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“So glad you came.” Eliza took Anne by the shoulders. “And don’t you look marvelous! When’s the last time these ladies have seen the light of day?”
Weak with relief, Anne laughed when Eliza winked at her chest. “Are you sure I look okay?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You look amazing. Nobody would ever guess you had four kids in that little number.” Eliza gave her a stare that told her she wasn’t joking. “Did you find the food?”
As soon as Eliza mentioned food, Anne realized she was starving. “As a matter of fact, I came ready to eat. To hell with my diet. I’ll start tomorrow.”
“That’s what I always say,” Eliza agreed.
“That’s not what I say, though.” A new voice joined the conversation. “I always say why start tomorrow when you can start today?”
Anne turned toward the woman at Eliza’s elbow, a striking figure who appeared just a few years older than Anne but in dramatically better shape. It took a moment for Anne to place the woman, and only when Eliza gave a hefty clear of her throat did she put it together.
“Marguerite Hill?” Anne managed. “I recognize you from the picture on the back of your book. Take Charge has been in my van forever, and I can’t wait to get my hands on your newest one. Eliza’s been telling us all about it.”
“I guess you haven’t gotten to the chapter about starting today instead of tomorrow?” Marguerite gave a sly smile, then leaned in and raised a hand conspiratorially toward Anne. “I’m just joking, love. Easier said than done, yeah?”
Anne gave a nervous chuckle at the strange accent in the author’s voice. Anne could’ve sworn Eliza had said that Marguerite was from somewhere like Montana, but her words had an oddly European note to them. “You can say that again.”
“Anne, help yourself to the appetizers,” Eliza said. “If I could just have a moment alone with Marguerite, that would be lovely.”
Anne left the two women to chat and strode over to a table filled with dainty trays of finger foods. En route, she realized she was holding her head higher. Tipping her shoulders back. Adding a sway to her hips. Almost as if she was on her way to recovering some old relic of herself that she’d forgotten existed, a woman who met interesting people and wore intriguing clothes and tasted exotic foods. A woman who did more than clean up vomit and wipe snotty noses.
Anne glanced around the room, a beautifully adorned space, noting additional details as she sashayed from one food platter to the next. Elegant candlesticks fitted with regal purple candles cast a dim glimmer to offset the chandelier hanging low in the center of the room. The smart-looking waiters bustled around, whisking champagne glasses from cocktail tables mere seconds after they’d been set down by wandering guests.
And the guests! Anne noted. Thin, gorgeous women, some of them in downright stunning gowns, others in flirty party dresses. Still others paraded around in power suits like important executives. The handful of men mingling at the tables were even more impressive in their expensive suits, sipping bourbon or whiskey on the rocks like the lead in an action flick.
Anne was willing to bet these men didn’t go home and turn on the ball game and suck down a Budweiser. They were here to discuss literary fiction; they were cultured and attentive and good listeners and…
Anne felt her neck grow hot as she caught the eye of one such man. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his muscles neatly defined beneath his suit. He wore wire-rimmed glasses that enhanced the salt-and-pepper spattering in his hair. Through them, he looked at her, raised a glass. His lips pursed as their gaze lingered for a second too long.
Flustered, Anne turned away, skimming her heel on the ground and nearly falling face-first into a chocolate fountain as she struggled to regain her balance. She wasn’t like Mark. She was loyal. Dedicated to her family. And before she could decide otherwise, she stabbed a strawberry and stuck the spear under the flow of chocolate, shoving the whole thing in her mouth.
She’d just reached for a second helping of the bacon-wrapped scallops when a low male voice rumbled over her shoulder.
“I hoped I’d see you here.”
Anne spun around, her mouth still awkwardly full. “Roman! God, wow. It’s been so long. You look great.”
A shadow flickered over his face. “Thank you. Say, do you have a minute to chat? You look beautiful by the way. I hope Mark’s here. If you came alone, you’ll be swamped with suitors.”
Anne’s cheeks warmed. “Mark’s home with the kids.”
“Ah, unfortunate. Anyway, I was hoping we could chat for a minute.”
“Sure. Would you like to sit down?”
Roman didn’t seem satisfied with any of the nearby seating options when Anne pointed them out, claiming they were too loud for conversation. Ever the dutiful friend, Anne followed Roman to the back of the ballroom where he pushed through one of the curtains to reveal a small roped-off area.
“I see you have access to the VIP lounge,” Anne joked as they entered. “I suppose you’d be considered a guest of honor.”
Roman’s smile was a patient flicker. “One would think.”
He gestured to one of the couches, and Anne sat there while he chose a maroon armchair that resembled a throne. They were seated in a private lounge decked out in dark reds and seductive blacks. A gorgeous display of Stargazer lilies and birds of paradise sat on a coffee table, poking their heads out from an exotic compilation of greens and pinks and oranges. The room held a highly perfumed floral aroma from the bouquet that was almost intoxicating.
Anne wished she’d brought a plate of appetizers to the room to give her hands something to do. She’d never felt quite comfortable around Eliza’s husband. She couldn’t exactly say why. Partly because of his demeanor, partly because of his looks. The dark hair, a strong jawline, the almost-black eyes and deeply penetrating gaze that seemed to pierce right through her.
Anne had always figured that someone so good looking had something to hide. A ridiculous notion probably, but the lingering feeling had never dissipated. It was only exacerbated as Roman shifted in his seat and studied her, letting her sit in unease. The only way to make it through Roman’s awkward silences was to wait them out. She’d learned that years ago.
