Then two friendly faces walked inside.
Cleo and Deacon.
Cleo was in a tight black dress and heels, her brown hair pinned back, her makeup heavier than usual because she was off the clock. With her arm in Deacon’s, she swept her gaze over the room, subtle surprise in her eyes as she took in all the intricate details of the event, seeing the waiters making sure every single person got a glass of champagne, that it was running smoothly. Then she looked at me.
It was a look I’d never forget.
She stepped over to me and embraced me with a motherly hug, squeezing me the way she squeezed Dex. “Looks like I have nothing to teach you.” She pulled back, giving me a bright look of approval, even of pride. “Letting you go was the biggest mistake I ever made. But it was my son’s greatest fortune.” She rubbed my arms up and down before she let me go. “And that dress is—”
“Day-yum.” Daisy walked up and joined us, looking me up and down. “Tell me where you got that dress in two seconds. Otherwise, I’m going to scream—”
“Emilia’s.” I answered right away because I knew she wasn’t joking.
“Thank you.” She gave me a thumbs-up then walked away to grab a glass of champagne.
Deacon smiled slightly before he placed his hand on my shoulder. “It looks amazing. You do as well. Now, where’s my son?”
“I’m here, I’m here.” Dex came rushing up, slightly out of breath as if he’d run here. He was in a gray suit with a gray tie, the material fitting his broad shoulders and strong chest in perfectly masculine ways. His slacks showed off his lean and toned legs, and the man looked like he belonged on the Bachelor.
“How are you late to your own event?” Deacon asked.
“It’s not like I’m late to an operation, Dad.” He patted his father on the back then looked at me, and once he did, his expression immediately changed. His eyes narrowed, and he swept over my appearance in a nanosecond, taking in my long hair that was curled and pinned over one shoulder.
Daisy walked up behind him and whispered something in his ear before she kept walking.
Dex continued to stare at me, like he had something to say but couldn’t bring himself to say it.
Cleo slid her arm through Deacon’s, and they silently excused themselves and started to mingle with people they knew.
Dex reached for the knot of his tie and adjusted it as he stepped closer to me, no longer the confident guy who could rock jeans and a tee without thinking twice about it. He cleared his throat as he continued to look at me. “Uh…you look…nice.”
I smiled. “Thank you. Your sister asked where I got this dress the second she saw me.”
“It would never look as good on her as it does on you.” He slid his hands into his pockets and continued to stare at me, stare at me hard, like he’d never really looked at me before. He didn’t look at the ballroom or give me any compliments on my work. He just seemed to care about me.
I could see people continuing to file in behind him, to grab their champagne then look at him, as if they were trying to figure out if they could approach him or not. “Dex, you should greet your guests. Then we’ll start the presentation. You already ate, right? Or would you like me to grab you something?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Oh right, yeah.”
“Do you need a plate?” I repeated.
“No, no. I’m good.” He rubbed the back of his neck before he turned away and extended his hand. “Mr. Van Nyes, how are you? Thanks for coming…”
I watched him interact with his guests, falling back into his warm and charming persona that continually made people adore him.
Daisy came back to me, this time holding a glass of scotch because she’d just hit the bar. “Girl, you’re torturing him.” She gave me a playful nudge in the side. “Keep it up. Make him eat his heart out. And your tits…is that all you, or is it the bra?”
“I think it’s a bit of both.”
“Man, I’m jealous.” She walked away again and joined her parents at their table.
I loved the Hamiltons. They were seriously the coolest people ever. A drop-dead gorgeous, brilliant bombshell of a woman just complimented me…like we were in the same league.
I noticed Derek walk inside, the spitting image of his father, wearing a black suit, his eyes scanning for a familiar face as he was handed a glass of champagne. I walked up to him. “Hey, you made it.”
His eyes brightened when he looked at me, lifting from their brooding stare and turning warm. “Sicily, you did a great job with this party. It feels like my mom’s work.”