Chapter 30
thirty
SADIE
The Grand Liberty’s ballroom has been transformed, thanks to Autumn’s clever eye for detail.
Soft lighting glows from crystal chandeliers.
Massive floral arrangements line the walls.
There’s art everywhere; statues, prints, glowing digital panels that change every few seconds.
Expensively dressed couples weave among them, glasses of champagne in hand.
It’s so beautiful, and I can’t wait to find Autumn to congratulate her.
Romy walks back over carrying two glasses of champagne. She passes one to me. “Okay. This is officially better than a billionaire romance.”
“Which part?” I ask, trying not to smile. She hasn’t been to a gala before. Nor have I, for that matter. “The bit before or after he breaks her heart.”
She blinks. “Not sure. But if any of these men want to break somebody’s heart, I volunteer as tribute.”
I’m taking a sip of my champagne when I feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise. And I know it’s him. I can feel it. There’s an intensity to his stare that even my skin seems to feel.
Taking a deep breath, I turn around and see Zach striding through the door to the ballroom, wearing a tux that makes him look like he’s an old-fashioned movie star.
He scans the room, and I hold my breath. Then he stops dead, his eyes moving slowly over me, taking me in.
I think I look pretty good. It took me long enough to get ready after all. Washing my hair, pinning it up in red waves that frame my made-up face.
But it’s the floor length dress that I ordered from the mainland I love the most. It clings to my body like it was made for me, the neckline dips low enough to tease, the back scooping even lower.
The fabric catches the light as I shift, a hundred shades of green, like moss and jewel and forest, shimmering with every breath I take.
Tiny crystal straps curve over my shoulders, glinting like stars against my pale skin, and the slit along the side reveals one long leg with every step. It’s glamorous, sleek, and absolutely nothing like the girl who arrived on this island with a single suitcase.
Zach stalks toward me, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Romy,” he murmurs, looking at my friend as he takes my hand in his. “Can you give us a moment?”
“No problem,” she says, sounding amused. “You coming?” she asks the security guard.
He actually cracks a smile. “I have to go guard the front of the hotel.”
“Shame.” She smiles back. “Maybe later.”
“Maybe.”
She blinks, like she wasn’t expecting that, her gaze following him as he walks out of the room. “Okay then,” she murmurs. “Have fun.” She heads for the bar, leaving me standing, surrounded by people, as Zach steps up closer to me, his expression so intense it takes my breath away.
“You look ethereal,” he murmurs, taking my hand and kissing it.
This man knows how to make me feel buzzed in all the right places.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I say, lifting my head to smile at him.
He pulls me closer, enough for me to breathe in the low notes of his cologne. His jacket is thick against my arms as he dips his head to kiss the shell of my ear.
“If we weren’t surrounded by half of the East Coast elite, I’d carry you back to my apartment right now,” he murmurs against my skin. He slides his hand down my back, his palm settling in the dip just above my ass. “God, you even smell like heaven.”
I squeeze my thighs together, because now is not the time to climb this man like he’s my favorite tree.
“I’m pretty sure Autumn would chase us there and drag us back out,” I point out.
“I’ll challenge her to an arm wrestle. Winner gets their way. She’s terrible at those.” He steps back, like he has to look at me again. Damn, he looks hot in his suit. “Come on.” He offers me his arm. “Let’s go be polite and civilized for a while. Then I’m taking you to my apartment.”
Like she knows he’s thinking about escape, Autumn comes into view, wearing a gorgeous red dress that clings to her curves, holding a tablet and stylus like a weapon.
She gives Zach a look that could slice steel, then checks something off her screen and marches toward the main doors, leaving a trail of intimidated waitstaff in her wake.
Zach puts his hand on the small of my back as he leads me through the crowds. It’s warm but not possessive. He’s changed into full-blown easy-going mode, and I like that too.
We stop occasionally, and he introduces me to his friends, clients, some people whose names I swear I’ve seen on the Forbes Rich List. He doesn’t say I’m his girlfriend, but the way he holds me as we talk makes it clear I’m his.
