The whole Blake-Kacey Incident, as I secretly referred to it, had taught me a good lesson. A little jealousy was fine. A lot and it spilled out all over the place and could ruin even the best relationship.
Tristan's hand traced figure eights on my thigh as we traveled down the highway toward the biggest and most prestigious party I'd ever even been invited to, but I wasn't self-conscious or nervous anymore. With every adoring look he gave me, I felt more confident and beautiful than ever before. By the time we arrived, I felt as good on the inside as I looked on the outside.
Jenson pulled up in front of the Richmont hotel and came around to my side to let us out. Quietly, Tristan whispered in my ear as I stepped my foot out onto the street, "Don't ever forget how much I love you, Nina."
Lights flashed all around me before I even could straighten myself and step onto the sidewalk. Thankfully, Tristan was quick to join me and took my arm to guide me into the hotel, poised and cool as if this was second nature to him. Men and women yelled his name and barked out requests to look this way and that way, but he ignored them and held my arm tightly as we walked the red carpet, a private couple no more.
We entered through the glass front doors and the interior of the Richmont hotel nearly overwhelmed me. An enormous crystal chandelier hung from the three story ceiling, reflecting the hundreds of tiny lights that adorned virtually every surface of the lobby. I looked up to take it all in, and in my awe, almost tripped. Tristan steadied me and leaned in to whisper, "Remember, you're marrying the man who owns this. You belong here."
Crowds of people mingled as a string quartet played gentle music meant to provide a background but not disturb the festivities. As Tristan introduced me to members of Stone Worldwide's board and other people he quietly referred to as "people he found worthy of his time and mine," I relaxed into my role as his date and actually enjoyed myself. The author was a quiet woman who seemed out of place at her own event, but I was able to get her to laugh at a story I told when it was just Tristan and the two of us, and by the time the night had ended, I could honestly say I'd had a good time.
Even more, I could say that Tristan had. As he socialized with the guests, I heard the same whispers over and over. Women and men leaned over to those people next to them and quietly noted, "I've never seen Tristan Stone smile like that." And that was followed by the words, "Is that an engagement ring on her finger?"
That he'd smiled because I was on his arm meant the world to me. I may not have been from his social circle, but I'd been able to make him happy. Me. No one asked if I was his fiancée, but it didn't matter. It was enough to know that for the first time, his picture on Page Six would be of the man I knew with me by his side.
By the time we sat down in the back of the car, I was so wound up I wouldn't have been able to sleep even if I had to. I felt like a girl after her first school dance who wanted to talk about everyone she'd seen and everything she'd done. As I chattered on about dresses and drinks and the best tasting hors d'oeuvres, Tristan merely sat back against the leather seats and listened. We were out of the city by the time I'd realized I'd done nothing but talk for miles.
Shifting in my seat, I played with the end of his undone tie. "I'm sorry. I've been so busy talking, I haven't given you a chance to get a word in edgewise."
"Don't stop. I love listening to you when you're happy like this," he said quietly.
"Well, did you have a good time?" I asked, secretly hoping he did. I wanted this to be something I could believe I made better for him.
He thought about it for a moment and turned his head to look at me. "Yes. For the first time, I can say I did."
Happy to hear those words, I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "That means a lot to me that you said that."
Tristan caught my face as I moved to lean back against the seat and kissed me like he had in our bedroom hours earlier. My stomach did a flip and that tiny tug in the pit of my abdomen appeared as he pulled the pins from my hair.
"I want you. Here. Take the dress off," he ordered as he unzipped it and began pushing the fabric from my body.
I protested, if only meekly, "Tristan, Jenson's going to know what we're doing back here."