Chapter Thirteen #2
“I have no idea,” she says with a delightful blush that looks genuine. “I’m just me.”
“And that says it all,” I tell them, forcing a smile. “How’s Lennon?”
“He’s just started at the grammar school,” she states. “Thoroughly miserable, but he’ll get over it. Good luck this evening, I hope the ball goes well and brings in some significant funds.”
“Thank you, have a great evening.”
The two women move on.
Chessie lifts an eyebrow at me. “Her son’s name is Lennon?”
“She’s a big Beatles fan.”
“At least she didn’t call him Ringo.”
“Don’t make me laugh,” I say, “I’m still mad at you.”
Orson glances at me, then smiles at Chessie. “Why don’t I take you to Scarlett? She can introduce you to a few people she knows. She picks out all the nice ones.”
“I’d like that, thank you.” She lets Orson lead her away and doesn’t look at me as they walk across the lobby to the doors of the nightclub. A sign states there’s a private party at the club tonight, and a bouncer stands on the door, ready to deter anyone who doesn’t have an invitation.
I remain where I am, greeting guests, Orson rejoining me after a few minutes, and it’s only as the flow dies down that we decide it’s time to join the party.
We’ve worked hard to turn the Midnight Club into a suitable venue for the ball.
Gone are the flashing laser lights and the dance music we play most nights.
Later, there will be some dance music, but right now a four-piece band is up on the stage playing tasteful jazz, and it’s not loud enough to drown out the conversation.
The navy and silver decor is classy and elegant, and we’ve emphasized it with the same color balloons and streamers everywhere.
On the back wall behind the band, above the huge clock, is a banner that declares this is a charity gala.
Mostly, we keep it quiet that we funnel the majority of the profits from Midnight into charities, but word gets out, and tonight we’re quite open about our wish to help others less fortunate than ourselves.
There is a dance floor, and a few people are attempting to swing dance, but mostly everyone is sipping from champagne flutes and nibbling at appetizers from plates carried by smartly dressed waiters, who slip carefully between the guests.
There are lots of nooks where groups of friends are meeting up to chat.
There’ll be entertainment and dancing later, but at the moment, mostly people are mingling and exchanging pleasantries.
Midnight is a place to make connections, to meet other people in business, and that is no different tonight.
“There she is.” Orson leads me across the room to where I can see Chessie talking to Scarlett and my sister, Marama, as well as a few others.
All the women here are wearing ball gowns, and Scarlett and Marama both look stunning too, but Chessie still stands out in her ruby-red velvet gown, with that gorgeous copper-colored hair.
I don’t want to remain mad at her for the rest of the evening, and so I slide my arm around her waist and kiss her cheek. “How are you doing?”
She blushes. “I’m good, thank you.”
“Have you had something to eat?”
“Yes, Dad.”
I give her a wry look, and Scarlett and Marama both giggle.
“We need to circulate,” Orson says, holding out his hand to Scarlett.
“Yes, us too,” I tell Chessie. “Are you up for it?”
To my surprise, she says, “Let’s go for it,” and takes my hand. She’s holding a glass of champagne, so I’m guessing a little Dutch courage is involved.
I half expect her to stand quietly at my side as I introduce her to my business associates, but to my surprise she throws herself into the role with gusto.
Holding her hand, I take her around the room, introducing her, and she shakes hands and kisses cheeks like a pro, telling little jokes about our relationship and leaning against me as if we’ve been dating for months.
I thought it might be annoying to have someone acting as if they own me, but it doesn’t feel like that.
Weirdly, it’s comforting to have her at my side.
It’s as if she’s got my back, and that’s an unusual feeling for me with women.
With men… yeah, I have my father and Orson and other friends and business associates to back me up, but my relationship with women has always been…
difficult. I’ve always felt as if they wanted something from me, whether that was my attention, my connections, or, most likely, my money.
I don’t get that feeling with Chessie though.
I suppose because she’s an old friend, I just feel comfortable with her.
I know she was overwhelmed by the amount of money I gave her, and she obviously has no intention of trying to milk me for any more.
All she wants to do is help me, and I’m genuinely touched by that selfless act.
She’s a little nervous when it comes to meeting my parents.