And nobody else stands a chance. I like that way more than I should.
When we finally reach the bar, I see that most of the Fitzgerald clan have gathered there.
Francie, Skyler, and Eden look amazing in their beautiful dresses – a long silver silk bias cut for Francie, a vintage gold fifties dress for Skyler, and Eden is wearing a backless blue dress that clings to her beautifully.
And I know without asking that it’s made from sustainable fabric, because that’s her thing and her signature look.
But it’s the smile on Zach’s face when he sees Wyatt walking toward him that makes my insides turn to mush.
The two of them embrace like they haven’t seen each other in years, then Wyatt steps back with a raised eyebrow and Zach imperceptibly shakes his head, like he’s answering a question that nobody else heard.
“Are you going to introduce us?” Wyatt asks, smiling at me. He looks too big for his tuxedo. Not in a bad way at all. More like his muscles and the fabric decided to have a fight and his muscles won.
I have no idea where Romy is right now, but I wonder if I should warn him. Even if he’s six foot four and built like a mountain, I’m not sure he stands a chance against my best friend.
“Wyatt, this is Sadie. Sadie, this is my brother Wyatt.” Zach presses his hand against my back again as Wyatt takes me in.
“It’s a pleasure,” he says gruffly, leaning in to kiss my cheek. He smells of the ocean, which I guess isn’t a surprise since he came over on the ferry not long ago.
“Right back at you.” I smile at him. But before I can say anymore, Skyler grabs my hand.
“We need a girls’ night,” she says, her voice determined. “Soon.” The way she looks at me leaves me with no doubt that she wants all the juicy details about me and Zach.
“I think I’m washing my hair,” I say with a smile, because even if they’re all the nosiest people I know, it’s so nice to be part of a girl gang.
Before Skyler can say another word, the music stops and Autumn steps onto the small platform in front of the stage, microphone in hand, her signature heels clicking against the polished floor in a steady rhythm.
The spotlight comes on, its golden glow sweeping over the crowd as conversations hush around us.
“Good evening, everyone,” she says, her voice confident and smooth.
The whole room goes silent, like they know she’ll throw a fit if they don’t.
“Thank you all for coming to the Grand Liberty Hotel this evening. I know there’s plenty of art still to explore, but dinner is about to be served in the ballroom, and we have a few surprises planned you won’t want to miss. ”
She lifts her glass, her eyes sweeping the room.
“But first, I’d like to say thank you to those people who made tonight and the art trail possible.
To the artists, to the island, and to my family, friends, and the people of Liberty who’ve thrown themselves into making the art trail and gala a success. ”
There’s a murmur of agreement, the soft clink of champagne flutes rising around us.
“Now let’s go into dinner. And remember, keep those wallets warm, because after dinner the silent auction begins.
We have thirty pieces up for auction, with part of the proceeds going to the amazing children’s charity that my brother and sister-in-law have set up.
So eat, drink, enjoy, and spend, spend, spend. ”
I laugh softly, because that’s so Autumn. And I’m absolutely certain she’ll make sure everybody bids way over the odds for the pieces that are available for sale.
Zach takes my hand. “Shall we sit down?”
I blink. “I’m not sure where I’m sitting.” There’s a seating chart on the other side of the room. I go to walk over but Zach pulls me closer.
“You’re sitting with me. We’re hosting the table together.”
“We are?” I say, my breath catching at how easily he says it. Like us sitting together in public is the most natural thing in the world.
I open my mouth to ask him what this means. Then I close it again, because this isn’t the time. But it doesn’t stop me from feeling a fizz of heat sliding through my chest as his fingers curl tightly around mine.
Then, like he knows I have so many questions, he leans forward and softly kisses me.
It feels like everybody’s watching us as we weave our way through the crowd toward the dining room.
But he doesn’t let go or look away from me.
When we get to the table, he greets everybody who’s already sitting there, pulling out the chair for me like a true gentleman, before he introduces me as his guest.
