Charlie leans down and kisses me, grinning as the cameras snap furiously. As promised, they ask about the designer of my dress and Charlie answers easily, having checked the tag in the limo. His father arrives, requesting they take some photos of the father and son power duo. Charlie’s eyes question me, looking for permission. The look from his father is enough for me to give him a reassuring nod. Charlie lets me go for the first time with a quick kiss. They look powerful and fierce in their matching tuxedos. I can see one of Charlie’s possible futures standing beside him if he follows in his father’s footsteps. The future beside him is long hours, divorces, and alienation from his child. I can only hope that me being in his life doesn’t lead him down that path.
I’m politely standing off to the side when his father waves a few other people over. Among them is an older gentleman and Ainsley. The similarities between them tell me they’re related. He’s small like her, only a hair taller than her, but even during an event like this, he has a grim set to his mouth. The four of them stand together, the fathers bracketing their children between them.
Ainsley looks classic beside Charlie in a strapless white gown and natural make-up. Even with the fathers in the photo, it looks like it could be a snapshot from their wedding. The mermaid-style gown she’s wearing has beading all up and down the bodice in intricate designs. When asked about it, I think I hear her comment that they’re Swarovski crystals. The lower half of the dress flares out with small chiffon layers that give it a feathered look.
Beside Charlie, Ainsley looks like the wife, resplendent in white. And with me dressed in red, I look like the other woman, the mistress, the one that is on the outside. Ainsley is angelic in white, her blonde hair gathered in a simple updo, tendrils framing her face. I have a glittering dress that's low cut with a high slit, and my dark hair is free in finger waves. I feel like the whore his father said I was. One glance from his father tells me he knows exactly what it looks like. There are cameras on me, and I hold my head high, biting the inside of my cheek to stop myself from crying.
Ainsley looks at Charlie with deep love there. It's the same look my parents would share and it only serves to deepen the feeling that I’m the third person in this relationship, not Ainsley. I see her mouth move, a furtive glance at Charlie, as she smiles for a photo. He answers her, his hand carefully set on her shoulder in a platonic touch. She surprises me, when her eyes find me, and she waves me over.
I step forward into the pictures and Ainsley stays there for a moment, turning her head this way and that before stepping away. Charlie’s hand rubs my bare back, moving to settle on my hips in a very un-platonic way. We head inside, out of the freezing cold, leaving the photographers to their work with the next crowd of guests.
We’re barely through the door and away from the overwhelming attention of the crowds looking to spy a celebrity when Ainsley approaches us.
“Charlie, can I speak with you alone, please?” Her voice is pleading as her green eyes flit from Charlie to me and then back again, trying to prove that she’s not ignoring my existence. I start to pull away from him, to let them talk, but Charlie’s muscles tense, holding me closer to him.
“Ainsley,” he starts, but stops, blowing out a hard breath. “No.” His voice is firm and final as he leads me to our table.
There is a small reception area as we enter, where there are people welcoming the guests and directing them to the party. Even the staff is dressed in gorgeous gowns, hair perfectly coiled up in intricate updos and make-up expertly applied. The stage is set up in a stunning room with glittering lights and priceless jewels on display. I realize I don’t even know what this event is raising money for, but at a hundred thousand dollars a table, they surely have raised plenty of funds. I’m pretty sure the wealth in this room would be enough to end world hunger if they wanted. My dress alone cost five figures, and I’m positive mine is bargain-priced compared to these other ones. Across the room, I think I glimpse an A-list celebrity and his attorney wife chatting with the mayor. Magazines and media don’t do these events justice. There is a series of ornate chandeliers hanging over the space and a stage is set up in the center of the room with what appears to be a small moat around it.
Before we go to our table, I snag Charlie’s arm, stopping him. I take his hands in mine, giving him a reassuring squeeze.
“I think you need to talk to Ainsley,” I urge, and he looks confused. “I think you both need closure. I don’t know if she’s still hoping that you can get back together or if that's just what everyone keeps telling her. As the other woman who is being told that you two are inevitable, you need to close that door if that's how you feel.”
His brow wrinkles. The crestfallen look on Ainsley’s face when Charlie walked away from her was heartbreaking. I want both of them to be put out of their misery.
“Who is telling you...”
I cut him off with a kiss. It's quick, sweet, and meant to silence him. He doesn’t even have a chance to react before I pull away. “We can talk about it later, but think about it.”
Our table is perfectly situated with a view of the stage and not overly close to any speakers. Since events like this are sold by the table, I know that we’re going to be with Charlie’s co-workers and, likely, his father. Vivian explained that these tables rake in two hundred thousand dollars each. Getting a table is like paying for the option to buy season tickets. A filthy amount of wealth is sitting at them.
“You look expensive,” Jack says, shaking Charlie’s hand as I hug Vivian. “What’s the nightly rate?”
“I said enough,” Charlie’s voice is furious as he glares at Jack. I wonder how much Jack’s been in Charlie’s ear at work. For the first time, I consider that as bad as I’ve been hearing I’m not good enough, he’s had it worse surrounded by it all day at work. My heart swells with love for this man who would defy those in his life to love me.
Even Vivian looks furious with Jack, but she’s never been the public outburst sort of person; she is unwilling to make a scene anywhere, let alone at an event like this in front of Jack’s bosses. Her pursed lips and raised eyebrow tell me that he’s going to get it when they get home. I almost wish she would lay into him; maybe it would finally shut him up. I squeeze her hand, reassuring her that I’m fine. Jack holds his hands up defensively.
“I can take a hint when my jokes aren’t funny. I apologize, Elia. You look lovely.” He doesn’t sound overly apologetic, but I dip my head to him, accepting it anyway. Charlie pulls out my seat for me and I try not to let this dampen my mood.
Charlie’s father is seated at the table and so is Ainsley’s dad. The empty seat beside him tells me that she’s supposed to be seated here as well, but it remains empty for most of the night. It’s only filled by those hoping to talk to her dad. Charlie’s father keeps looking at the empty chair and then at his son, disappointment in his eyes.
We spend the next few hours chatting as we eat. Charlie is between his father and I, letting me talk to Vivian as she talks about this ass of an attorney she has to deal with. During the speeches, I learn that the fundraiser is for the Relocation of the North American Deer from the Northeast. It’s so oddly specific, and to me, utterly useless, but I guess they were just looking for a reason to have a party.
“Do you donate to actual legitimate charities as well?” I ask Charlie as the last course is served.
“This is all dad, though I did have to chip in for your seat. I’m all for saving the West Coast otters, but I don’t think they need the funds.”
“North American Deer,” I correct.
Charlie snorts into his whiskey. “That must have been last year. But yes, besides your medical bills, I do make some regular donations. The trust fund is set to make automatic quarterly donations to the charities of my choosing. If there are any causes you feel strongly about, I’m happy to add them to the mix.”
“Trust fund? Are you real? Maybe this is still a coma dream.”
He laughs, his hand sliding up my bare thigh, exposed by sitting. “If this were a coma dream, I would ravish you on this table and no one would bat an eye. But I promise you that this is real and my father would have some very strong opinions about any ravishing. To answer your question, yes, a trust fund. It's how I bought the apartment. It’s set up and making some very smart investments to sustain me. It’s why I didn’t bat an eye at your quarter of a million hospital bill.”
I choke on my champagne. “Now you’re just bragging.”
He kisses the spot below my ear, pulling me up to dance. “Maybe, but I like to think it impresses you when I do.”