nineteen
"You know," she said finally, "I can't believe you're really doing this."
I tried to smile, but it felt wobbly. "Me either."
Tati was kneeling on the carpet, smoothing out the red dress. She looked up, her eyes shining. "It's going to be perfect."
I nodded, though my stomach was flipping itself inside out. "I'm just scared."
"It is a lot," Sam said, her voice gentle. "But it's good, too."
She stood and came over to me, smoothing a hand over my hair. "I know you. You'll walk in there like you own the place."
"Oh please," I muttered. "I'm going to walk in there and forget how to breathe."
Tati laughed under her breath. "We'll remind you before you go."
Sam crouched in front of me, her hands braced lightly on my knees. "Listen. You've survived way worse than a fancy party."
"I know."
"And you look beautiful," she went on, her voice going softer. "He's going to see you in this dress and forget every single person in that room."
Tati lifted the hanger and held it up against me, studying it like it was the final piece of a puzzle. "You're gonna look so good."
I looked at Sam. "You think I'm making a mistake?"
She was quiet a beat, her gaze steady on mine. "I think...you know what you're doing and I think he knows what he has to lose."
Tati stood and draped the dress carefully over her arm. "Come on. Let's get you into this and a shot in you before you have a panic attack."
I took a breath that didn't do much to steady me. "Okay."
Sam helped me with the zipper while Tati poured three tequila shots.
She beamed as she carried the glasses over. "You look amazing."
We each took one, the little rims cool against our fingertips.
"To an amazing night," Tati declared, lifting hers.
"To surviving it," Sam added.
I managed a small, unsteady smile. "To surviving."
We tapped the glasses together, then tilted them back in unison. The tequila burned a clean path down my throat, and for a moment, I felt steadier.
I didn't look in the mirror again. I knew if I did, I'd start second-guessing everything—the dress, my hair, the way my stomach felt hollow and electric all at once.
Instead, I slipped my phone into the tiny clutch I'd borrowed from Tati, took one last shaky breath, and walked to the door.
"I love you," I said, my voice coming out smaller than I meant it to.
"Love you more," Tati whispered.
"Call us if you need anything," Sam said. "Even if it's just a ride home. We'll clean up and then head out."
I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything else.
Then I stepped into the hall and shut the door behind me before I could change my mind.
The elevator ride felt longer than it ever had. My heart was tripping over itself in my chest, and I gripped the little clutch so tightly my knuckles went white.
When the doors finally slid open into the marble lobby, I spotted Monte waiting near the revolving doors. He had the same patient expression he always did, like nothing in the world could surprise him anymore.
His gaze lifted when he saw me, and for a second, I thought I saw the faintest flicker of amusement.
"Miss Amira," he greeted, inclining his head. "You look very elegant tonight."
"Thank you," I managed, though my voice cracked embarrassingly on the last word.
He didn't comment. Just stepped forward to open the door and offered me his arm to steady me as I stepped into the cool night air.
The SUV was waiting by the curb, polished to a mirror shine. The city stretched around us in bright rivers of headlights and neon, but it all felt distant somehow, like I'd slipped into a movie I hadn't auditioned for.
Monte held the door for me, and I climbed in carefully, trying not to wrinkle the dress. The leather seat was cool against the backs of my thighs, and I tucked my hands into my lap to keep them from shaking.
The door shut with a soft, final click.
Monte got in up front and adjusted the mirror so he could see me. "All set?"
"I think so," I said.
He inclined his head again, then guided the car away from the curb with that same unhurried ease he always had.
For a few blocks, neither of us spoke. The low hum of the engine and the soft shuffle of the tires over the pavement were the only sounds.
I exhaled slowly, pressing my palms to the tops of my thighs. "This is insane, right?"
Monte's eyes met mine briefly in the mirror. "What is?"
"All of it," I said. "Me going to...whatever this is."
"A fundraiser," he supplied gently.
"Yeah. That."
His mouth curved just slightly. "It's only an event. Only people."
I picked at a thread near the slit in the skirt. "You don't think it's...weird?"
Monte took a long moment before answering, his gaze on the road. "I think it's a complicated situation but you seem like you know your own mind."
I tried to smile. "Sometimes."
He glanced at me again in the mirror, and something about the look—calm, steady—made my pulse settle by a fraction.
