8. Jillian
— ? —
Jillian
The morning of the Anderson Foundation Gala, Trevor sat me down in his kitchen with the careful posture of a man about to deliver bad news wrapped in reasonable packaging.
“There’s a thing I need to tell you about tonight,” he said, and I felt my stomach tighten before he’d even continued.
“My mother has arranged for Chloe and me to open the dancing together. It’s tradition, our families have done it for years.
The Hendersons are major donors, and it’s just… appearances.”
I set down my coffee cup. “Opening the dancing. With Chloe.”
“It doesn’t mean anything.” He reached for my hand. “It’s five minutes of waltzing while everyone watches, and then it’s over. The real first dance, our dance, to our song, that’s still ours. I promised you that months ago, and I meant it.”
“Trevor…”
“Jillian, please.” His eyes were earnest, pleading. “I know how this sounds. But fighting my mother on this would create a scene that would overshadow the entire event. The Foundation raises millions for children’s hospitals. I can’t let my personal life derail that.”
I wanted to argue. Every instinct screamed that this was wrong, that Margot was orchestrating a scheme I couldn’t quite see. But his logic was impeccable, as always. And wasn’t I supposed to trust him?
“One dance,” I said finally. “The ceremonial opening.”
“One dance. And then I’m yours for the rest of the night.” He kissed my knuckles. “I need to head over early, Chloe wants to rehearse the steps at the estate so we don’t embarrass ourselves. But I’ll see you there?”
“You’re leaving now?”
“The rehearsal is at two, and there’s setup to oversee.” He was already standing, reaching for his jacket. “My mother insisted I be there for the final preparations.”
So I would get ready alone. I would arrive alone. I would walk into the most important social event of the season, the gala Trevor’s family threw every year, the one where a wife should have been on her husband’s arm, without him beside me.
“Fine,” I said, because what else could I say? “I’ll see you there.”
He kissed me quickly, already distracted, already leaving.
***
Harper arrived at four with garment bags and a makeup case the size of a small suitcase.
“Emergency reinforcements,” she announced, sweeping into my place. “Also, I may have borrowed Aiden’s flask. We’re going to need it.”
“That bad?”
“Jillian.” She set down her bags and turned to face me. “You’re going to a gala where your husband is opening the dancing with another woman while his mother watches approvingly. Yes, that bad.”
I sank onto the couch. “He says it’s just tradition.”
“Traditions can be broken. He’s choosing not to break this one.” Harper sat beside me. “But that’s a conversation for later. Right now, we’re going to make you so stunning that every person in that ballroom forgets Chloe Williams exists.”
She unzipped the garment bag to reveal a gown I’d bought on impulse three weeks ago and never found the courage to wear.
Deep crimson silk, the color of wine held up to candlelight.
Fitted bodice with a subtle sweetheart neckline, the skirt flowing like liquid fire.
It was bold. It was dramatic. It was nothing like the safe choices I usually made for these events.
“Put it on,” Harper commanded.
An hour later, I stood in front of my mirror while Harper tugged at the zipper.
My hair was swept into an elegant updo, a few tendrils loose around my face.
The red dress transformed me into someone I barely recognized, someone who looked like she belonged in a ballroom, commanding attention rather than hoping to avoid it.
“Perfect,” Harper breathed. She met my eyes in the mirror. “Make him remember what he’s about to lose.”
***
The Wentworth Club blazed with light as my hired car pulled up the circular drive.
I’d considered asking Harper to come, she’d offered, but something stubborn in me insisted I could do this alone.
I’d walked into this world once before without armor.
Right here, in this exact ballroom. I could do it again.
The whispers started before I’d made it ten feet past the entrance.
“…isn’t that the wife?”
“…arrived separately, did you notice…”
“…poor thing, she doesn’t even know…”
I kept my spine straight and my expression pleasant as I accepted a glass of champagne from a passing server. Then I took a second glass, because tonight was clearly going to require it.
The ballroom was magnificent, transformed into a winter wonderland of white flowers and silver accents. Crystal chandeliers cast prismatic light across the crowd. A string quartet played softly in the corner, warming up for the main event.
And there, across the room, stood Trevor.
He wore a perfectly tailored tuxedo, his dark hair styled impeccably, his smile charming as he greeted guests.
Chloe stood beside him in an ivory gown that made her look like a bride, her hand resting possessively on his arm.
And Margot, Margot stood on his other side, beaming at them both with an expression of pure satisfaction.
They looked like a family portrait. A perfect tableau of old money and good breeding.
I drained my first champagne.
A hand touched my elbow, and I turned to find one of Margot’s event coordinators consulting a tablet.
“Mrs. Anderson? Right this way. Mrs. Anderson Senior has assigned your seating.”
I followed her through the crowd, past the glittering tables near the dance floor where Trevor’s family held court, past the secondary tables where the merely wealthy sat, all the way to the back of the room. My table was positioned near the service entrance, half-hidden by a decorative column.
