Page 27 of Shattered Crown
This was our biggest night of the year. The annual summer gala. Six months of planning, a guest list of three hundred, a fundraising goal that made my stomach clench when I thought about it too hard.
But I wasn't thinking about it too hard. I was thinking about the RSVP that had come through two weeks ago, the name that had made me stop mid-sip of my morning coffee and stare at my laptop screen for a full minute.
Sebastian Dubois. Attending. Plus one.
Plus one meant Evie. He was bringing Evie.
Which meant I couldn't ignore him. Couldn't be cold or cutting or any of the things I wanted to be when he was near. Because Evie would be watching, and Evie had spent five weeks opening up to me, trusting me, and I wouldn't let Sebastian ruin that.
I also hadn’t seen him since that incident a week ago. He’d quickly gone back to waiting in the car. Every evening, I’d see his silhouette in his car. He always stared straight ahead, neverglanced at the building. I wondered if he’d actually come in, maybe even apologize for yelling at me. But nothing. His ego was too big for him to admit when he was wrong.
Which was pretty much the same thing he’d done at the principal’s office. I still hadn’t gotten an apology for that either. And I wasn’t holding my breath for that one. Sebastian Dubois could…
"Earth to Aria? Did you hear anything I just said?"
I blinked. “I… of course I did.” I heard nothing. Sebastian had fully occupied my thoughts for a second, pushing everything away like the bulldozer he was.
"Mmhmm." She didn't sound convinced. "Is this about the guest list?"
"Why would it be about the guest list?" I frowned. Why was she asking me that?
"No reason." She scrolled through her tablet with exaggerated casualness. "Just noticed a certain name on there. A certain someone you don’t get along with."
I grabbed a crate of orchids and shoved it toward one of the florists harder than necessary. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure you don't."
"Don't you have logistics to manage?"
"I do. But watching you pretend you're not freaking out is more fun." She dodged the look I threw at her and disappeared into the chaos, laughing.
I wasn't freaking out.
I was... aware. And I wasn’t going to avoid him either. I deserved an apology and it was only right that I got it.
I spent the next three hours directing logistics. Florists, caterers, and the lighting guy who couldn't seem to understand what "warm but not yellow" meant. By 5 p.m., the warehousehad transformed into something that actually looked like an event.
It looked like Hawaii had crashed into Manhattan and decided to stay for dinner.
Nalani materialized beside me, a garment bag draped over her arm. "Oh," she exclaimed as she studied me. “What are you thinking about? Someone hot, I presume?” I shot her a look that said,‘Really?’She raised her free hand. “What? You should have seen your face. Your pupils were all dilated. If I didn’t know better, I’d say…”
"Nalani…"
"I didn’t say anything." She thrust the garment bag toward me. "Go get ready. You've been in event-planner mode for six hours. Time to switch to charming-hostess mode."
"I can be both."
"You can't be either in yoga pants and a foundation t-shirt. Go."
I took the bag. "If the lighting guy tries to make everything yellow again…"
"I'll handle it. Go."
I took the bag and headed for the small office we'd converted into a dressing room. The door closed behind me, muffling the sounds of setup—the clink of glassware, the florists arguing about centerpiece heights, someone testing the microphone with a series of increasingly ridiculous phrases.
The garment bag held my dress. Emerald green silk, floor-length, with a neckline that walked the line between elegant and daring. I'd bought it three years ago for a gala I'd ended up missing because of a foundation emergency. It had hung in my closet ever since, waiting for the right moment.
Tonight felt like the right moment.