Outside the tinted windows, the city blurred past in bright ribbons of movement. A man on a bike darted between cars. A woman in a sequined dress laughed too loudly into her phone. A group of college kids waited on a corner, passing a bottle in a paper bag back and forth.
Just regular people. Living sort of regular lives.
And here I was, about to sneak into a room full of millionaires and pretend like I belonged.
"Have you ever attended one of these?" I asked finally.
"Once or twice," Monte said.
"What's it like?"
He thought for a second. "It's a lot of polite smiles. A lot of pretending."
"That sounds exhausting," I muttered.
"It is," he agreed. "But it matters to him."
My throat tightened a little. "Yeah."
The rest of the ride passed in a hush that felt almost reverent. I caught myself checking my phone over and over—like Brooks was going to text me to say he'd changed his mind.
Nothing came.
When Monte turned onto the final avenue, I felt my stomach flip.
We were almost there.
Through the windshield, I could already see the lights—warm and golden, spilling out onto the sidewalk in a haze of opulence. A valet in a dark suit held the door open for a woman in pale chiffon. A man in a tuxedo tipped the brim of his hat to the doorman.
Everything was glossy. Composed. Perfect.
I felt anything but.
Monte slowed to a crawl, easing into the line of cars dropping off guests. He looked back at me once more, his eyes steady.
"You're okay?"
I swallowed. "No."
He nodded, like that was an acceptable answer. "That's honest."
I drew a slow breath, trying to smooth the adrenaline thrumming in my chest. "How do I look?"
His gaze flicked over me—my hair pinned up in soft waves, the red dress hugging my body, my bare shoulders dusted in powder that Sam swore would photograph well.
"Beautiful," he said finally.
For some reason, that was the only thing that made me feel steady.
When we pulled up to the curb, Monte climbed out and circled around to open my door.
The valet glanced at me curiously, but I ignored him. My legs felt shaky as I stepped down onto the sidewalk, the cool air licking over my bare skin.
Monte leaned in just enough that no one else could hear. "If you need to leave early, text me. I'll be five minutes away."
I nodded, my throat too tight to speak.
His gaze held mine, calm and unflinching. "You'll be fine."
I swallowed. "Thank you."
He inclined his head again. "Enjoy your evening."
And then he slipped back behind the wheel, guiding the SUV smoothly into the flow of traffic like nothing unusual had just happened.
I turned to face the entrance.
Warm light spilled over the marble steps, pooling around the polished shoes of men I didn't know and women in gowns that looked effortless.
The doorman reached for the handle.
I almost turned and ran.
But instead, I took one step forward.
And then another.
The door opened, a hush of piano and murmured conversation wrapping around me as I crossed the threshold.
For better or worse, I was here.
The hush inside was different from the street—thicker somehow, as if the air itself had been pressed and polished until it felt expensive.
I paused just past the threshold, letting the door close behind me.
For a second, all I could do was stand there and breathe.
Clusters of people moved through the ballroom in slow, practiced currents—women in jewel-toned gowns, men in dark suits that looked custom-made. Waiters wove between them with silver trays balanced in one hand. The lighting was low and warm, gilding every surface in the color of honey.
I felt my pulse flutter up into my throat.
This wasn't my world. Not even close.
But I was here now.
A hostess in a sleek black dress gave me a polite, assessing once-over before inclining her head. "Good evening. May I help you find your table?"
I blinked. "Oh—no, thank you. I'm just...waiting."
She nodded, the smoothness of her smile giving away nothing, and drifted toward the next group.
I let out a slow breath, pressing a hand to my ribs like I could steady the thrum of my heart through the silk of my dress.
It helped, a little.
I took a step forward, letting my eyes adjust to the golden dim.
Across the room, a man I recognized only from news photos lifted his glass to a group of older donors. Near him, a woman with a blonde chignon laughed too brightly at something I couldn't hear.
I moved along the edge of the space, careful to keep my steps slow, deliberate. Like I had a reason to be here. Like I wasn't terrified someone would look too close and see right through me.
The bar stood tucked into an alcove along the far wall, all sleek black marble and tiny votives flickering in glass cups. I made my way there, grateful for the small illusion of purpose.
A bartender in a white jacket offered me a gentle smile. "What can I get you?"
"Club soda," I said. My voice didn't even crack this time. Progress.
He nodded and turned away, leaving me to rest my fingertips on the bar's smooth edge.
I breathed in through my nose. Out through my mouth.