Chapter 33 Anna #2
“Yes, you hurt me,” I continued, the words tumbling out with years of pent-up frustration.
“And yes, reading about it in the newspaper was a cruel way to find out you were cheating on me. And I know you feel pressure from your parents to marry the right person, join the right clubs, and be the perfect heir to the family business. But I remember the Beau who loved art, who dreamed of moving to Paris to paint every day while I wrote.”
I paused, my breath catching as his expression shifted to something almost like regret. But I wasn’t finished.
“And you know what I’ve learned? The more you twist yourself to fit other people’s expectations, the further you stray from who you are, the more you become a stranger to yourself.”
The words hung in the air like beads from a Mardi Gras float—bright, bold, and impossible to ignore. I took a deep breath, feeling suddenly lighter.
Life after Beau had been chaos. My once-promising writing career had stumbled, my dreams felt like they’d gone up in smoke, and for a while, I thought everything was slipping away. But now, standing here, I realized something important: that wasn’t the whole story.
So what if I wasn’t a published author? Yet. The exhilaration wasn’t in the recognition or the success; it was in staying true to myself and chasing what mattered to me. And because of that, I was more myself now than Beau, Reagan, or any of their crowd would ever be.
Beau’s face twisted into an expression of pure astonishment, and I thought that my words had gotten through to him. Then I noticed he wasn’t looking at me anymore.
He was staring at something behind me. “You’re—” he began, his voice faltering.
I turned, and there was Luke, standing tall, his smile calm and confident. What shocked me most wasn’t his sudden appearance but the fact that he wasn’t wearing a mask anymore.
Luke put his arm around me possessively, lifted my chin with his knuckles, smiled down at me, kissed me quickly on the lips, and said, “Hello, beautiful.” He then extended his hand toward Beau like they were meeting at a cocktail party. “I’m Luke. And you are?”
“Beau,” my ex managed, his voice faint. His handshake was slow, as if he wasn’t entirely sure this was real.
The hum of shock rippled through the room like a slow wave. Not everyone could hear what was being said, but now it was clear that everyone was paying attention to us. Heads turned, whispers darted from one cluster of people to another, and gasps punctuated the murmurs as recognition dawned.
“Is that—” someone whispered.
“Luke Fisher? The movie star?” another voice hissed.
Then, somewhere in the crowd, the pièce de résistance: “Wait, he’s with the catering?”
Luke’s arm tightened protectively around my shoulders. “You’re good,” he murmured, low enough for only me to hear.
I could feel hundreds of eyes pressing on me, but Luke, unfazed as ever, leaned down and kissed me on the top of my head.
The whispers faltered, gasps turned into outright stares, and somewhere, a woman muttered, “I didn’t think it was possible to make a jester outfit look chic. Guess I was wrong.”
Luke’s tone was as smooth as silk. “Thanks for keeping Anna company.” He pulled me in a little closer in an easy, possessive gesture. “She’s one of a kind, isn’t she?”
Beau blinked, clearly at a loss for words. “Uh, yeah. I guess so.”
“She fits into my world perfectly,” Luke added, his voice loud and clear, carrying a gentle, almost awestruck tone that made my cheeks flush. His words hung in the air, undeniable and deliberate, leaving the room buzzing.
Suddenly, Reagan appeared, gliding to Beau’s side with her usual icy poise. Her gown glittered like she’d been dipped in diamonds, but her eyes, darting between Luke and me, gleamed with something less refined: jealousy.
“Wait,” Reagan said, her lips curling into a disbelieving smile as her gaze locked on Luke. “You’re with her?” She gestured vaguely at me as if I were a misplaced umbrella. “That’s what’s happening here?”
Luke raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Guess it’s my lucky day.”
Reagan laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. “Oh, I get it. This is one of those ironic things. You know, like performance art or a publicity stunt. Very Hollywood.”
“Not a stunt,” Luke said smoothly, his tone unbothered. “Just good taste.”
Reagan huffed. “You’re Luke Fisher. You could literally date anyone.”
Luke tilted his head as if giving her statement serious thought, then shrugged. “True. But why settle for just anyone when I can have Anna?”
I could practically see Reagan’s brain short-circuiting as she struggled to keep her composure.
Luke, ever the master of timing, grabbed my hand with an easy confidence, signaling it was time to go. He threw one last look over his shoulder at Beau, his grin bordering on smug. “Nice meeting you, Bob.”
“It’s Beau. Beau,” my ex stammered, his face a shade of crimson I didn’t know was possible.
“Ah, my mistake,” Luke said with mock sincerity. “Apologies.”
I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing as we walked away. I wiggled my fingers in a cheeky wave. “Take care, Bob.”
We were almost out of the door when I looked down at the ridiculous jester costume. “Oh no,” I muttered. “I can’t just leave. I’m working.”
Like a fairy godmother, Marie Antoinette appeared out of nowhere, her jester costume jingling. She took one look at Luke, then at me.
“Absolutely not,” she said, balancing a tray on her hip like a pro. “If you don’t leave with this man right now, I’ll personally see to it that you never live it down. Go. Shoo.” She waved her free hand dramatically, as if she were warding off a stray cat.
“But I—”
She cut me off with a finger to my lips, her red curls bouncing under her jester hat. “No, no, no. I’ve got the muffulettas. You’ve got a movie star. This is not a situation you overthink.”
Luke chuckled, glancing at me with an amused expression. “I like her.”
Outside, under the glow of the streetlights, Luke stopped and turned to me. “You handled that brilliantly.”
I smiled up at him. “I had a little inspiration.”
He leaned in, his lips capturing mine in a kiss that was everything Beau never could be: steady, real, and perfect. As the noise of the gala faded behind us, I realized something. Revenge might be sweet, but moving forward with someone who truly saw me? That was even sweeter.