I’ve done a lot of gardening work here, so I know the place well, but it looks entirely different at night. The solar lamps that line the drive and steps are all alight, along with hundreds of strings of fairy lights that have turned the place into a stunning blaze of light.
The staff is dressed in black trousers, white shirts, and silver waistcoats to distinguish them from the guests.
And the guests… oh wow. The men all look handsome and wealthy in black tie. And the women… well, one good thing is that my dress doesn’t look out of place. A few are wearing dresses in the flouncy ball gown style, but most are a variation on A-Line or sheath, so at least I’m not going to look out of place.
“If you would like to wait a moment,” Rob says, “Mr. Davis asked me to call when we arrived so he can come out and meet you.”
“Oh goodness, no, that’s okay. I don’t need an escort.” I fumble at the door catch.
Rob leaps out to open it for me and watches as I get out. “He won’t like that I haven’t rung him,” he says nervously.
I give him a wry look. “I’m sure you’ll survive. Where am I likely to find him, do you think?”
“He and Mr. Cavendish will be in the lobby, greeting everyone.”
“Thank you, Rob. Have a great evening.”
“And you, ma’am.”
Stuffing the clutch under my arm, I lift the front of my dress a little so I don’t trip over it and climb the short flight of steps to the open front doors of the lobby.
My mouth has gone dry. I’m not cut out for this. Not the performance, not the setting, and certainly not the people. I’m a gardener, for God’s sake. Most of the time I work on my own, with my earbuds in, listening to music or audio books, and sometimes I hardly speak to another person all day. What thehell am I doing here, at a high society event, announcing that I’m engaged to a fucking billionaire?
I take a deep, shaky breath and let it out slowly. I’m here for Kingi. He gave me a hundred thousand dollars in return for making him look respectable, and that’s what I’m going to do. He purposefully picked me because I’m not from the same background as him. And although I don’t think he realizes that’s a little insulting, I understand why he did it. I can’t back away now.
Lifting my chin, hoping I don’t pass out because my heart is racing so much, I approach the lobby. There’s a queue of people out the front, and I join them, holding the clutch with both hands and fighting the desire to turn and run back down the steps. Gradually the queue moves forward into the lobby, and then I see Kingi and Orson standing there with the other members of the Midnight Circle, shaking hands with everyone as they arrive.
They’re both wearing black suits with crisp white dress shirts, black bow ties, and polished dress shoes. Orson looks as handsome as ever. But it’s Kingi who immediately draws my eye.
Oh holy shit. He’s had a haircut, and he’s clean shaven. I honestly can’t remember the last time I saw him look like this. It was probably when he was about thirteen.
I wait in the queue to approach them, and I’m only a few people away when Orson glances over and sees me. His eyebrows shoot up, and he nudges Kingi and gestures at me.
Kingi looks over, and his gaze falls on me.
He stares.
And then his expression lights up with the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen.
Oh… My heart leaps. That was worth every minute of the effort I’ve put into my appearance.
Chapter Thirteen
Kingi
When Orson first nudges me and gestures across the lobby, I look down the line of guests waiting in the queue, wondering who he’s seen. And then my gaze screeches to a halt at the sight of a woman waiting on her own, not talking to anyone as she studies the rest of the guests.
She’s average height, although as I watch, she lifts the skirt of her gown a little, revealing that she’s wearing high-heeled sandals. It looks as if her ankle strap has come undone, and she drops the skirt and frowns as if she’s trying to think how she’s going to do it up.
The gown is Mermaid-style, so it cinches right in at the waist, clings to the hips and thighs, and flares out at the bottom. It’s also off the shoulder, its tiny sleeves just about covering her upper arms, but the bodice is low across her generous breasts, exposing a large amount of the pale, creamy skin of her neck and shoulders. But it’s the color and fabric of the gown that really stand out. It’s velvet, and it looks almost black until it catches the light, and then it shines a deep ruby-red.
Her hair is down, hanging in curls all the way past her shoulders, the beautiful Titian color accentuated by the ruby gown. Her lipstick matches her dress and fingernails, and I can see she’s wearing long fake eyelashes.
She’s absolutely stunning.
I leave the line of Midnight members who are greeting the guests and cross the lobby, only half-conscious of the photographers on my left, taking shots of the clientele, and the other guests who are watching me pass.
I stop in front of Chessie, and she looks up at me with her breathtaking green eyes. The emerald green shadow along the top of her lids sparkles in the lights.