I would say that I was invited to the Blackwood Foundation Gala if someone were to ask how I got in. However, if we're being completely honest—and I'm truly attempting this whole "authentic living" thing—it was a mix of my best friend's old staff ID, a borrowed dress, and boldness.
Like it was designed for someone with a real trust fund, the dress held on to me tightly. Warning: I'm not that person. For the tenth time, I repositioned the neckline to make it appear as though I wasn't perspiring through silk. I grabbed a glass of champagne from a waiter who was carrying it like it was a security blanket.
"Grace, have faith," I muttered to myself. "Your purpose is not to blend in. You are here to pretend until you succeed."
With crystal chandeliers, people wearing dresses I would have to sell my soul for, and an orchestra playing as if they weren't listening to billionaires discuss corporate transgressions in between glasses of Dom Pérignon, the ballroom was a sea of elegance.
I had a mission. One foreclosure notice would have turned my bakery into a depressing relic, but perhaps—just possibly—I could save it tonight if I could win over the right investor. I came here for that reason. Not delusion, not desperation. Simply... courage. And a little red satin wrapped around stolen courage.
I saw him at that point.
Ethan Blackwood.
He had a way of making you forget how to breathe. A face carved like it should have been in a cologne commercial, a black tux, and a faint five o'clock shadow. He appeared strong. As if he somehow managed to ruin your life and make you feel grateful for it.
He saw me staring, of course.
I looked away, praying the ground would swallow me. But he was approaching me when I turned around.
strolling in my direction.
Adrenaline mixed with panic. My thoughts yelled Say something smart, Grace! However, I was only able to freeze.
In a smooth, informal voice, he inquired, "Enjoying the party?"
I smiled at him as innocently as I could. "Obviously. I adore a good fundraising event. Conserving, uh, foundations
Well done, Grace. Perfect.
He cocked his head, laughing. "The guest list does not include you."
There was no question.
I blinked. "Pardon me?"
You're dressed in a borrowed gown from the previous season. The ID you previously used was that of a person who resigned three months ago. "And your heels?" He looked down. Are you two sizes too large? hurriedly slipped them on?
My mouth dropped open as I gazed at him. Busted.
He smirked slightly and said, "Calm down." "I'm impressed. It takes courage to show up at this party. I enjoy guts.
Then he extended his arm to me as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
Do you want to dance, Miss...?
Before my brain allowed it, my hand moved into his.
"Grace Carter, please."
He leaned a little closer. "All right, Miss Carter. Let's make tonight something to remember.
Suddenly, I found myself dancing on a marble floor with a man who could buy my whole block without looking at his bank account.
That dance marked the start of everything, even though I was unaware of it at the time.
And my life as I knew it was over.