The hotel’s grand ballroom was enormous, far larger than the one in his house, which now seemed quite modest by comparison. A full orchestra played big band hits from the nineteen forties as beautiful women in ball gowns danced with handsome men in tuxedos. On the edges of the dance floor, large round tables filled the space, each with an elaborate arrangement of white and red roses. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead.
Leonidas took two flutes of sparkling water from a waiter’s silver tray. He handed her one of them, then nodded toward the far wall, his dark eyes gleaming. “Over there are the items that will be up for bidding in the auction tonight. Would you like to go see them?”
“Sure.” Anything to give her something to do. To make her feel less out of place. People were staring at her, and she had no idea whether that was because her dress looked strange, or because they’d heard she was the art forger’s daughter, or just because she wasn’t beautiful enough to be on Leonidas’s arm. She knew she wasn’t, fancy ball gown or no. He was a handsome Greek billionaire. Who was she?
An ex-waitress. The daughter of a felon. A failed artist. Pregnant and unwed.
Nervously sipping the sparkling water, Daisy followed Leonidas to the long table lining the far wall of the hotel ballroom. Walking past all the items put forward in the upcoming charity auction, she stared at them each incredulously.
There was a guitar that had apparently once belonged to Johnny Cash. A signed first edition of a James Bond novel. Two-carat vintage diamond earrings. A small sculpture by a famous artist. And if the items weren’t enough to whet the appetite, there were experiences offered on small illustrated posters: a week at someone’s fully staffed vacation house in the Maldives. An invitation to attend Park City Film Festival screenings as the guest of a well-known actor. A dinner prepared at your home, for you and twelve of your best friends by a world-famous chef, who would fly in from his three-Michelin-star Copenhagen restaurant expressly for the occasion.
Walking past all the items, each more insane and over-the-top than the last, Daisy shook her head. Rich people really did live a life she could not imagine.
But on the other hand, it was all for charity, and if it really helped homeless kids...
She nearly bumped into Leonidas, who’d stopped at the end of the final table, in front of the very last item.
“Hey.” She frowned up at him. “You nearly made me spill my—”
He glanced significantly toward that last item, his dark eyebrows raised. She followed his glance.
Then her hand clutched her drink. She felt like she was going to faint.
“That’s—that’s my—”
“Yes,” he said. “It’s your painting.”
It was. Her final project from art school, in all its pathetic mess. Sitting next to all those amazing items that rich people might actually want.
Daisy looked around wildly. The noise and music and colors of the ballroom seemed to spin around her. She felt like she was in one of those awful dreams where you were in the hallway of your school and everyone was standing around you, laughing and pointing, and you suddenly realized you’d forgotten your homework—and your clothes.
She looked up at Leonidas with stricken eyes. “What have you done?”
He looked back at her. “Given you another cha
nce.”
“A chance at what!” she gasped. “Humiliation and pain?”
“A chance to believe in your dream,” he said quietly. “I believe in you.”
Shaking, Daisy wiped her eyes. She wanted to grab the painting and run, before any of these glamorous people could sneer at it.
But too late. She stiffened as two well-dressed guests came up behind them.
“What is this?” said the woman, who was very thin and draped in diamonds. “It’s not signed.”
Her escort peered doubtfully at the painting’s description. “It says here that the artist wishes to be anonymous.”
“How very strange.” The woman turned to call to another friend, “Nan. Come tell me if you can guess who this artist is.”
Daisy’s cheeks felt like they were on fire, and her heart was beating fast, as if she’d just run two miles without stopping. Leonidas took her arm, and gently led her away from the auction table.
“It’s to earn money for the charity. For the kids.”
“It won’t earn anything. No one will bid on it,” she whispered. Why did he want to hurt her like this? She knew Leonidas didn’t love her. But did he outright hate her? What other reason could he have to humiliate her, in front of all his ritzy friends?
She felt like she’d been ambushed, just when she’d started to trust him. Leonidas believed in her? How could he, when she didn’t believe in herself?