Chapter 14 - The Gala Announcement
|
The annual Vance Foundation Gala at the Plaza Hotel was the crown jewel of the Manhattan autumn social calendar. Every billionaire, senator, and media mogul on the East Coast crowded into the gilded Grand Ballroom beneath towering crystal chandeliers and walls of white orchids, waiting to see if the rumors of a fallout between the Vance and Kensington dynasties were true.
Inside the private VIP bridal suite upstairs, I stood in front of a gilded full-length mirror, barely recognizing the woman staring back at me.
Gone was the exhausted, invisible maid in faded gray cotton. I was wearing a custom floor-length gown of liquid silver silk that hugged every curve of my waist before cascading to the floor, leaving my back bare to the base of my spine. My dark hair was swept up with diamond pins, and resting against my collarbone was the Vance heirloom emerald necklace—placed there personally by Evelyn thirty minutes earlier.
When the suite door opened, Damon stepped inside in a bespoke black tuxedo, holding Sophie by the hand. Our daughter wore a matching silver velvet party dress with tiny white satin shoes.
Damon stopped dead in his tracks, his silver-hazel eyes darkening with raw hunger as they traveled slowly from the hem of my gown up to my lips.
"If we didn't have five hundred reporters waiting downstairs," Damon murmured huskily, crossing the room to press a lingering kiss against the bare skin of my shoulder, "I would lock that door and peel this dress off you one inch at a time."
Warmth flooded my cheeks, my heart racing as I leaned back into his solid chest. "Damon, are you sure about doing this tonight? Senator Kensington is down there with half the City Council and the press corps."
"Let them watch," Damon said fiercely, turning me gently to face him. "For four years, you carried my secret and my child in the shadows while I let the world believe I was untouchable. Tonight, everyone in New York learns who owns my name and my heart."
When the massive double doors of the Grand Ballroom swung open ten minutes later, three hundred conversations died simultaneously.
Flashbulbs erupted like lightning across the entrance stairs. Walking down the red carpet at the center of the room wasn't Damon Vance with Camille Kensington. It was Damon with his arm wrapped possessively around my waist, and perched proudly on his other arm was a three-year-old girl with unmistakable silver-hazel Vance eyes.
May you like
Across the ballroom, standing near the champagne fountain alongside her furious father, Camille looked as if she were about to faint in her scarlet gown. Whispers rippled like wildfire through the crowd of socialites—Isn't that the girl from NYU four years ago? Look at that child's face! That’s Richard Vance’s spitting image!
Damon didn't slow down for a single reporter. He led us straight to the center stage, taking the microphone from the podium as the entire ballroom held its breath.
