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Well, I married him, of course. We have been married for over fifty years, and we are still going strong. We have another boutique just like this one, except it caters to men. To this day, he still treats me like a princess. As a matter of fact, that is what he calls me. His name for me is Princess.
Thank you for the story. Beautiful. Haven tells her.
Maggie smiles warmly, crouching down to Haven’s level.You’re very welcome, sweetheart. Stories have a way of showing us the magic inside ourselves.
That makes my heart skip a beat. In the end, she still got what she always wanted. A prince.
Haven beams, her eyes sparkling with joy. I feel a wave of gratitude wash over me, not just for the beautiful dress and accessories, but for this moment of connection and understanding. Maggie has given us more than just clothes; she has given us a memory to cherish.
As we gather our things and prepare to leave, I feel a renewed sense of confidence and excitement for the gala. With Haven by my side and Maggie’s kindness in my heart, I know it will be a night to remember.
Chapter Five
Atlas
My buddies and I are sitting in the limo, heading to the venue where the gala is being held. We are all dressed to the nines. My suit is dark blue with silver threading going throughout, so it looks like it is glittering, without the glitter. I opted for a bow tie instead of the tie, as I felt it tied everything together, no pun intended. The bow tie is made from the same material. Tom Ford sure can make a suit. Even the suspenders under my jacket give a sparkle from the silver threading. Hopefully my choice of suit will please my mother, and I will not have to deal with her much tonight.
The guys from the team and the coaching staff said they would meet us all there. The guys that I am closest to—Simms, Gabe, Bailey, and Zander—ride with me in the limousine. We are all dressed similarly, in different designer suits with silver or gold ties and bow ties.
We all chat excitedly about the game we won, our voices overlapping in a symphony of optimism. This year, we are determined to make it all the way to the World Series. Last year, we were just two games away before our dreams were dashed. But this year feels different. I have a good feeling about it.
The limo inches forward, joining the line of vehicles waiting to drop off guests at the front door. I can already see the flashes of cameras and hear the murmur of journalists and paparazzi, eager to capture every moment.
As we reach the entrance, I take a deep breath. The valet opens both side doors, allowing my teammates to exit gracefully. I nod to the worker, offering my thanks and slipping him a crisp fifty-dollar bill. “Thank you,” I say, appreciating the small but significant role he plays in this grand event.
I always make it a point to tip generously. These workers don’t get paid much, and their efforts often go unnoticed. Whether it is opening a door, filling my drink, or handing me a towel, I want them to know their service is valued. It is my way of showing gratitude for their hard work and dedication.
The flashes are blinding, and the cacophony of journalists’ voices filled the air, each one trying to outshout the other. All I can make out are our names, repeated over and over like a mantra. I take another deep breath, steeling myself to get through this part of the evening.
As I step away from the limo, the cool night air hit my face, a stark contrast to the heat of the flashing bulbs. I square my shoulders and put on my best smile, knowing that every moment is being captured. My teammates follow suit, each of us playing our part in this well-rehearsed dance.
The crowd surges forward, microphones and cameras thrust in our direction. Questions are hurled at us, but they all blend into a single, overwhelming noise. I focus on keeping my composure, reminding myself that this is just another step towards our ultimate goal.
“James, how the hell are you, man? Been a long time,” saying a little over the top, if I say so myself. James is my least favorite journalist. Most in part because he is the one that Mallory went to when she felt she needed an ear for her storiesand would no doubt print them. James’s face lights up, and his chest puffs a bit, thinking,Yep, this big-time MLB player for the Legends, knows me by name and wants to talk to me.But I am looking forward to bursting his bubble of confidence. Maybe then, he will understand not to fuck with me.
“I’m doing great, Atlas; how are you? Tell me, who are you wearing? Who is your plus one tonight? Someone new, or is that flame still burning bright for a special someone?” James starts spitting out his questions, not giving me any time to answer, well, if I were going to answer any of them. I just give him my best stink eye and turn to the person next to him.
“Good evening, ma’am, I’m Atlas Kensington, and you are?” I say to the pixie looking woman standing next to James—looking a little out of place and a lot uncomfortable—who I know works for the same magazine as he does. By the look on his face, I am correct, and from the looks of it, they do not get along in the slightest. The mystery woman takes my hand, giving James the cold shoulder.
The mystery woman shakes my hand firmly, her grip surprisingly strong for someone so petite. She has short, tousled hair the color of autumn leaves and bright, inquisitive eyes that seem to take in everything around her. “I’m Joey,” she replies, her voice steady despite the tension in the air. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kensington.”
James shifts uncomfortably, clearly annoyed by Joey's presence. I can’t help but wonder what history lies between them. “Likewise, Joey,” I respond, offering her a warm smile. “I hope you’re enjoying the evening.”
Joey's expression softens slightly, and she nods. “I am, thank you. It’s quite the event.” Joey’s voice is clear and professional; I would place her in her mid-thirties, medium height, curvy, and a face like an angel. I only say that because we have a common enemy. James. Speaking of James, heis standing there, mic in hand, mouth open in aghast.Fuck you, James!is what I want to scream in his face, but I am a professional, and I have some questions that need to be answered for Joey here.
“Of course I have time; it must be your lucky night because Legends PR staff told us to only complete one interview tonight, and you, my newly best friend, are the chosen one.” I give James another evil eye, and he slinks back into the crowd of journalists where he belongs.
After answering a few more intriguing questions from Joey, I make my way inside with my buddies at my side. The banquet room where the speeches and dinner are being held looks stunning. Dark fabric drapes the walls, and even the ceiling is covered with flowing material that looks like satin. Twinkling lights are woven in and out of the fabric, creating an enchanting atmosphere that makes it feel like we’re under a starlit sky. The floor has been freshly waxed, and you can see your reflection in the black gloss finish, which mirrors the lights from around the room. The people my mom hired to set up this place did an incredible job. Even the boys look impressed.
Everyone scatters, heading in different directions to greet the people we were told by the higher-ups that we needed to converse with at some point during the night. I spot my mother, and she and my father make their way over to me.
“It looks great in here, doesn’t it?” Mom gushes, eyes darting around, taking it all in.
“It does; they did a great job bringing your vision to life. I am excited to see what they have done with the garden area,” I exclaim, my eyes going to the closed doors that lead to the gardens.
“It is just as beautiful as the inside; your mother has outdone herself this time,” my father dotes on my mother,because we are in public and have an image to uphold. Mom just beams at the positive reaffirmations that dad is giving her.
We chat about the game, upcoming family gatherings, and other unimportant things before they head off to greet someone else. I take a moment to look around, taking in everything—the display of lights, the elegantly set tables, the intricate centerpieces. Each detail is meticulously arranged, creating an atmosphere of sophistication and warmth.
