Page 101 of Always Mine
Nope. He stillneeds to get laid. Desperately.
Raf has left the chat
Luca has added Raf to the chat
It’s showtime
It’s finally here. The social event when everyone who’s anyone in New York’s elite legal circles will converge on the newly renovated grand ballroom at the InterContinental wearing their finest designer black tie attire, dripping in Cartier diamonds and Rolex watches as they celebrate this year’s Cream Of The Crop—also the Law Gala’s theme.
With each table costing a hefty $100,000, this event is moreSuitsthanLincoln Lawyer, but hopefully its prestigious guests got the memo to go slow on the champagne, watch their manners, and play nice to avoid a repeat of last year’s surprise firework show in the form of a brawl over an alleged affair between one high-flying lawyer’s wife and her husband’s best friend—also a partner at the same firm. But I digress, because you know we secretly love all the drama. And we will spill all the tea.
Tonight’s co-chairs, Arthur “Arty” Bartholomew Jones and Sophia Princi, hail from two of the finest family-run practices in New York. They will walk the red carpet as co-chairs, but sorry folks, much to the chagrin of their respective high-flying lawyer fathers, there’s no love match there. Since her very public fallout with beau Marco Marrone, Princess Princi has been flying solo as of late, with the former even moving out of the home they sharetogether. We contacted both for an official relationship status but were met with no comment. With that said, Sophia’s on-again-off-again Prince Charming, Marco, is head of tonight’s security. A tough gig when you have a room full of litigators who count some of the most notorious men and women as clients.
Don’t worry—we’ve got one of the best seats in the house, so you can be sure we’ll report back on all the style and scandal so you can be judge and jury.
BRB. It’s time for hair and makeup.
’Til showtime.
GG xoxo
Chapter seventy
Bad Omens
Marco
Almost six weeks later
It’sthedayofthe Law Gala. I feel the same way I have for the last month and a half—empty. I miss Sophia. In a few short weeks, I got used to her bookmarking my day the way the sun and moon signal it’s day and night. It all begins and ends with her. Even now, when uncertainty about our future claws at me, there is no question: she’s mine. There’s also no certainty she’ll choose to be with me, but I’d give it all up to make her mine forever.
We agreed it was good for us to continue communicating, though she made it abundantly clear my tongue and mouth were for talking only. I wholeheartedly disagree in theory, but in practice, I know to get back to a good place, we need to take it slow. I guess we kinda did it backwards going straight to third base. Now it feels like we’re in that early get-to-know-each-other stage. I just hope she lets me round third again soon.
Tonight will be my first time seeing her in a few weeks. She’s been working around the clock on legal cases with Raf, plus all theprep for tonight’s big event. I’ve been preoccupied managing Vault and Bella Donna responsibilities alongside my investment interests with AJ. He’s been uncharacteristically MIA recently, and against my better judgement, I didn’t tell him what I know about the waitress he seems to know well. My gut feeling is there’s something he’s not telling me about his connection to her. If I told him my suspicions about how she knows Arty, I’m almost positive he would have found a more permanent solution ten-feet-underground to deal with the problem.
Objectively I agree, but by the same token, it feels far too painless a punishment for the fucker.
I check my watch. Guests will start arriving for the red carpet entrance soon. Yep, this night is like the Oscars for legal eagles. I feel unusually edgy tonight. I don’t know if it’s because I despise that Sophia must play nice with Arty as co-chair, or because I’m petrified that once Patrick finds out that I knowingly let his only daughter put herself in danger, he’ll literally kill me himself.
We’ve met with GG a few times over the last few weeks, but she’s done most of the hard work to covertly put all the plans in motion for tonight’s surprise finale. I get chills every time I think about the part Sophia will play in the exposé, but there was no talking her out of it. Instead, I beefed up security, and I will be boots on the ground, with my eyes and ears amongst the guests. There’s no way I was giving up my seat next to Sophia on the Princi & Associates table, regardless of our couple status. With the events of the gas leak at Bella Donna still fresh in my memory, I’ve been hyper-vigilant about vetting every supplier and staffer working the event. The official police report for the gas leak states human error, which is true to some extent, except the human happened to be a trifling City Worker Arty paid off to tamper with our gas mains. Obviously, with said asshole’s prominent role in tonight’s gala and the starring role he doesn’t realize he’s about to play, I had to tamp down my desire for my own special brand of retaliation.
My team of fifty men arrived at the venue hours ago to complete all the security checks and receive my briefing. My mom and Eviehave overseen event organization and styling, so I am confident every detail is on lock. A small mercy when I can’t shake the regret I feel from not seeing the incident at Bella Donna coming and the anxiety about something like that happening again.
“Media is all set up. Red carpet will start in fifteen minutes,” one of my men announces into the micro earpiece I’m wearing. I usually stay as far away from front of house duties as possible, but not tonight. I make my way to the front entrance where all the cars pull up to drop off guests walking the red carpet. Seb arrives in his midnight blue Porsche 997. An attendant opens the door to let out the passenger. My breath hitches in my throat. Sophia looks like a goddess sent from heaven. I stride over to her, my hands tingling at the need to have her in my arms. Her delicious curves are wrapped in a fitted beaded gown that twinkles when it catches the light, and her hair has been styled into an effortless up-do with loose bits framing her face. Winged eyeliner gives her a sixties pin-up vibe, making her eyes look even bigger. All I want to do is unwrap her like a gift and worship her body all night.
When she spots me, she hits me with a nervous smile. “Like what you see, Marco-Boy?” she teases, a slight shake in her voice, but the familiarity of a shared joke works to calm my anxiety.
“Fucking hell, Kitten. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more breathtaking in my entire life,” I tell her softly, unable to stop the nickname falling from my lips.
“Glad you approve,” she says, shyly roaming her gaze over me top-to-toe. “You don’t scrub up too badly yourself.” My styling brief to Evie was: help me win back the love of my life. She executed with precision, so I know I fit the part in my classic tailored black Tom Ford suit, white shirt complete with cuff-links—which I notice have an oyster-colored face that match Sophia’s dress—a black velvet bowtie, and black patent lace-ups.
She goes to lift the train of her dress, but I beat her to it.
“Fuck, that’s heavy,” I say incredulously. “You’re going to get a workout wearing that all night.”
“I know. But I couldn’t resist. It’s exquisite.” I hold the train of her dress as she carefully balances on her high heels and steps up onto the pavement. She nods to indicate I can let go of the train, and feeling bold, I step in close behind her, marveling at the way the dress hugs her like second skin.
“I could always escort you down the red carpet if you need help with your dress.” I mean it as a joke, but it falls flat.
