22. Alex
The limo pulls up to a massive courtyard full of greenery and stone sculptures. Frankie and Yuna get out first. Antonio follows behind, reaching back for Alex, who covers her eyes from the lights of limber photographers taking pictures from every angle.
“I knew it would be a lot of people…but this is a lot,” she utters, and Antonio interlocks their fingers.
As they make their way deeper into the venue, handshakes, arm braces, and toothy grins of people who know or want to know Antonio stop them every few feet. When complimenting his companion, no one asks for clarification when Antonio introduces her simply as Ms. Agneau. Although, Alex is too in awe and aroused to notice anything else as she experiences the remarkable influence of Antonio Moretti, the businessman. He converses with a legion of his fellow guests, tailoring the duration without seeming to offend a single person.
“You’re finessing the shit out of these people,” Alex quietly gushes as they approach a bar. “How come you transform into a troglodyte when we’re at the club?”
Antonio narrows his eyes at her. “Because, smartass, it’s my club, where people work for me. What you’re seeing comes from a very judicious reserve of energy.”
“How often do you do events like these?”
“It depends. I told you this one’s a must. But as for the rest of the lineup, it’s on an as-needed basis.” He hands Alex a glass of white wine. “You think you might like keeping me company?”
“If it means I’ll get to see you kill it in a suit, ‘cuz…it’s making me feel things.” She fans herself.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Antonio awards her a dashing smile and places a hand on the small of her back, gently guiding her to a window with a view of the courtyard.
They bask in the scenery, although it’s a bit difficult with the constant disruptions. And after a visit from a key player in clean energy, Alex needs a break.
“I’m gonna use the bathroom. Hold my drink?”
“You sure you don’t want me to just come with you?”
“For what?”
“To help you with your dress.” A hint of lust glimmers in Antonio’s gaze.
“Mr. Moretti. Are you trying to be inappropriate with me in this high-brow environment?”
“Yes? Also, this place is enormous. I don’t want you to get lost.”
“I’ll be fine. Just don’t move.”
Alex cuts through the sea of people in front of her. For the first time in years (okay, days) she curses her height, as not even ten steps later, she loses Antonio’s face behind what might as well be Mount Kilimanjaro. She briefly considers turning back for him to escort her after all, but decides against giving him the satisfaction, instead finding a polite server to direct her.
After exiting her stall, Alex finds herself next to a woman hunched over a sink and struggling with an unfortunate maroon stain on her dusty-rosette dress.
As the woman looks in the mirror, she catches Alex’s eyes with her eerily familiar ones. Her smile looks friendly, but Alex can still see she’s flustered.
“I haven’t been here for ten minutes, and I’ve gotten more wine on my dress than in my mouth,” the woman rues.
Alex covers her mouth. “I’m so sorry.”
“No apology necessary, sweetie.”
“I’ve got some club soda. Do you want to see if that’ll work?”
“Goodness—please!”
Alex digs in her purse. “Luckily, the color isn’t extremely light, so even if it all doesn’t come out, it shouldn’t be too bad. May I?” The woman eagerly raises her skirt, and Alex gets to work, spraying and dabbing at the stain. “But it looks like…we won’t have that problem.” She steps back, looking on approvingly as the blotch virtually disappears.
The woman lifts the skirt higher, then lets it fall at her sides as she grabs her cheeks. “You are a lifesaver! I know I should have my own fashion first aid, but I just could never be bothered. You put me to shame.”
“I don’t know about that. I’m not the most graceful, so to speak. After a certain point, it became truly ridiculous, so I created my own DIY kit. Saved my life so many times. I’m glad to pay it forward.”
“Gorgeous and resourceful,” the woman gushes. “Thank you so much for your help, sweetheart. I’m Laura Moretti.”
Oh. My. God. Of course! “Um, n-nice to meet you, Laura. I’m…Alex. Alex Agneau.”
“Agneau? I only know one of those. You wouldn’t happen to know Victoria Agneau, would you?”
“That’s my mother.”
“Really? What a small world.”
No fucking kidding. Alex’s hands start to shake as she tries to zip up her bag.
“We’re both members of the Brilliant Women of Philadelphia.”
“That’s…nice.”
Laura belly-laughs. “The look on your face is priceless. I don’t have to bite my tongue around you, then? I’ll be the first to admit it’s full of,”—she looks around the empty restroom— “contemptuous old bats. But, unfortunately, and I’m sure your mother has told you this, being a part of the organization provides status, and status keeps fading old hags like me relevant.”
“Yes, I know all too well about the importance of status from my mother.” Laura’s candor puts her at ease a bit. “For the record, there is nothing hag-ish about you. Not that my opinion holds much weight, but then again, neither should those from a bunch of judgmental old ladies.”
“You are refreshing, Alex. Are you here with your mother?”
Ha! “I’m not. It’s uh…actually a funny story, knowing who you are.”
“How do you mean? Wait…” Laura’s eyes aren’t as stormy as her son’s, but they are as vivid. “Are you…that Alex? My son’s Alex?”
Antonio’s Alex. She remembers hating how that sounded from Makeo. But now? “Y-Yes.”
Laura presses her hand against her lips. “Wha—?!” She lets out a small shriek, like someone meeting a celebrity and trying to contain their excitement. “Hello, sweetheart! What a way to meet! This must be fate.”
It’s…something.
“Well, come, come. We shouldn’t spend our entire time talking in the restroom.”
Alex’s head spins as she passes Laura to hold the door open. They take a few steps into the ballroom before the size overwhelms her again.
“Where did you leave him?” Laura asks.
“I think he was—” Alex scans the room. Her heart booms as she locates Antonio between patches of bustling people. Actually, it’s not him she sees first.
Laura looks in the same direction, and a scowl infects her face. “Shall we?”
Alex’s stomach churns as they walk over silently.
This is happening. This is really happening.