“I’m so sorry,” the woman gushes. “Our regular babysitter cancelled at the last minute.”
“That’s no problem at all.” Reaching out with so much longing my fingertips tingle, I ask, “May I hold him?”
“No,” the woman cries before grabbing her baby and pressing him to her chest. “I mean… He’s just eaten. He may burb on you.” She’s flustered, trying to make excuses for her instinctive reaction.
I lower my arms. What was I thinking? Which mother would let an insane woman with self-harming tendencies hold her baby?
Her husband steps up quickly. “If we can just find a quiet room to lay him down, please? We brought the monitor, so we’ll hear him if he fusses.”
It’s hard to hide my feelings and regain my balance. “Of course. We’ll use the reading room next door. He won’t be disturbed there. I’ll show you.”
Damian watches me from across the room as I lead the couple to the hallway. His gaze is questioning, intent, and I drop my eyes so he won’t see my secrets.
“What’s his name?” I ask when I show them into the reading room.
“Davie,” the woman says, still clutching him to her chest as if she’s afraid I’ll rip him away.
“Family name?”
“Yes,” the father says, seeming proud.
I don’t stress the young parents further with my presence but leave them to their privacy to get their baby settled. When I return, Nadia immediately corners me.
“Oh, my.” She leans closer to admire the necklace. “That is a piece of art.”
“Tony’s creation,” Damian says next to me.
She takes a smartphone from her evening bag. “May I? This deserves to be splashed all over social media.”
“Of course,” Damian says.
As if he senses my unease at being photographed, he rests his hand on my lower back, preventing me from stepping away.
Out of sorts about the reaction the incident with Davie has stirred, I smile stiffly.
Damian rubs his thumb over my spine. “Relax, angel,” he whispers in my ear, planting a kiss in my neck.
A flash goes off. I blink as Nadia takes another photo.
“Perfect,” she says with a satisfied smile as she regards the screen. “May I use this in the column?”
“Anywhere you like.” Damian lets me go and steers her toward Tony. “Let me introduce you to the designer.”
She digs in her heels. “One moment. I was wondering if you’ve seen this.” She flips over her telephone screen and holds it up to Damian.
His expression darkens. “False allegations.”
Her gaze darts to Anne. “Is that so?” Turning the screen to me, she asks, “What do you say, Lina, being newlywed, and all?”
It’s a gossip column. There’s a head-and-shoulder shot of Anne and one of Damian alongside. The subtitle reads, Is Hart having an affair? Mine magnate’s honeymoon didn’t last long.
Zane is there in a heartbeat, as if he knows what the conversation is about. “My sister denies those allegations.”
Damian takes Nadia’s arm and steers her to where a fiddling Tony waits. “This is Tony. I’m sure you have lots of questions for him.” He says under his breath to Zane, “Deal with it,” before jovially calling for more wine.
I inhale deeply and let the air expand in my lungs. It’s a small moment of reprieve. I don’t have time to dissect my emotions or battle the onslaught of so many hurtful sensations crammed into such a short space, because soon I’m surrounded by Fouché, his wife, and Belinda who all admire the necklace. It’s awkward to be a mannequin for a showpiece, and I execute the role poorly, almost relieved when we at last take our places at the table.
Seated between Damian and Fouché, I endure the curious stares at my arms, the fake compliments, and the envious glances at the diamonds around my neck and on my finger. Fouché is kind enough to refrain from mentioning my turbulent past or Harold’s downfall. Instead, he tells me about his admiration for Damian’s vision and management policy. I’ve never been interested in the mine, but the facts he shares with me make me curious about the changes Damian has made.
When it’s time for cognac to be served in the lounge, some of the guests follow Damian. With a stain on my dress, I have no choice but to remain seated. Fouché and his wife trickle away with the others, eventually leaving me alone with Belinda and Tony.
Belinda scoots closer. “I feel like I already know you. You’re such an easy person to talk to.” Gripping my fingers, she turns my hand to the light. “Tell me, did you really refuse an engagement ring?”
I give Tony a hard look, not that I can blame him for sharing the juicy piece of gossip. “I’m sure Tony told you all about it.”
He turns red and suddenly finds the bottom of his wine glass very interesting.
“Why ever would you refuse?” Belinda asks. “Is it a humanitarian thing?”