Page 134 of Sassy Love
I settle into the back seat and relay my instructions to the driver. He nods, and we’re heading for Carlie’s a heartbeat later.
“Close your eyes, Princess.”
My entire family and the rest of the work crew are already inside. Me, I pretended to leave my wallet in the Uber, getting Reed to escort Millie and Henry inside so I could be the one to take Carlie in. Her hand slips inside mine, and I check her eyes are in fact closed before leading her toward the steps of the Met.
I take her in.
Her body is wrapped in a slinky black dress that highlights her delicious figure, dipped low to show off her cleavage that’llhave me scowling at every fucker who so much as glances her way. Massive soft waves of hair tumble over her right shoulder, pinned to one side. Strappy silver heels poke through her split hem with every step, as does one long elegant leg. A fluffy dark coat keeps her warm.
Dammit, I should have kept my attention straight ahead, because now I feel the need to adjust myself in my suit pants.
And the way she smells.
Sweet Jesus, it’s going to be a long damn night.
“Steps, Princess. First step now.”
She steps, a little awkward as her grip around my biceps tightens. “Is this really necessary? I was literally part of the prep crew.”
“You were, but I want this night to be everything it can be. Humor me?”
“Fine. But if I face-plant on the concrete outside the Met in front of the most incredible event I’ve ever been a part of, I will never forgive you.”
I chuckle. “Deal.”
She hums a disapproving sound, and I lean in. “I’ve got you, baby.”
We ascend the steps, and I halt her before the doors as they check our names off the list.
“Thanks,” I say to the tall guy in the suit with an earpiece and wire before turning to Carlie. “Eyes closed, remember?”
“At this rate, we’ll be late.”
“Not late, making an entrance.”
“Good lord, what does that even mean?”
We walk toward the event hall where two more men in suits hold the door handles. They open the doors simultaneously as we approach and wave us in with polite smiles.
“Open your eyes.”
We cross the threshold to the gala as she flicks her eyes open.
“Holy shit . . .”
Above us, a glittering blanket of fairy lights imitates the night sky. Round tables with white tablecloths fill the floor, surrounded by golden gilded chairs with white sashes. In the center, a giant Christmas tree, almost putting the foyer’s tree to shame, stands lit up like... well, Christmas.
Traditional Christmas songs play softly over the speakers, the croon of a Dean Martin holiday album tangling with chatter, clinking champagne glasses, and laughter. Waitstaff wind through the crowd with appetizers and fresh drinks, all dressed in black and white.
Women in evening gowns and men in tuxedos populate any free space between the tables, some already sitting at their designated seats. The string quartet is seated on the stage, waiting for their cue.
“Lawson,” she gasps.
Her eyes swell with tears, and she scrunches her face, trying to stem their fall.
“Merry Christmas, Princess.”
“Oh, yeah. Merry Christmas.” Her eyes study my face as her lips curl into the prettiest smile.
