Page 64 of Ardently Yours

His jaw tightens. “And I want to keep it that way. You’ve shared your concerns with me about the press, so I’m handling it for you.”

I shake my head. “Not like this. It’s a mistake, and it’s humiliating,” I say.

“We can talk about it later.”

“We’ll discuss it before we face them again.” I agree this is a terrible place to have a serious conversation, but when I leave tonight, I’m doing it with my head up.

Arden nods and offers me his arm once more, ushering me farther down the elegant hallway. To our right, a long table holds what look like gift bags.

Were we supposed to bring a present?

I no sooner have the thought, than Arden passes our invitation to a man at the door, and a masked woman who probably moonlights as a runway model hands each of us a bag.

I smile, careful not to show my crooked bottom teeth. “Thank you.”

“Enjoy your evening,” she says.

When the woman walks away, I tug on Arden’s arm. “What are these for?”

“Party favors.”

“Party favors,” I squeak, “are embossed matchbooks and sugared almonds, not giant gift bags full of—” I wheeze when I look inside.

There’s a square box with a Cartier label, a Hermés bag, a Dior belt, and several packages that appear to be perfume, imported Belgium chocolates, and cosmetics. I shake my head, speechless.

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to carry it around all night.” He jerks his chin, and one of his security team appears beside us within seconds.

Arden takes my outrageous goodie bag and passes it, along with his own, to the guard.

Then we enter a cavernous space lit with massive chandeliers. A full orchestra plays in the background.

And an elegant white woman, wearing a black and ivory gown, her silver hair bobbed at her chin in the cut she’s been famous for since she notoriously dumped the prince of a European nation to marry Arden McRae II . . . is coming this way.

American Girl

Arden

For now, Charlotte appearsblissfully unaware that the entire ballroom has turned to watch her.

She’s gorgeous, unique enough to draw attention, and no one has a clue who she is or who she’s wearing.

The rest of the furor is because they recognize me, despite the mask, and I haven’t had a woman on my arm in more than six years.

Mother smiles graciously when she reaches us and extends both hands. “I’m pleased to see you, Arden.”

This is the same greeting we’ve shared since I went away to school as a child. It doesn’t matter if it’s been one day or two months.

I dip my head in a brief bow and squeeze her hands. “And I, you, Mother. May I introduce you to Charlotte? You’ll forgive the lack of last name, I hope. Charlotte, my mother, Rose Sterling McRae.”

Mother turns, pleasantly composed. “Arden speaks very highly of you. I’m pleased to finally make your acquaintance.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I’m glad to meet you too. This party is—” Charlotte shakes her head and looks around in wonder before returning her attention to the woman in front of her. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Mother darts a glance my way before smiling back at Charlotte. “How charmingly unjaded you are. You may call me Rose. Your gown is lovely. I don’t recognize the designer.”

“She’s a secret. I’m hoarding her for myself,” Charlotte says with a wink.

Mother smiles. “Well done, my dear.”

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