stairs.
It allowed for big drama (and wasted a lot of time in my opinion), but if I started picking apart all the details of the season now, I’d never stop.
“I like this buzz,” Beckett said, gesturing to the crowded ballroom. “If I have to stand in the middle of a massive man sandwich, it’s fun that we’re all standing around, waiting for the women to light up our world.”
“I cannot believe you just referred to this as a ‘massive man sandwich,’ ” I said with a laugh. “And I cannot believe that you like this.”
“Anticipation is an underrated drug,” he said with a grin.
“Yeah, that it is,” I agreed, my eyes going to the top of those stairs, desperate for a glimpse of her.
“I think this is the first time I’ve seen you without Julia in weeks,” Beckett said out of the side of his mouth. “You doin’ okay, kid?”
“Not really,” I joked. “I haven’t seen her all day.”
She’d spent the day getting ready with Donovan and Jasmine.
“Well, it won’t be long now,” he said.
I was ready with a smart-ass jab, but when I looked at him, Beck was giving me a genuine smile as he said, “You seem different now.”
“Different how?” I scoffed.
Beckett’s eyebrow rose as he shrugged. “I don’t know, dare I say… happy?”
“Happy” didn’t do what I was feeling justice. No.
Was it bliss? Contentment? Fucking pure and indescribable joy?
Yeah, maybe all those things, God help me.
“Don’t jinx it,” I responded as Beckett jumped when three men with trumpets started playing the fanfare.
“Dear Jesus,” he said with a laugh as the horns signaled that the announcements were to begin. “Scared the shit out of me. Is that really necessary?”
The announcements were basically just an excuse to have all eyes on the girl in the gown.
To give every girl an opportunity to shock and awe with her appearance.
And our jobs, as the dates, were to meet them halfway up the staircase, lend our arm, and walk them down to the bottom, where the ball awaited.
As the “host couple,” Julia and I would be announced last. Julia would probably hate it, all that attention on her, but I kind of thought she deserved the spotlight.
The announcements began, and for some reason, I was stupid nervous. I just wanted everything to be perfect for her, but I knew she was worried about the Skins or the Toms doing something to ruin the night for her.
And I wasn’t about to let that happen.
I watched as they announced one couple after another, impatient for the sight of her.
I watched as all the girls I knew descended the stairs in immaculate costumes, pale pink and white dresses with matching hats and parasols.
Corsets and high heels. Diamonds fucking everywhere, twinkling in the shadowy medieval lighting.
Everyone was well-dressed and glamorous, and I was dying to see mine.
So when they finally said her name, my heart was pounding in my chest.
“Miss Julia Lowell, daughter of Clint and Shawna Lowell, partner of Mr. Damion Rutledge.”
Julia stepped forward, and I literally felt my heart pinch in my chest.
Dear God, she is so beautiful.
I heard a collective gasp go up around me.
I mean, no one would be so gauche as to actually gasp, but there was an undercurrent of surprise, of awe, as everyone looked up at the most stunning girl in the room.
She was Cinderella, if Cinderella had fire in her veins and was fucking hot.
Instead of a period piece, Julia was wearing a long gown.
It was made of red silk and tulle, with a corset top that had two straps of silk bows, bows with long, dangling ribbons just begging to be pulled.
The skirt was frothy and lush, looking like hundreds of handmade roses were folded into the transparent fabric, making the entire thing a hazy tease.
Fucking Springfield, Nebraska, I bow to your fashion, holy shit.
Her hair was down, all pulled over to one side and falling in the softest curls, like a waterfall of waves. It looked brighter against the shocking color of her gown, almost like an accessory.
The dress and her hair were an homage to the trees outside, I swear to God, the brightest hues of autumn’s palette.
Diamonds twinkled in her ears, and a thin diamond necklace sat at the base of her throat.
But her smile as she looked down at me was what made me feel like dropping to my knees and saying a prayer of thanks. I didn’t wait for the cue but started walking up the stairs, needing to get to her.
Unable to wait another second.
I heard Beckett laugh as I ran up the stairs too fast, as I reached her side before she’d even come down three steps.
“Slow down, Mr. Rutledge,” the announcer said with a smile in his voice. “The lady is worth the wait.”
“I’ve never loved Edith Wharton more than I do right now,” I said as I grabbed Julia’s hand.
“Why?” she asked, and I could feel her hands trembling. I didn’t want her to be nervous. I wanted her to feel as alive as I felt, looking down at her perfect face.
“Because somehow her life led to this moment at this ball, with you as my date, wearing this dress that I want to bow down and worship. I can’t think of an adjective strong enough to describe how you look right now, Lowell.”
“Oh my God,” she said, her smile growing wide, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’ve stumped the smartest tutor at Gardenwood.”
I think I love her already.
It was impossible, too soon, and what the hell did I know about love anyway?
But I was enamored with everything about her.
The poetry of my Julia.
I am wind, and you are chimes.
The way she thought, the way she grinned, the way she moved.
“ ‘The two of us combined could set it on fire,’ ” I said to myself, delivering the line under my breath.
“What?” she asked, those perfectly lined amber eyes meeting mine.
“Nothing,” I said, swallowing down the unexpected swell of emotion. “Shall we do this ball thing, Miss Lowell?”
“Yep.” She nodded, but then stopped herself and lifted her chin with a regal air. “I mean, yes, please, Mr. Rutledge.”