Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
T he Over the Rainbow Gala is just as beautiful as I’d always imagined it would be. True to its name, everything, from the lighting to the flowers and table settings, is tastefully decorated in various colors of the rainbow. The ballroom is spacious, with a grand staircase descending from the lobby to the main floor. Mirrors line the walls at the top of the room, reflecting the light and colors and movement from the ballroom in a way that feels truly magical.
I’m a pretty confident person, overall. I’d probably rate pretty high on a scale of self-esteem, especially when it comes to my looks. My genetics have graced me with a slim, athletic build, and I eat well and exercise regularly to maintain it. I’ve never had to wallow in much doubt over whether someone finds me attractive; I usually assume they do, until proven otherwise.
So I’m not questioning whether or not I look good in the dress, because I know I do—that isn’t why I’m nervous as I’m let into the gala and ushered toward the grand staircase.
I’m nervous because, as I pause at the top of the stairs, I belatedly realize I’m finally having my movie moment. Okay, so not everyone in the room stops to stare at me, but I see lots of faces craning up. Naturally. After Nina’s careful ministrations, the dress is a knockout, and I look fantastic in it.
But scanning quickly through all the faces in the room, I realize with a sinking heart that it was never about seeing everyone in the room fall silent and turn to look at me. There’s really only one face I want to see looking up at me, only one person whose opinion I care about, and he isn’t here.
“Matilda.” Jay breaks away from whoever he was just speaking with—wait, was that Nico Moretti??—and comes over to join me as I reach the bottom of the stairs. I watch him do a full body scan, see how his eyes linger briefly in a few key places, and I feel...nothing.
On paper, Jay is my perfect man: handsome, clean-cut, well-educated, cultured, successful, ambitious, and financially secure. I would never have to feel unsafe with Jay—I know, from having read the tabloids, that even when things don’t work out with his romantic partners, he has a reputation for being a perfect gentleman. And if things did work out, I’d be set up for life. I would never have to struggle or worry or work again.
But I would never have to be vulnerable, either, and for the first time in my life, this feels like a lack. I would never stay up late watching Full House episodes with Jay Eastman, or fall asleep on the couch with him because we stayed up too late talking. He would never fix my shower for me because he noticed it was leaking, or send me silly selfies throughout the day, just to make me laugh.
He’s perfect on paper in every way. Except, he isn’t Kimo.
Jay is good at reading people, so it probably shouldn’t come as a surprise that he seems to immediately clock that something has changed tonight from my flirtation earlier in the week. To his credit, he shifts gears right away, standing a respectful distance away and giving me a nod in greeting, like he might to any colleague. “You look lovely tonight,” he tells me kindly.
“Thank you.” I hope my voice doesn’t sound as miserable as I feel. It was a mistake, all of it—coming here tonight, flirting with Jay, and doing it in front of Kimo. He probably wrote me off after that, and he was probably right to do so. I really ought to have learned my lesson by now—most people come and go in your life, and it’s all too easy to push them away.
I force a smile at Jay. “It’s a great turnout. I’m sure you’ll raise all the money you were hoping to.”
“We already have,” Jay informs me. “Kimo wrote me a check the first day I told him about the gala and matched the amount we were hoping to raise. But I figured, everything was already paid for, the space was already reserved, and maybe people would be moved by Kimo’s show of generosity to give more.”
This new information makes my lungs feel like they’re full of lead, each breath painful and difficult—and not just because of the tightly fitted bodice I’m wearing. That’s so like Kimo. He won’t be happy until he’s given all his money away. Kimo Hood, indeed. I blink, struggling to compose myself. “That’s...wonderful. I just realized, I don’t even know what the charity is?”
“The Adoption Center of Illinois.”
Unexpectedly, tears flood my eyes. I blink and nod, doing my best to hold them in. “That’s really nice,” I manage finally.
“Kimo’s very generous,” Jay agrees. “And we’re lucky the donation’s already gone through, what with”—he gives me a meaningful look—“the new development.”
I frown at him, not liking how ominous that just sounded. “What new development?” I’ve been happily foisting anything to do with Kimo’s case off to Barry this week, just to avoid seeing his name. I knew something major happened with it last weekend, when Kimo ditched book club, but like the self-denying, immovable bitch that I can sometimes be, I wouldn’t even let myself get anywhere near it. I didn’t want to know if there was a good explanation for Kimo not showing up that night, because—I realize now—I was more interested in punishing him, and me, too, for allowing myself to be so vulnerable.
Jay looks surprised by my ignorance. “The settlement offer from Pika. Where he’ll grant all custody rights to Kimo if he signs over all of his remaining assets from the So Ono stocks.”
I feel as though I’ve just taken a spinning kick to the solar plexus. I grip Jay’s arm, unable to catch my breath. “He’s not going to do it, is he?”
Jay’s brow furrows. My reaction is, obviously, much stronger than what it should be for someone who’s just a paralegal on the case—and whose relationship with Kimo is actually as minimal as I’ve tried to make it out to be. He searches my gaze for a moment, before blinking back into his professional persona. “You know I can’t discuss that without my client.”
He doesn’t have to, though. That’s lawyer speak for yes . Still gripping his arm tightly, I cast my eyes wildly about the room, trying to speed-brainstorm a solution, some way to keep Kimo from signing everything away—when my gaze catches at the top of the stairs.
Kimo has just arrived. If I thought my entrance caused a commotion, it’s nothing to a six-four, broad-framed Polynesian man in a maroon-and-black velvet tux. His wild hair has been tamed back into a more respectable bun, his facial hair trimmed, and he’s even wearing loafers instead of flip-flops.
He looks incredible—out of his element, and endearingly not entirely comfortable, but still incredible. I watch as he pauses at the top of the stairs, his eyes searching the crowd for someone. For me, I realize, as our gazes lock together.
He holds eye contact with me his entire walk down the grand staircase, and I can’t breathe the entire time. It isn’t until he reaches us that Kimo finally glances away, nodding to Jay. “Jay. Good to see you, brother.”
Jay says something pleasant back, but I don’t really hear it. My heartbeat is roaring in my ears. I’m the one who can’t look away from Kimo now, my eyes shamelessly glued to his face.
I see him glance down at my hand, and it’s only then that I realize I’m still gripping Jay’s arm, out of the shock from hearing about the settlement. I release Jay none too gently, half flinging his arm away from me, not wanting there to be any confusion about what is—or isn’t—happening between us.
“Ow,” Jay mutters under his breath.
Then Kimo’s eyes lock with mine again, and I’m not aware of anything, or anyone, else in the room. There could be a fire, or an avalanche, or a spontaneous group performance of the Macarena, and I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t register with me at all.
“I know it’s rude to interrupt,” Kimo says finally, “but can I have this dance?”
I want to tell him he can have so much more than that—he can have everything if he wants it. That I understand now why he had to miss book club—that the settlement offer must have come in and that it needed to be discussed right away, that his niece and nephew are children and he’s their guardian and they always will have to come first, and I’m not only fine with that, but I admire that about him, maybe even more than any of his other amazing qualities. That I made a mistake taunting him by flirting with Jay, that I was being immature and spiteful and trying to protect myself, like I’ve always had to. But none of that matters right now so much as me needing to keep him from making an even bigger mistake by signing everything away to Pika.
“Yes,” is what I say instead.
Then Kimo wraps his warm hand around mine and pulls me to the dance floor.