32. Alexis
Alexis
I smooth my hands down the fabric of my gown, trying to still the slight tremor in my fingers.
The dress itself is the least of my worries tonight.
Fitted black satin, with a high slit that reveals a sliver of leg when I move.
It’s breathtaking, probably the most stunning dress I’ve ever worn, but that doesn’t stop the anxiety from curling in my stomach.
Gabriel and I are attending a charity gala tonight, a dinner and reception at an art museum.
Most of the well-to-do in Los Angeles will be present.
It’s an annual affair. It draws everyone who’s anyone in this city.
The proceeds from the gala benefit the art museum and its multiple programs for emerging artists.
It’s a great cause, one that I’m happy to support, but I still can’t help but dread the event itself. I don’t want to be afraid, but I can’t help it. Big events like this are always nerve-wracking for me. They have been ever since I was a kid.
I stare at my reflection. The woman in the mirror almost looks like she belongs at a gala. My hair is swept up into an elegant chignon, a few soft waves left loose to frame my face. The dress, of course, is stunning.
But no picture is perfect enough to distract from what will happen the second I open my mouth. My eyes drift to my own expression, and the doubt creeps in.
My stutter always gets worse at parties and other social occasions like this. Whenever I’m trying to make a good impression, conduct myself like a Beaumont daughter should, my anxiety overtakes me and renders me almost incapable of speaking.
What if I mess up tonight? What if I stutter when I’m introduced to someone important? What if I embarrass myself, or worse, embarrass Gabriel?
I take a deep breath to clear my head, trying to force the thoughts away.
Tonight is different. Tonight, I actually want to go to the gala.
Gabriel has already asked me if I’d prefer to stay home, jokingly offering a couple of potential excuses if I’d rather not be surrounded by a crowd, but I told him it was fine. That I was excited.
And I am.
In the past, whenever my parents took me to events like this, it was a horrible experience.
They were essentially shopping me around, parading me through parties to find a marriage arrangement, and the expectations were through the roof.
None of my imperfections could be tolerated.
They would load the pressure on my shoulders, and become angry at the slightest mistake.
Now, I’m a new person. I’m Gabriel’s wife. I’m excited to appear in public in that role, standing at his side, proud and unapologetic.
“If you spill a glass of wine,” I whisper to my reflection, “it’s really not a big deal, and no one’s going to yell at you.”
I nod, like that will help the words settle into my brain. Then I reach for my clutch and turn toward the bedroom door.
Descending the steps into the foyer, I find Gabriel ready and waiting. He’s dressed in a sleek, perfectly tailored tuxedo. Like he’s just stepped straight from the pages of a magazine. His dark hair is neatly styled, and he looks effortlessly handsome.
He looks up as he hears the soft click of my low heels, and his steely eyes meet mine. A shiver goes through me at the look in those eyes. There’s heat in his stare. Desire. His gaze lingers on the slit in the fabric of my gown, watching my legs as I take the last few steps.
He moves forward to intercept me, taking me into his arms. Leaning down, he whispers in my ear, “Hey. You look stunning, just so you know.”
“Wow!”
Peyton’s exclamation from the kitchen doorway draws our attention. She’s open-mouthed, staring at me.
“You look like a princess!” she declares. “Like, a real one. Like the ones in the movies.”
I grin, crouching down to her level. “Aw, that’s the best compliment I’ve ever gotten. And I’d say it takes one to know one.”
Peyton giggles, her nose scrunching up with delight. “Does that mean I’m a princess too?”
I laugh, my heart melting at her earnestness. “Sure does.”
She beams, her eyes scanning my dress again as she steps closer. “You look super pretty.”
“Thanks, Pey.” I wipe a little smudge of something off her cheek. “You guys have fun tonight, okay?”
Margaret appears in the doorway, having trailed in behind Peyton. She gives me a warm smile. “Oh, we will. I brought a few games for us to play and we’re making hot chocolate.”
“Sounds like a nice night,” Gabriel says. “Too bad we’re going to miss all the fun.”
“Next time, you can skip your party and join us,” Margaret replies with a chuckle.
Gabriel says his own goodbyes to Peyton, lifting her up into an adorable bear hug. Then he puts a hand at the small of my back, guiding me toward the door. We step out into the night together. The moment the door closes behind us, he leans close to me and whispers in my ear.
“I really do love the dress.”
I blush. “I’m glad.”
“I can’t wait to get you out of it later,” he murmurs. His fingers find the slit in the fabric at my mid-thigh and brush against my skin.
