Page 157 of Legally Mine

Chapter 37

This wasn't like the quiet, yet extravagant fundraiser I'd attended with Brandon a month ago. That event had been designed to be explicitly under wraps, held in a place where the rich and powerful in New England could gather without the press hanging over them.

The Burnside Hotel, however, was chosen for the exact opposite reason. A press horde clamored around the main entrance, where posh Bostonians were walking up a short red carpet to attend the gala. I didn't see Brandon, but we had already discussed that he would arrive on his own. His rumored announcement was the big news of the evening, coming on top of Miranda's Globe and People features.

Cory was holding a service elevator when we pulled up in the underground parking lot. His eyes bugged considerably when he caught a load of my necklace.

"Jesus!" he exclaimed. "When I said First Lady, I meant Nancy Reagan, not Marie Antoinette."

I touched the jagged edges of the wreath self-consciously. "Is it too much?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely not," Jane said adamantly as she looped an arm through mine. "Captain Manners here clearly doesn't know shit about fashion. Mary would have told Brandon if it were too much, Sky." She glared at Cory. "Would your boss like being compared to an eighteenth-century boy-king? Just wondering."

Just another reason why I was so glad to have Jane in my corner tonight. Cory's face turned the color of a tomato, but he just punched the button of the elevator.

"Sorry," he said as the doors closed.

Jane relaxed. "That's more like it."

Eric just shook his head, bemused, and gave Cory a "what did you expect?" kind of look.

Cory escorted us to a ballroom set aside for the event. Although my name was in the Globe, no one as of yet had published any pictures of me, so Cory had arranged for my name card to read "Ellen Chambers", using my middle name and my mother's maiden name as a decoy.

The room was mostly full already, swirling with black-tie attendees dressed for one of biggest political fundraisers in Boston. I had already recognized several people, including local celebrities, senators, and the governor. I was grateful that Brandon had made sure there would be a few friendly faces in the crowd for me too; it couldn't have been easy to procure tickets for Eric and Jane last minute. Margie must have been on the phone all day.

Across the room, I caught the notice of Kieran, who stood talking to a few men, dressed similarly to them in a sleek black tuxedo of her own. She gave a brief wave and a smile––well, as much of a smile as Kieran was ever really capable of––and returned to her conversation.

"Come on, Ellie," Jane joked as we wove our way to one of the octagonal tables set up near the dance floor.

It wasn't quite the table of honor, which was in the center of the room, but it was close. Brandon's name was on a card at that table, right next to another one I recognized as we passed it: Miranda Sterling.

"Oh, fuck" I breathed as I caught sight of the elegant cursive writing.

Jane leaned over my shoulder, and her eyes widened.

"What the hell?" she asked in disbelief. "Do you think he knows?"

I shook my head. "No. He never would have demanded I come if he'd known. He probably wouldn't have come himself." I pressed a hand to my cheek. "Jesus, like Groundhog Day, but a really awful night instead."

The tall, willowy form of Brandon's estranged wife was nowhere to be seen, but as soon as my eyes landed on the ballroom entrance, the entire frame was occupied by Brandon's broad shoulders. He raised a hand with a smile that was immediately clouded when he caught the look on my face.

Jane murmured something about her and Eric getting drinks and skirted away.

"Hey," Brandon said as he approached. "What's wrong?"

He looked camera-ready in a gorgeously slim-cut tuxedo that wasn't much different from every other man in the room, but Brandon made them all look like shadows. Cory had turned a stylist on him too; he'd clearly had a haircut and a shave in the last twenty-four hours. His usually tousled blond waves were shortened and tamed into something approximating a respectable politician's. Which, of course, was exactly what he was trying to be.

But nothing could tame the color of his eyes, the way they popped in a sea of black tuxedos. I realized at that moment that I'd chosen my dress precisely because it was the same color: the color of the Mediterranean, of a lake on a summer day. The color of the sky.

Wordlessly, I pointed to the small card sitting on the table. Brandon's eyes followed. His handsome jaw dropped.

"What the fuck..." he wondered under his breath as he picked the card up and examined it as if it were a figment of his imagination. He looked up. "I had no clue about this, Skylar. I never would have come if I'd known she would be here."

I believed him, but his obvious concern was reassuring.

"I know," I said. "And it's Ellen, by the way." I nodded at a few of the cameramen setting up in one corner of room.

Brandon's worry, however, dissipated a bit as he took in an eyeful of my outfit. Despite the obvious stress he was under, his mouth quirked with a sly smile.