I understand why, as she overheard my father’s put-down all those years ago, but I’ve told her that, to my surprise, when I told them we were getting engaged, although they were both surprised, neither of them said anything detrimental.
Now, they both give her a big hug and tell her they’re sorry to hear about Joe but are glad he’s on the mend.
My mother then leads Chessie away with Scarlett and Marama, saying she wants to talk weddings, which, “isn’t a conversation for men’s ears. ”
“Like I wouldn’t be the one getting married too,” I grumble to Orson.
“Oh, leave them to it,” he says good naturedly. We’ve both had a few whiskies, and he’s pleasantly mellow. “Girls like weddings. They’ll have fun planning ours. Maybe we should have a joint wedding, too.” He looks genuinely pleased at the thought.
“Dude.” I frown. “I’m not actually getting married, remember?”
He blinks. “Oh. Yeah. You two look so good together. I forgot.”
I give him a wry look, convinced he’s taking the piss, but he just grabs a crab puff from a passing waiter and eats it, looking out over the crowd.
My gaze slides back to Chessie, who’s sipping her champagne as she listens to my mother waxing lyrical about invitations or dresses or something similar.
Her face is a little flushed, maybe from the alcohol or the fact that it’s warm in here.
Even though she’s convinced she’s not a patch on the other women here, she doesn’t understand how she stands out with her natural beauty, both in body and spirit.
She has a positive outlook and a gentle nature, and it shines from her like a beacon.
She might be a gardener who’s more at home in shorts and boots with her hands in the earth, but tonight she’s like a lighthouse in the center of the room, radiating grace. I can’t take my eyes off her.
“We should do the engagement announcement soon,” Orson advises. “Before we get stuck into the entertainment.”
“Yeah, probably not a bad idea.”
“Ellen’s got us a cake,” he says, naming our Event Organizer.
“Do you think we’re going to have to cut it with a sword or something?”
“Dude, we’re not in the SAS.”
“And our country can breathe easier because of that.”
He opens his mouth to reply, then stops as someone says, “Good evening.”
I turn at the sound of the woman’s voice from behind us, and my heart skips a beat. It’s Sabrina Pearce.
Her blonde hair is swept up in an elegant chignon.
She’s wearing a skin-tight gown made of a shiny material that looks like liquid silver, and it’s clear that she’s not wearing any underwear beneath it.
Her foundation is so pale, and her makeup so carefully painted, that she looks like a doll.
She’s beautiful, but in a way that now leaves me cold.
“What are you doing here?” I snap.
“Charming.” She looks amused. “I had an invitation.”
“Wasn’t me,” Orson says when I glare at him.
It must have been one of the other Midnight Circle members who invited her. She is on the board of some charities, and she holds a high-ish position in a fashion business, so I guess someone thought she should be invited.
“I’ve heard an interesting rumor,” she says. “Someone told me there’s going to be an engagement announcement tonight.”
I don’t say anything. Orson glances at me, then says, “Yeah. I proposed to Scarlett. I’m thinking of a Christmas wedding.”
She ignores him and keeps her gaze fixed on me. “I also heard it’s a dual announcement.” The smile she normally keeps pinned on her face fades. “You fucked me less than a month ago,” she says bitterly. “And now you’re announcing you’re getting married? To your gardener?”
“I need some landscaping done,” I tell her. “I thought I’d get better service this way.”
Her eyes narrow. “You think you’re so smart,” she whispers. “But you’re not. You think you can take whatever you want, then discard it when you tire of it.”
“Kingi,” Orson warns, but I ignore him.
“I got tired of you even before I took you to bed,” I snap.
Her eyes blaze into mine. “Well, I have something to tell you that might make you want to put the brakes on.” Her gaze slides briefly behind me before returning to mine. Then she lifts her chin and says, with a horrible smile, “I’m pregnant.”
I stare at her, my heart banging. Orson’s jaw drops.
There’s a long silence, during which Sabrina raises an eyebrow, her smile turning smug.
And then I feel a presence at my side. I glance across and see Chessie, and it’s immediately clear she heard every word.
Icy fury creeps through me, and I glare at Sabrina. “That’s bullshit.”
She gives a small shrug. “You can say what you like. It doesn’t change the truth.”
