PART 2
The Man Who Called Her His Fiancée Had Been Looking for Her Long Before That NightFor several seconds, I forgot the champagne running down my dress.
I forgot Damian.
I forgot Victoria.
I even forgot the forty people who had just been laughing at me.
Because the man standing behind me had said one word that made absolutely no sense.
Fiancée.
I turned slowly.
And understood why the room had gone quiet.
Julian Vale stood less than three feet away.
Even if I had never seen his photograph in newspapers, I would have recognized the name from the seating charts I had spent three weeks revising.
Vale Holdings.
Table One.
Largest private donor of the evening.
Owner of half a dozen landmark buildings, three major hospitality groups, a logistics company, and enough commercial property in Manhattan to make people lower their voices when discussing him.
The gossip columns called him ruthless.
Business magazines called him disciplined.
People who worked in events called him terrifying, mostly because Julian Vale was famous for noticing every detail and forgetting nothing.
He was thirty-seven, perhaps thirty-eight, taller than Damian by several inches, dressed in a black tuxedo so understated that only someone who understood tailoring would know how expensive it was.
Unlike Damian, he wasn’t smiling.
His gray eyes settled first on the empty champagne glass in Damian’s hand.
Then on my soaked dress.
Then on Damian’s face.
Damian recovered before I did.
“Mr. Vale.” His voice lost almost all of its confidence. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”
Julian stepped beside me.
“No,” he said calmly. “I understood perfectly.”
His voice wasn’t loud.
That somehow made it worse.
Victoria’s expression changed instantly. The cool amusement disappeared, replaced by calculation.
Damian forced a laugh. “Ava and I know each other. We were only joking.”
“I wasn’t,” I said.
The words left my mouth before I could reconsider them.
Damian looked at me.
For the first time that evening, I saw uncertainty in his eyes.
Julian did not look at Damian.
He looked at me.
“Are you all right?”
No one had asked me that.
Not one person.
My face burned hotter than it had during the laughter.
“I need a towel.”
Something almost like approval touched Julian’s expression.
“A practical answer.”
He removed his dinner jacket and held it toward me.
I stared at it.
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“It probably costs more than my car.”
“It does.”
Despite everything, a shocked little laugh escaped me.
His mouth moved at one corner.
“Then we agree you shouldn’t spill champagne on it.”
I took the jacket.
It was warm from his shoulders.
I wrapped it around myself, covering the wet stain down the front of my dress.
Only then did I realize the entire ballroom was still watching us.
Julian turned toward the nearest Bellmere staff member.
“Could you ask someone to bring Ms. Bennett a towel and some sparkling water?”
The server nodded so quickly I thought she might injure her neck.
“Yes, Mr. Vale.”
Julian faced Damian again.
“What exactly was funny?”
Damian’s jaw tightened.
“Excuse me?”
“The joke. You said you were joking.”
Damian glanced around the room.
Suddenly, being the center of attention wasn’t as enjoyable when he wasn’t controlling the audience.
“It was private.”
“You poured a drink on a woman in front of forty people.”
Julian paused.
“That made it public.”
Victoria touched Damian’s arm.
“We should go.”
Damian ignored her.
His gaze moved from Julian to me.
“You’re engaged?”
It was ridiculous that I still knew every tiny change in his voice.
The clipped tone when he was jealous.
The slower one when he was trying to hide anger.
For four years, I had learned Damian like a language.
Apparently, forgetting a language took longer than six months.
I should have corrected Julian immediately.
I knew that.
But I remembered Damian’s text.
I don’t think we’re compatible with the life I’m building.
I remembered staring at those words at 3:17 in the morning while the man sleeping beside me ended four years without having the courage to wake me.
So I did something I would later blame on exhaustion, humiliation, hunger, and perhaps a small temporary failure of good judgment.
I slid my hand into Julian Vale’s.
Damian’s face changed.
“Apparently,” I said, “you’ve missed some updates.”
Julian’s fingers closed around mine.
Warm.
Steady.
Not possessive.
Just there.
Damian looked at our hands.
Victoria’s lips tightened.
The room remained silent.
Then someone near the stage coughed, another guest began talking, and as if a spell had broken, conversations slowly restarted.
Julian leaned closer.
“Can you walk?”
I looked down at my shoes.
Champagne squished between my toes.
“Technically.”
“Excellent. We’ll work from there.”
He led me away.
Not dramatically.
Not like some prince rescuing a humiliated woman.
He simply walked beside me toward the corridor outside the ballroom as if leaving with me were the most ordinary thing in the world.
That, somehow, saved what little dignity I had left.
We reached a service hall.
The moment the ballroom doors closed behind us, I dropped his hand.
“Oh my God.”
Julian raised an eyebrow.
“I suppose that’s one possible response.”
“You called me your fiancée.”
“I noticed.”
“You don’t even know me.”
This time both eyebrows rose.
“I know your name.”
“That is not significantly better.”
“No,” he admitted. “It isn’t.”
A young staff member hurried toward us with towels and sparkling water.
I thanked her, took both, and waited until she left.
Then I stared at Julian.
“Why?”
He studied me for a moment.
“You looked like you needed the room to stop laughing.”
The simplicity of the answer hit harder than I expected.
I looked down at the towel.
“You could have said friend.”
“Would he have believed it?”
“No.”
“Coworker?”
“No.”
“Acquaintance?”
I sighed.
“No.”
“Fiancée seemed efficient.”
I stared at him.
“Do billionaires normally solve problems through escalating vocabulary?”
“Only on weekdays.”
It took me two seconds.
Then I laughed.
A real laugh this time.
I covered my mouth immediately.
Julian looked almost pleased.
“Better.”
“Please don’t be charming. I’m already having a complicated night.”
“I’ve been accused of many things, Ms. Bennett. Charming isn’t usually one of them.”
“That makes me feel much safer.”
A woman appeared at the end of the corridor.
My boss.
Marianne Bellmere.
She was elegant even while walking at the speed of a person headed toward a professional disaster.
“Ava.”
I straightened immediately.
“Marianne, I’m sorry. I’ll change and get back—”
“Stop.”
That one word frightened me more than Julian’s entire reputation.
Marianne looked at Julian.
“Mr. Vale.”
“Ms. Bellmere.”
“I hope our staff has—”
“Your staff has been excellent.”
Her eyes flicked toward my wet dress.
I waited for the reprimand.
Instead, Marianne’s face softened.
“Ava, go upstairs. There is an emergency wardrobe rack in Suite 412. Take whatever fits.”
“But the silent auction closes in twenty minutes.”
“Leah can handle it.”
“The florist still needs—”
“I said go.”
I swallowed.
“Yes, ma’am.”
May you like
Marianne turned to Julian. “Thank you.”
He gave a small nod.
