Chapter 30
Emma
Apparently, “more” means jewelry. When I finally emerge from the bath, I shrug into an oversized fluffy robe.
There’s a note in his sprawling handwriting explaining that he’ll meet me downstairs for drinks when I’m ready and that he hopes I like his gift.
I gasp when I open the Harry Winston blue box to find a shockingly large sapphire pendant on a delicate gold chain.
The gemstone is so big, I’d assume it were costume jewelry if it weren’t for the box.
“More” also means, as promised, racks of clothes, shoes, bags, sunglasses, and countless accessories that must have been rushed over from several of the best boutiques in Napa and delivered to our room.
An entire designer wardrobe is now at my disposal.
Cocktail dresses, swimsuits, resort wear, lingerie, even loungewear and formal gowns, each piece more exquisite than the next.
As I flip through the racks, my eyes widen as I recognize the names.
There’s Chanel, Dior, Prada, Jacquemus, The Row, and more.
I have no idea how Sebastian and Matt arranged it all so quickly. I’m not sure even I could have. I have to hand it to him; he really does know how to fix a mix-up.
I sink into the seat at the vanity, put on the necklace, and touch it reverently. Like my ring, it shines back at me.
I’ve never seen something so beautiful. Seen. Not owned. Because I know this isn’t actually mine. Just as the ring isn’t. These are all part of some Cinderella-like fantasy. Once again, I’m making up for lost time by playing dress-up.
This make-believe may not be real, but I very much fear the stakes are.
Because I worry just how much harder it will be when this is over and I have to get back to real life alone.
Sebastian will be away, starring in a series of impressive indie prestige films. He’s worked his ass off for years to build up to this, to tick these directors off his top ten list. Soon, he’ll have achieved God-tier actor status, with a résumé anyone in Hollywood would envy—and, likely, with an Oscar to his name.
For once, I won’t be there, I think with a jolt of sadness. I’ll be at home, with my new business and my new life. Just as I wanted.
I dress quickly, put on makeup, and hurry downstairs, retracing our footsteps from earlier so I don’t get lost.
When I reach the first floor, a liveried servant directs me to the long patio that overlooks the vineyard.
I scan the throng of well-dressed guests for Sebastian.
“You’re radiant tonight.”
I turn to see Maricella approaching me, soft wrinkles bracketing her eyes as she smiles. She’s illuminated by golden-hour light that shines over the entire scene. The long patio, fields, and hills glow in the distance.
“Thank you,” I say, touched. “But you’re the stunning one. And so is this place. It’s magical.”
My gaze returns to seeking out my fake fiancé.
I find him at the other end of the patio.
He doesn’t notice me as he’s in deep discussion.
He fits in with the sumptuous background and stylish guests—or as much as one of the most handsome men in the world can ever fit in.
He’s wearing a long-sleeved button-up and a deep-blue blazer.
Both are tailored just for his body, and you can tell.
“That’s quite a necklace.” Maricella nods to the pendant.
I tear my attention off my ex-boss. “Thank you,” I say and wonder if she played any part in having the jewels and clothes delivered to the house.
“That’s also quite a dress,” she adds, surprising me because she sounds almost envious.
I fidget and adjust the neckline, trying to shift it higher. “It’s, ah… It’s not my usual… style,” I admit in a rush.
“I was wearing something similar when I first caught my husband’s eye,” she says with a mischievous grin.
It was a crazy impulse—choosing to wear the red dress he packed instead of the little black Chanel sheath that had been couriered over.
I normally suppress this side of me, suppress any reckless decision.
I’ve spent a lifetime being measured, weighing every choice, trying to fit into the background of rooms. I work hard at looking just nice enough to fit in but not stand out. Being the predictable, sensible one.
But when I emerged from the bath and stared at the stunning clothing rack, that rarely indulged risky part roared to life. I couldn’t stop thinking of the red dress and Sebastian’s words.
I suddenly wanted to prove that I had other sides to me. I’m not sure who I wanted to prove it to more—Sebastian or myself.
Maybe it was because as I soaked in the tub earlier, I thought a lot about bravery, my long history of people-pleasing, and all the times I secretly admired my sister’s exuberant choices in clothes and life. For once, I wanted to be the one to wear a dress that would make everyone’s heads turn.
Just the thought of it made my legs feel shaky with anxiety. But after quitting my job, I realized I could do things that scared me and I’d still be okay.
Sebastian inspires me in that way. He lives his life out loud, not holding back.
That’s exhilarating for a girl who’s been known to make a list comparing all the best pinkish-brown lipsticks on the market before investing in one.
Sometimes—a lot of times—it gets him in trouble.
But at least he does what he wants without worrying about everyone else’s opinions.
It sounds odd, but in many ways, he’s the reason I had the guts to even consider Dream Space.
I could have moved into another job as a personal assistant.
Or found a safe corporate position. But the fact that I didn’t is partially because of his example.
I also did my makeup more boldly tonight.
It was fun to ditch the ever-appropriate taupe eyeshadow and the one-shade-darker-than-natural lipstick that are my go-to makeup repertoire.
I let my waves flow down my back instead of straightening them into submission as I usually do.
It felt like playing dress-up, a game I didn’t get to indulge in as a kid.
I stand straighter, feeling heads turn. Some admiring.
Others probably judgmental of the brilliant red, of the way the dress clings to me, of all the skin I’m showing.
There’s no way I’m fading into the background tonight, and that freaks me out.
But I can tell Maricella is sincere in her admiration.
I look over at Sebastian again. And as if he can sense my regard, he looks up, straight at me. His eyes widen and he almost drops his drink, but catches it with his other hand just in time.
“That poor boy. He’s only got eyes for you,” Maricella laughs.
He has a stunning A-list actress on his right and a striking singer on his left. They’re trying to get his attention. But he’s ignoring them. The way his gaze lingers with piercing intensity makes my heart beat in overdrive.
It’s as if I’m the only person in the room.
I look down in confusion and fiddle with the rock on my finger. I tell myself his expression is a part he’s playing, that of a man in love.
Except, it doesn’t feel fake. The world’s tilted off-kilter, and we’ve crashed onto new ground.
My risk-averse senses are pinging with danger signals as I stand amid the glittery guests, clad in tight crimson.
I watch my former boss break away from his group and stride toward me, every step strong with purpose.
I suspect he holds the coordinates to wherever we’re headed.