“There must be some mistake,” I said quietly.
The coordinator’s smile was sympathetic but firm. “Mrs. Anderson Senior arranged the seating personally. I’m so sorry, would you like another drink?”
I sat down at my designated place, surrounded by strangers who barely acknowledged me. From here, I could see Trevor at the main table, but he would have to actively search to spot me.
He didn’t search.
Dinner was an exercise in slow torture. The food was exquisite, I couldn’t taste any of it. The conversation at my table centered on investment strategies and vacation properties. No one asked about my relationship to the Anderson family. No one seemed to care.
From my hidden vantage point, I watched Chloe lean into Trevor throughout the meal.
She whispered in his ear during the soup course, and he laughed.
She touched his arm during the fish, letting her fingers linger.
She adjusted his lapel during dessert, a gesture so intimate that several nearby guests exchanged knowing looks.
And Trevor, Trevor didn’t stop her. He didn’t pull away. He smiled and nodded and acted as though having Chloe draped over him was the most natural thing in the world.
Maybe it was. Maybe this was who he really was when I wasn’t there to see it.
“Excuse me,” I murmured to no one in particular, and slipped away from the table.
I found a quiet corner near the balcony doors and pulled out my phone. Harper had texted three times: How is it? Is he ignoring her? DETAILS.
I started to type a response, but my hands were shaking too badly. I put the phone away.
“Jillian.”
I turned. Trevor stood behind me, finally, his expression apologetic.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he said. “Where have you been sitting?”
“Where your mother put me. In the back. By the kitchen.”
His jaw tightened. “That wasn’t… I didn’t know she’d…”
“It’s fine, Trevor.” My voice was flat. “It’s tradition, right? Putting the wife where no one has to acknowledge her.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” I gestured toward the main table, where Chloe was watching us with undisguised interest. “You’ve spent the entire evening with her. You didn’t even try to find me during dinner.”
“I was working the room. You know how these events are…”
“I know how tonight was supposed to be.” I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “This was supposed to be ours, Trevor. Our song. Our dance. You promised me…”
“And I’m keeping that promise.” He caught my hands in his. “The opening dance is almost over, and then ‘The Very Thought of You,’ our song, that dance is yours. I told the bandleader specifically. When they start playing it, I’m walking straight to you.”
I searched his face for the truth. He looked sincere. He looked like the man I’d fallen in love with three and a half years ago.
“You promise?”
“I promise.” He squeezed my hands. “Just a few more minutes, and then I’m all yours. Trust me?”
I wanted to. God, I wanted to.
“Okay,” I whispered.
He kissed my forehead quickly. “I have to go, the MC is about to make the announcement. Find somewhere near the dance floor so I can see you when it’s time.”
He was gone before I could respond, weaving back through the crowd toward his designated position. I watched him go, my heart caught somewhere between hope and dread.
I made my way closer to the dance floor, finding a spot where I could see clearly. Margot was speaking with the MC, making last-minute adjustments. Chloe was touching up her lipstick, looking like a woman about to take the stage.
The MC stepped up to the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, as tradition holds, we begin tonight’s dancing with a special performance from our host families. Trevor Anderson and Chloe Williams will lead us in the opening waltz.”
Polite applause. I watched Trevor offer his hand to Chloe, watched them glide onto the dance floor with practiced grace. They looked beautiful together, I couldn’t deny that. They looked like they’d been dancing together their whole lives.
The waltz was elegant and brief. When it ended, Trevor released Chloe and stepped back. I straightened my shoulders, smoothed my crimson dress. This was it. Our moment.
The MC spoke again. “And now, as the evening continues, we invite all couples to join the dance floor.”
The lights dimmed. A hush fell over the crowd as the band prepared for the next song. I recognized the opening notes immediately, the soft piano, the gentle swell of strings, the slow ache of the trumpet.
The Very Thought of You.
Our song.
My breath caught in my throat as the music washed over me, carrying memories of our first dance, our first kiss, all those moments when I’d believed we were building something real. Trevor would turn now. He would find me in the crowd, cross the distance between us, take my hand…
But he wasn’t turning.
He was still on the dance floor. Still standing where the waltz had ended. And Chloe, Chloe was right beside him, looking up at him with an expectant smile.
Find me, I thought desperately. You promised. Turn around and find me.
The music swelled. The melody was beginning.
And Trevor extended his hand, not toward the crowd, not toward me, but to Chloe.
She took it, her smile widening into a triumphant curve. Her fingers closed around his as he pulled her into dance position, as he began to move with her to the song that was supposed to be ours.
I stood frozen at the edge of the dance floor, watching the man I loved dance to our song with someone else.
And Chloe looked right at me over his shoulder, her expression pure victory.
Like she’d already won.