Page 31 of Love Beyond Repair
“Thank you, Ben. In that case, call me Melissa.”
Little did I know that this would be my first proper exchange with a woman who would become like an auntie to me and one of my greatest supporters.
Chapter sixteen
Bex
After staring at the cream invite in my hand, I glance up into clear blue eyes. Ben’s staring at me with what I think is hope. My fingers tremble slightly as I hold the invitation. It feels heavier than it should, like it means something. This was meant to be a pizza and beer night that changed in an instant, the second he passed me the item in my hand.
“A black-tie event?” I murmur. “I don’t own anything even close to suitable.”
He grins. “I’ll treat you. Have Amy take you shopping. She will love having an event to dress you for.”
I nod. That’s very true. Amy loves shopping, especially when she’s spending someone else’s money. And the factthat the man I’m besotted with is asking her to do it will drive her insane with excitement.
Dropping my focus back to the invitation, I feel my cheeks flush. I wonder if he knows he has this effect on me. How easily I unravel under his stare. We’ve spent a lot of time together since Kelsey left, and I wonder if he feels the same. I remind myself that someone who looks as good as he does would never be interested in me romantically. We’re friends, like we always have been.
“Okay, I’ll be your plus one,” I say softly, and his face breaks into a huge smile. He pulls me into a hug. Holding me close, it lingers, like he doesn’t want to let go. I like it.
“You’re going to love Melissa,” he calls over his shoulder as he heads off to pick up our pizza. “And she’s going to love you.”
Melissa Riley sounds like an amazing woman. She’s battled cancer for twelve months while setting up a charity supporting women with the disease. This is the first annual ball of The Riley Foundation, and according to Ben, the whole medical community is going to be there.
He’s become extremely close with Eamon and Melissa Riley; they treat him like the son they never had. In return, he has committed a vast amount of time to help Melissa with the charity, becoming her right-hand man in all things Riley Foundation.
I did have a giggle to myself earlier this week when he was worried about the floral decorations for the table centersat the ball. Those are not concerns I ever thought would leave Dr. Benjamin Jones’s mouth.
The ball is being held in a five-star hotel in the city, and over three hundred people are attending. There’s going to be a charity auction and a raffle, never mind the thousands of pounds raised from ticket sales.
Ben handed over his credit card, whispered the pin, and told me to get whatever I wanted. I had one week to get prepared, and he wanted me to walk into the room feeling a million dollars. When he said it, his voice dipped, like he wasn’t talking about the dress at all. I smiled shyly, feeling my heart flutter, then leaned forward to kiss his cheek.
After sending Amy the lowdown of our conversation last night by email and a link to the event next weekend, she appears in my bedroom within ten minutes. “Right. Hand it over.” I look at her vacantly, and she holds her hand out. “The card, you dipshit. You’ll never use it properly. Hand it over now. This needs an expert in charge.”
I wander over to my bedside table and lift the golden card. It’s shiny with black, scrolled writing on the bottom.Dr. B. Jones. Amy's eyes flick between me and the card like she’s just won the lottery. She pinches it from my fingers with glee.
“Right, you get dressed. We’re leaving in ten minutes,” she declares.
An hour later, we’re at the shopping mall, discussing what type of look I should have on Saturday night. Amyhas been researching the Grand Plaza Hotel, where the ball will be held. She thinks we should go there later for a drink to test it out. Once I explained that three drinks would probably cost us a week’s wages, she opted not to.
We’ve decided on a demure but sexy look. According to Amy, men want their women to look like a lady but act like a vixen, especially in the bedroom. Seemingly, it’s important to hint at this erotic part of yourself in the way you dress. A stylist is booked to come to the apartment in the afternoon before the ball to do my hair and makeup. They accepted Ben’s card, so it’s all good. I haven’t asked how much it will cost. I don’t want to know.
After browsing the high-end boutiques for what feels like forever, we finally decide to go in. The assistant smiles at us coolly but asks what she can do to help. The way she looks at us tells me she thinks we are most likely looking for directions to the toilets rather than an evening gown.
The shop is filled with expensive dresses, all sparkles and sequins. A mannequin in the center of the room displays a bright pink number adorned with feathers across the skirt. The top is a corset-style, displaying the wearer’s assets to the maximum effect.
Amy’s commanding voice brings me back to the here and now. “My sister here is attending a charity ball at the Grand Plaza next Saturday, and she requires an evening gown.” She makes this statement and waves her hand around the shop indifferently. “Do youhave anything appropriate?” The shop assistant looks outraged by the apparent insult but composes herself.
“Well, we are the largest supplier of evening wear in the city, madam. I’m sure we will have something suitable.” Amy nods, then gestures to me to take a seat on the sofa.
“Perfect.” She smiles. “Do you want to show us what you think might be suitable? As you can see, Bex is stunning, so we want something to knock everyone else out of the park. She needs to turn heads,” Amy proclaims. “Well, a certain someone’s head, anyway.”
I grimace at her and hiss, “It’s not like that. I told you.”
She laughs but doesn’t respond. The look in her eye tells me all I need to know. She doesn’t believe me; this is so much more.
So far, I’ve tried several dresses, including a pink contraption that felt like wearing a straitjacket. Then there was a white, floaty number that looked as if I was going to walk down the aisle. The final straw was when the assistant brought out a neon-yellow jumpsuit.
“Stop! I don’t want to be noticed for the wrong reasons, and that would make me look like a traffic cone. Don’t you have something a bit more understated?”