As soon as he sits next to me, I feel his hand curl around my thigh, his fingers pressing against the silk of my dress under the tablecloth.
I turn to look at him and he smirks back. Like he knows his touch is enough to set me on fire.
“Hello,” I say, turning to look at the man on my left. “I’m Sadie.” I hold out my hand.
“Jean Mauret,” he says in a French accent, reaching out to take my hand. He lifts it to his lips. “Enchanté.”
“Knock it off, Jean,” Zach says, shaking his head. “We both know your French is as bad as your taste in art.”
“You know each other?” I ask.
Jean is grinning at Zach. “Unfortunately.” He sounds completely American now, all traces of his French accent gone. “This asshole walked into my apartment in Manhattan, told me my art stank, then proceeded to fleece me for millions.”
Zach rolls his eyes. “Your taste is terrible. You begged me to fix it.”
“I was vulnerable,” Jean says, placing a hand to his chest. “And hungover.”
Zach looks at me. “He had four Warhol prints and that was it. I did him a favor.”
Jean grins, sipping his wine. “And charged me accordingly. Though to be fair, he does have a good eye. My collection’s actually worth something now. And it helps me with the ladies. I look like I know what I’m doing.”
“Glad to be your wingman,” Zach mutters, but the smile is still on his face.
“What do you do, Sadie?” Jean asks.
Zach’s hand moves higher up my thigh.
“I run a bookshop and an art gallery,” I tell him, trying to keep my voice even. “Though the bookshop is more established. I’m working on getting the gallery up to speed.”
“Art? Is that how you two met?”
“Kind of,” I admit. “The first time we met he said my taste was mediocre.”
Jean bursts out laughing. “You too? We should form a club.”
“I was having a bad day,” Zach says. “And I was wrong.” He leans forward, brushing his lips against mine. “I think you have exquisite taste.”
The woman on Zach’s right says something to him.
He leans in, talking to her, acting like the perfect host he can so obviously be.
He pours wine, makes jokes, ensures everybody has what they need.
And I sit back and watch, his hand still holding me possessively, wondering what this change in mood means.
As Zach calls the wait staff over to remind them that one of our guests has a shellfish allergy, Jean leans toward me, his voice low and conspiratorial. “For what it’s worth, if he screws things up between you, I’m available.”
I laugh, but he’s watching me with that same mischievous glint. “That’s very kind,” I murmur. “Thank you for the offer.”
“Chicago’s lovely in the spring. That’s all I’m saying.” He gives me a wink.
“Back off, Mauret,” Zach says, shaking his head.
Jean smiles like he knows exactly what he’s doing. Then he leans closer. “If you agree to dance with me, I’ll donate to the charity. A thousand dollars.”
“Oh, okay—”
“Don’t take less than twenty thousand,” Zach says. “He’s fucking loaded.” He rolls his eyes at Jean.
They smile at each other, like two wolves in tuxedos, circling their prey. It’s all friendly rivalry, but there’s an edge beneath it. An understanding that while Jean might play the game, Zach intends to win it.
And I don’t hate that. Not even a little.
Zach turns back to the table, answering another question from the woman on his right, but his hand never leaves mine. It’s like he’s making a statement, silent but firm.
That I’m his.
He is mine.
I glance at him from under my lashes, my chest feeling way too tight.
This version of him, the one who’s confident, charming, and in control, should feel like a million miles from the man who once dismissed me as not up to standard.
But it doesn’t. This feels closer. Like he’s dropped the armor and let me in.
And it terrifies me how badly I want to stay there.
A quiet flurry of movement surrounds us as the waitstaff begins to deliver plates to each guest. Mine is set in front of me with a polite smile, the scent of lemon and herbs floating up from the shellfish nestled on a bed of salad.
Zach thanks the server, his fingers brushing mine under the table. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.
Because somehow, that single touch says it all.
I pick up my silverware as he leans close, his breath warm against my ear.
“Eat up,” he murmurs. “I have plans for you later.”
He leans back, looking smug as I spear a prawn and press it between my lips like I have no idea what those plans could possibly be.