I shiver, a thrill running through me at his touch.
“Gabriel,” I whisper, my voice catching slightly, “We’re on our way to a gala.”
He chuckles, his voice low and teasing. “I know. But that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate how gorgeous my wife looks.” He smirks as he adds, “Or that I can’t make a few plans for later.”
We climb into a waiting car. Gabriel drapes his arm over the back of the seat, and I lean readily into him as the driver takes us through the city streets.
“You know,” I admit, “I was actually a little nervous about tonight.”
“Really?” He grins. “You hide it well.”
Playfully, I elbow him in the ribs. “I was nervous. I’m not anymore. I’m actually looking forward to it.”
“Good.” He shoots me a warm glance, looking satisfied. “You should be. You’re going to be the most beautiful piece of art in the whole—”
“No, no, stop,” I interrupt, laughing. “That’s so corny, oh my god. Take it back.”
“Sorry, I can’t.” He shakes his head, lifting his chin in a dignified manner. “It’s the truth, and I stand by it.”
“Well, it’s a good thing we’re already married, because your pickup lines need a lot of work,” I tease.
The drive is short. The easy banter with Gabriel and the evening hues of the sunset help relax me further as we draw close to the venue. By the time the car rolls to a stop, I feel even more at ease.
When Gabriel steps out and holds the door open for me, though, the calm I managed to muster vanishes immediately at the sound of a camera shutter clicking.
There’s a flurry of flashes as I step out onto the sidewalk, adjusting my dress in a hurry.
I should’ve known there would be media here.
The wealthiest and most powerful people in Los Angeles will be here tonight, and the press never misses an opportunity to capture a moment.
I tense up, immediately feeling the familiar pressure of being under a microscope.
Gabriel seems to sense the change in my demeanor. He gives my hand a squeeze and meets my gaze. He stands tall and composed, unaffected by the photographers. His hand rests at the small of my back, guiding me forward as we move toward the entrance.
“Just breathe,” he murmurs under his breath. “Remember, you look absolutely beautiful.”
Inside the museum, things are a little calmer. The relentless click of cameras and shouts of people trying to catch our attention are replaced by the murmur of conversations and the soft strains of a string quartet.
The museum’s lobby has marble floors and a high ceiling.
A balcony overlooks the space, and over its cusp, I can see one of the galleries, filled with Impressionist works and devoid of any crowds.
They must be off-limits, even for the party.
I catch sight of a Monet in a gilded frame, his unmistakable water lilies.
The gala itself is a fundraiser, and at nine o’clock, there’s supposed to be a small auction to provide a second opportunity to donate to the museum. For now, though, the guests mill about with flutes of champagne and take hors d’oeuvres from passing servers.
Gabriel leans in slightly, his voice low as he murmurs, “Would you like a drink?”
I nod, grateful for the suggestion. “A glass of champagne would be nice.”
“Stay here. I’ll grab us something.”
I linger at one of the high tables, awkwardly waiting for Gabriel to return.
When he does, he’s holding two flutes of champagne.
And, to my horror, he’s not alone. There’s a middle-aged man beside him.
The man wears a sharp, expensive suit. His dark hair is streaked with gray at the temples, and his piercing blue eyes are sharp, assessing.
“Alexis,” Gabriel says as he approaches, offering me one of the flutes. “This is Connor Williams. He’s one of the museum’s biggest benefactors.”
“Mrs. Thorne,” says Connor, extending a hand. “It’s a pleasure. My daughters have been following your progress on the Fashion For All workshop.”
“Oh!” Heat rises to my face at once. I take his hand, doing my best to maintain eye contact. My fingers feel stiff. I’m suddenly certain I’m doing everything wrong. “That’s… that’s great.”
“It’s impressive, what the two of you are doing with that platform,” Connor continues. “Have there been any unexpected challenges?”
I swallow. “Well… I d-didn’t think it would be so m-much work to refurbish the space.” I cringe, disappointed in myself for stuttering. My gaze flicks to Gabriel, and he offers me a reassuring smile.
“What did you have to do?” Connor asks politely.
“Some of the structural supports had to b-be replaced. And the whole place was f-full of cobwebs.”
“You wouldn’t know it from her latest videos,” Gabriel says, and my heart swells at the pride in his voice. “It looks like it was built to be a fashion studio.”
“I’m inclined to agree,” says Connor. “My daughters have shown me some of your content. It’s quite an impressive space.”