Wright Rival (Wright)

I had no idea what we’d do until that point. Almost all of the offices had been in there. Most of the wine had been in the cellar, but years and years of work had been lost in the fire. In the interim, we’d given most of the staff time off and moved me and my dad down to the cellar until we figured out what to do.

By the time the weekend came around, I desperately needed the break. The gala for the DII soccer team was tonight. If I hadn’t agreed to go with Hollin, I might have skipped the entire thing. Peyton had assured me it was just what I needed and that I couldn’t miss seeing her perform. Which was true. I loved to watch her dance.

So, I put aside my aching heart and got ready for the event. In years past, the three grandkids had always gone to Abuelita’s house, dressed in our prom attire. Abuelita always wanted to be the first person to see us in our outfits. And even though prom was long past, the three of us had agreed to show off for Abuelita one more time.

Peter stood in his tuxedo as Abuelita, seated at the dining room table, circled her finger in the air. “Do a little twirl.”

He sighed. “I don’t twirl.”

“You took ballet for a few years, like the rest of us,” Peyton said. “You know how to turn.”

He shot her a look and did a perfectly executed pirouette. Peter had been better at the grace of it all than I ever had. If he’d stuck with it like Peyton, maybe he would have ended up in New York, too.

“Lovely,” Abuelita said. “Now, slower. These old eyes don’t see like they used to.”

He obliged, turning in a slow circle as Peyton went into the bedroom to change. “I do look pretty sharp, don’t I?”

I wrinkled my nose. “You’re all right.”

“Hey! Chess will like it.”

“That young man is very dreamy himself,” Abuelita said.

Peter laughed. “What would Grandpa think about that?”

“He’s been in the grave for a dozen years. And when he was here, he knew I had eyeballs.”

I cracked up. Leave it to Abuelita to be checking out guys fifty years younger than her.

Peyton came out next, not in a ballgown, but her tutu for the ballet Serenade. She was performing the solo and pas de deux at the event tonight. It was a stunning display of tulle, perfectly fit to her measurements.

“Oh, mi amorcita,” Abuelita said. “Perfecto.”

“Thank you,” Peyton said, stepping up and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“I always loved that one,” I told her.

“Me too,” Peyton said wistfully.

Giving up her life in New York City and ceasing performing had been difficult for Peyton. She had a life and a career here as the artistic director that she loved, but sometimes, it was hard. How could it not be? Ballet had been the only thing she cared about for years.

Then, it was my turn. I carried the black dress bag into the room. Blaire and I had picked it out online from a designer that she partnered with. We’d had the thing tailored to my build once it came in.

“Need help?” Peyton called.

“Please.”

Peyton entered the room and buttoned up the tiny buttons at the back.

“I’ll be doing this for you next weekend.”

She laughed. “If I can find a dress.”

We’d gone dress shopping at all of the local places, but nothing had fit her that would be ready by next weekend. I’d promised to go look for her in Dallas or New York, if need be, to find something. Someone somewhere could make this happen.

With the dress securely in place, I drew on my black heels and walked into the living room. Abuelita’s breath caught.

“Piper,” she breathed softly. “Where did my little girl go?”

I smiled and spun in a careful circle, letting the light catch the soft shimmer to the black-and-silver dress. It gave her a perfect view of the square neckline, ruched middle, and nearly completely open back. The waist tapered in before falling to the floor in a swirl of beautiful fabric. When I twirled, everything flared up like I was an actual princess. It was better than anything I’d ever worn to prom, and I felt perfect in it.

“I love this tradition,” Peyton said. “You look gorgeous, Piper.”

“Hollin won’t be able to keep his hands off you,” Peter said with a laugh.

Abuelita shook her head. “She won’t be able to keep her hands off of him.”

I rolled my eyes. “Abuelita can’t keep her hands off of him.”

Abuelita arched an eyebrow. “He’s very charming.”

We all chuckled at her. Then, the doorbell rang.

Peter rushed to answer it, and there stood Hollin Abbey in a black tuxedo, carrying a bouquet of roses.

“Abbey,” Peter said, pulling back to let him inside.

My eyes ran down the length of him. My mouth went dry. Abuelita was right. I wasn’t going to be able to keep my hands off of him. My hands, my mouth, my body. Maybe we shouldn’t even go to this thing, and I could stand here and objectify him forever.