I feel a complicated whirlwind of emotions—anger, frustration, dislike, and hurt. “Why are you doing this?” I demand. “Why are you so determined to ruin my life?”
“You’re so fucking selfish.” Her bitterness is back. “You treat me like shit and then wonder why I react badly?”
Her words imply that I’m right—she’s doing this on purpose to hurt me. So is she telling the truth? Or is she making it up?
“I’m going to tell the press first thing tomorrow,” she says. “It’ll be interesting to see whether my news or yours is the top headline.”
I clench my hands into fists by my side. “I bet a pregnancy didn’t even cross your mind until you found out about the engagement. Nobody’s going to believe you. And anyway, even if you are pregnant, and I know you’re not, I bet there are ten other men who could claim to be the father.”
She flushes. “Are you slut shaming me now?”
“Just stating a fact. You were hardly saving yourself for me, Sabrina.”
“Our relationship was very public. Who do you think the press is going to assume is the Pāpā?”
Fury billows through me. I open my mouth with no idea what I’m going to say, but I know it’s going to be cruel and unpleasant.
Orson obviously sees the look on my face, though. “Whoa… okay.” He moves between us, takes Sabrina’s arm, and physically turns her away. “Let’s take a walk over here, shall we, before we all say or do something we regret.”
He manhandles her away, just as people are starting to notice the altercation and look around.
I watch her go, silently fuming. Around us, people are leaning together and murmuring behind their hands. No doubt they overheard at least some of that conversation. Did anyone hear her say she was pregnant?
I feel nauseous, and I’m physically trembling both at what she said and her level of bitterness.
But it’s not just that. I’m furious that she’s hurt Chessie.
What I have with Chessie isn’t real. I’m not getting engaged, or married, to her.
But for some reason I feel gutted that she’s been humiliated like this.
Chessie meets my gaze for a moment. Then she turns and walks away, heading for the exit.
I stride after her, and we walk silently out into the lobby. She doesn’t stop, continuing to the front door, and although someone calls out a hello to me as we pass, I ignore them, catching up with her just before she goes to run down the steps.
“Wait,” I say. “Chessie, please.”
She wrenches her arm out of my hand. “Why? We can’t go back in there. We can hardly announce our engagement now!”
“That’s what she was planning on,” I tell her with determination. “She wants to ruin me. That’s why she invented the pregnancy.”
“You don’t know that, Kingi.” Her eyes shine. “She could be telling the truth.”
“She’s not. She heard about the engagement, and she decided on the spot to make something up to stop it.”
“You can’t be sure.”
“I can. I used a condom every time.”
She blinks. “Condoms break.”
I glare at her. I know she’s right, and it can happen. “I am not going to let that woman bring me down.” I jab a finger at the club. “And I am not going to let her spoil what we have.”
“We don’t have anything,” she says tiredly. “This is all fake, remember? Pulling it off was always going to be a long shot. I think it’s time we admitted it hasn’t worked.”
She turns to walk away, but I grab her arm again, panic rising inside me. “I’m not giving up that easily.”
She pulls her arm away again. “It’s not up to you.” She starts walking down the steps as she takes her phone out of her clutch. “I want to go home. I’m going to call for an Uber.”
“Chessie, please stay.”
“I don’t want to. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Don’t go. I’ll just come after you.” I’m determined not to let her leave.
“Stop.” She’s close to tears now. “I don’t want to talk to you. I’m upset, and I need to go. Please, just let me. And don’t follow me. I’ve had enough of that from Tamati. I don’t want it from you.”
She turns and runs down the steps, heading down the drive for the main road.
I watch her go, and this time, I don’t stop her.
After blowing out a long breath, I turn and walk slowly back up the steps. I can’t force her to stay. And I mustn’t go after her and try to force her to talk to me—I don’t want to be like her ex.
She’s genuinely upset about this. I don’t know why. Is it that she’s conscious of the story coming out tomorrow, and how embarrassing it will be for her?
Immediately, I know that’s not the reason. She doesn’t care about what other people think of her. The news hurt her personally. She has feelings for me. I suspected that was the case, but this just confirms it.
I need to talk to her. I might be able to sneak off early, but I have to stay here for a little while at least and make sure the ball is going well. Then I’ll call her, and hopefully I’ll be able to sort out some of this mess.