Chapter 20 The Met Gala
THE MET GALA
LEAH
“Leah! Leah!”
Cameras snapped in every direction. I stopped and turned, staring as alluring as I could.
My assistant hopped out to smooth the skirt of my impressive ballgown like an American version of a lady-in-waiting.
My entire entourage was here tonight—my agent, publicist, assistant, and stylist. I had three looks to wear.
This was the big leagues—the Met Gala. I came every year to win.
Well, I officially came to draw attention to charity.
“Leah! Leah! A word!” I looked at a reporter I didn’t hate, Cindy True.
“Hello,” I tried to be my most charming.
“Who are you wearing tonight?” She asked.
“This is Dior,” I answered. “Everything tonight is Dior.”
“This gold on you is amazing,” Cindy said. “You look spectacular. How do you feel?”
“Great,” I replied.
“You’re a busy girl. You’ve just finished Sisi, were nominated for a Tony for My Fair Lady, and now what? You’re back home on Broadway shortly?”
I shrugged. “It’s a wild life, I know. I’m blessed.”
“What about the ten-year reunion for the cast of Victoria?”
“It is. I agreed to sign on to ten shows for charity’s sake. And then everyone decided to return and make a historic go of it. We’re signed on for six months. If they renew it, maybe more.”
I didn’t want to talk about this. I agreed to ten shows, then twenty.
Then, it turned into eight shows a week for months.
I was exhausted thinking about it, but I’d get to finally play Broadway with Lou for the first time.
Besides, when everyone played ball and signed on, I knew pulling out after twenty shows would make me look stuck up.
“So exciting.”
I nodded and smiled.
“And your fiancé is around here?”
I looked around. “Somewhere.”
Rich wandered off, covering ground on his political mission.
He had to run, having only served for about a year and a half in the Senate as a replacement for a beloved woman senator who died in office.
He was its youngest member and faced a strong primary challenger.
The Democrats couldn’t help but want to eat their own face.
“Who is the Senator wearing?”
“Calvin Klein,” I answered.
I spotted Rich’s salt-and-pepper hair down the line. He was talking with a CNN reporter. This was a bread-and-butter event. We needed to wow them.
“Any idea about a wedding date?” Cindy asked.
“Not yet. I’m still trying to get everyone together all at once. My sister is pregnant, so we’re trying to ensure we don’t take up all that space.”
“Oh, best wishes to her. But we are dying to see what you wear. Will it be here or—”
“Shoot! They’re calling me!” I lied.
Rich and I had only recently gone public with our long-decided engagement, and everyone wanted a full report on wedding planning.
He proposed right after my shoot wrapped but wanted to wait until it was politically advantageous to announce it.
However, I was now in the process of being fitted for my recast in Victoria while working on final redlines in Britain for Sisi.
I once more had to embody a queen—this time, the one who made me—while letting an empress send my career in a different direction.
Wedding planning was the least of my worries.
Rich walked up. “You alright?”
“A million questions. Everyone wants wedding details,” I groaned.
“It’s alright. It will be fine.”
I smiled. He put me at ease when I got wound up. I loved him for it.
“Senator, can we get a photo?”
A reporter flagged him to take a photo beside an activist Rich knew.
“Rich, hand me your phone!” I realized he absentmindedly put it in his jacket—the one that showed every line. It was the sort of thing my handlers would have thought of, but politicians didn’t have such people. They had a team of analysts not stylists.
“Oh, shit. Here,” he handed it over.
Rich’s life was strange. Politics confused me. Still, he was gorgeous; I could bask in that. He handed me his phone and departed. I sat on the back burner for once, relieved to be the girlfriend—well, fiancée.
His phone buzzed. I was about to call him when he got a text. I wasn’t the type of woman to go through a phone. I wasn’t easily made jealous. However, the words I unintentionally spotted on the screen stopped my heart.
C
Miss you. Just made it back. If you get a chance, skip out and come over.
I didn’t know who “C” was, but I knew it wasn’t innocent.
Skip out? Had he done that in the middle of the night?
I hadn’t been in town regularly for so long, so maybe I didn’t know.
Or was this woman in D.C.? I couldn’t tell.
I assumed it was a woman. Maybe it was a man? Either way, Rich wasn’t being honest.