And I’ll protect this precious secret with my life.
Pushing to my feet, I wipe my mouth with a cloth, then brush my teeth. The girl in the mirror stares back, pale but clear-eyed, those lips wanting to turn up at the edges.
A baby and a ball, all in the same day.
Now I just have to get through it without throwing up again.
I do my makeup heavier than usual, choosing cool tones of frost and slate with a touch of silver to bring out the sapphire of my gown. A French twist leaves my shoulders bare. Only then doI unzip the garment bag to find Midnight Rain waiting for me, done at last.
I step into it feet-first, and the silk pours over my skin. Greta finished the fitting yesterday, but I still hold my breath as I reach for the zipper, almost expecting the magic to fall apart up close.
It doesn’t.
The silver beadwork catches the light, dissolving into the blue exactly the way I envisioned. To date, it’s the best thing I’ve ever designed.
And after tonight, it won’t be mine.
This gown, worn by a queen, will be donated to the foundation’s spring charity auction, where some stranger will bid a fortune for the privilege of hanging it in a closet.
I fasten a delicate chain at my collarbone, the tiny stones hanging like raindrops, then smooth a palm down the silk. For a breath, my hand rests over the secret beneath it.
Mine.
For now.
A knock pulls me from the moment. I open the door to Hugo, and for a second, all I can do is stare. He always favors a tailored image, his morning flannel the exception, but tonight, he warrants a double-take. The tux fits him to perfection, his hair gelled back severe enough to make his green eyes especially vivid.
And yet, he can’t manage a bow tie, which I find oddly endearing.
“You’re staring, my queen.”
“Your tie is crooked.” I reach up and slide the silk loose to start from scratch, folding and tying the way I was taught years ago by Uncle Rowan.
Hugo goes tense beneath my hands, but he doesn’t inch away.
“There. Now you’re presentable.”
“Presentable.” He bites back a rare grin. “High praise, my queen.”
“Don’t get used to it.” I flatten his lapels. “You clean up well, Mr. Alexander.”
Color creeps above his collar. “And you look…” His gaze travels the gown. “Like the main attraction. No one’s going to look at the art.”
I tilt my head. “I think there was a compliment in there somewhere.”
“You think right.” He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice comes quieter. “Happy birthday, Novalee.”
It catches me off guard. With everything crowding my head, I’d nearly forgotten. “Happy birthday to you, too.” I smooth his lapel one last time. “Of all the people to share a birthday with, I’m glad it’s you.”
“Here’s to surviving another year.” An unguarded smile touches his lips as he gestures for me to precede him down the hall. “Shall we?”
With a nod, I grab my clutch and move past him, holding my secret close—the best birthday gift I’ll ever get.
The elevator takes us to the ground floor of the tower, where music filters into the corridor. He holds the door open, and the massive space swells with attendees. Chandeliers hang above a sea of silk and black tie, while a string quartet threads something elegant beneath the din of murmurs and clinking crystal. Along the far wall, the auction lots wait for an early preview, canvases and dress forms under soft spotlights.
Hugo leads me to a round table near the edge of the room, half-hidden behind a bank of white florals with a clear line to the nearest exit. It’s exactly where I would have put myself, and I have a feeling he chose it with me in mind.
Landon is already seated, one arm slung over the back of Elise’s chair. Beside them, far too casual in a tux, bow tie undone, sits Ford.