Chapter 20 THE HEATHROW BALL (I)
Chapter 20 THE HEATHROW BALL (I)
HAYLEY
I excuse myself from the dining table before anyone else, no longer able to bear Edward’s fierce stare and Aunt Susan’s snarky remarks.
Barely two minutes later, the door swings open and Edward steps in.
His intoxicating saffron scent precedes him, seconds before he dwarfs the room with his intimidating height.
I feel his presence behind me, large and hot, but choose to keep my eyes glued to the window.
“You’re deviating from the deal, Hayley.”
I shut my eyes, hating how smoothly my name rolls off his tongue.
“I’m here, aren’t I? What more do you want from me?”
“Grandma expects us to act like a happy couple.”
I whip around then, looking him straight in the eyes.
“What’s the problem? She knows I hate your guts as much as you hate mine.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to keep up the act for the one week you’d be staying here.”
My fury finally swells to the surface.
“I don’t think you understand what you’re asking of me, Edward. In case I haven’t made it clear enough; I hate you. I cannot stand you. Your presence feels like poison to my lungs. I have no desire whatsoever to even pretend to be happy with you. Do you understand?”
Something flickers in his eyes, but it’s gone before I can decipher what it is.
He steps back, his jaw clenched so tightly, it’s a miracle that it doesn’t crack.
“I hear you, loud and clear.”
“Good.” I point at the pile of bedsheets and blankets neatly folded on the edge of the bed.
“That’s yours. You can take the guest room. I’m sleeping here.”
To my surprise, he doesn’t argue.
“Keep it.”
Then he stomps out, slamming the door behind him
THE NEXT DAY
The Heathrow ball is a charity event organized annually by the University of Manhattan to raise money for the renovation of public schools in the city.
“Grandma, you can’t be serious!” I mutter, glancing at the fancy, gold-themed invitation card.
“Oh, but I am. I already told the organizers that I’d be sending my grandson and his wife to represent me. You and Edward will have to attend the event as a couple.”
I thought the next week would be a breeze, but apparently, grandma is dead set on making sure me and Edward somehow settle our differences.
Later that evening, She spares no expense, inviting the best fashion designers and make-up artists in Manhattan to doll me up for the ball.
By 7 PM, I gaze at my reflection in the mirror, unable to recognize the enchanted beauty that stares back at me.
My blood-red dress fits me like a glove, clinging to my curves with an effortless flair. The neckline dips all the way to my navel. Any slight, unruly movement and my tits will be on full display.
My hair is slicked back in a tight ponytail that shows off the soft, oval features of my face. I look like a goddess, if I do say so myself.
Finally, 7:30 PM rolls by and it’s time to leave. I haven’t seen Edward since this morning.
Even after I spent the entire afternoon lying to myself that I didn’t care about his reaction, my stomach knots with tension when the butler announces that he’s downstairs.
One of the maids escorts me to the car where Edward is already waiting, looking insanely gorgeous as always in a black tuxedo.
His breath catches as he drinks me in, and against my better judgement, my heart leaps with triumph.
Edward’s eyes trail over every inch of my exposed skin, leaving burning tendrils in his wake. He doesn’t say a word as he helps me into the car, but his eyes tell me all I need to know — he’s floored.
Grandma achieved her goal for the evening.
Once settled in the luxurious limo, he clears his throat.
“I’m sure grandma already told you…”
“Yes,” I cut in, “to the public, we’re grieving, but we’re still very much together.”
He nods, his lips tight.
“Good. Let’s get this show on the road.”
The Heathrow ball turns out to be a wonderful cocktail of good food and wealthy people who just have too much money to spend.
I thought the evening would be a disaster, but it shocks me by actually going according to plan.
I exchange pleasantries with over a hundred guests and accept condolences with a straight face even though I want to break down and cry.
The hardest part is pretending like Edward and I are still a loving couple.
I have to endure his palm on the small of my back as he guides me across the room, and the way he captures my fingers in a possessive grip wherever the cameras swivel in our direction.
He plays the role of the loving, attentive husband so well that all around us, women are swooning in real time.
If only they knew.
“Mrs. DaSilva, can you please inform your husband that he has to give a speech in the next thirty minutes?” One of the ushers whispers to me.
I glance at the delicate silver watch on my wrist, only just realizing that Edward has been gone for over fifteen minutes since he excused himself to use the bathroom.
“No problem. I’ll go look for him.”
Ten minutes later, I have successfully searched the entire male bathroom and he’s nowhere to be seen.
I call him for the umpteenth, my stomach tightening with dread when I'm sent to voicemail over and over again.
“Edward, where are you?”
I’m walking past one of the rooms when I hear familiar girlish laughter.
My pulse quickens as I pause beside the semi-darkened doorway, straining my ears to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating.
Sure enough, the voice comes again,
“Grandma is the worst, isn’t she?”
Victoria? What is she doing here?
“Yeah. I mean, I love her, but forcing me to attend this event with Hayley was a stretch. Grandma knows I can’t stand her guts.”
My heart crashes to the marble floors.
I would recognize that rich baritone anywhere.
Edward.
My chest tightens with annoyance as Victoria purrs;
“Aw, my poor baby. That’s why I came. I knew you would miss me.”
I don’t wait for Edward’s response. I leave as silently as I came, anger and disappointment churning in my guts with equal fervor.
I felt a familiar stirring of warmth on my chest when Edward kept insisting on holding my hand throughout the party.
For the briefest of seconds, I saw a glimpse of the man of my dreams. The husband I wished he could be.
But once again, he has shown me why I should rather put my trust in a mentally deranged pit bull than on someone who never valued me.
He’s always bound to disappoint.
Desperate to have some time alone, I walk into the first empty room and slam the door shut.
I feel the wall for the light switch and flip it on, blinking rapidly as the bright white lights sting my eyes.
Asides from a stack of chairs propped against one corner, the room is empty...