She called Seth and instructed him to message over all the invitations for their upcoming spring events. She intended to go back to work once she finished the last of her classes, but she didn’t want to work anywhere she might cross paths with her past. That meant she needed to start networking other avenues and deciding how she wanted to use her notable education.
Putting together a resume was frustrating. The emblazoned Patras across the top mocked her.
No one would take her seriously in Folsom, because her male relatives had established so much clout before she had a chance to earn her own. Their name earned favors and attention, but it also jilted the competition. She could have been a school teacher or a middle-class nine-to-fiver, but her name raised the standards and her personality balked at heights.
After weeks of polite rejections, she had no choice but to return to a world she long ago tried to escape. It was different for men of power. They were recognized. Isadora was merely borrowing her brother and father’s esteem in the eyes of those interviewing her. People either assumed she was too good for a regular job and wouldn’t take it seriously or the job was too good for her and should go to someone who actually needed the income.
Her only solace came at night, when she sat alone in her big empty house and wrote down all the deep emotions she kept hidden inside. Her journal was a decade long, an adult woman’s ramblings of a lost little girl.
Perhaps one day when she left this world someone would find it and see all she had to give, everything no one wanted to take. At least that would be something.
Lucian hardly attended social events since getting married. Stuck up affairs weren’t Evelyn’s thing and they often asked Isa to go in their stead. While Isadora wasn’t a huge fan of lavish parties meant to occupy wealthy people’s time, she did enjoy the events that actually served a purpose. When the stack of formal invitations arrived from Seth, she sorted through the piles and made the charity events her top priority.
As her schedule booked up she gradually found a level of equilibrium again. She wasn’t happy, but she wasn’t broken. She existed behind a façade of class and poise no one cared to see through. It was the armor she’d adorned the moment her mother died and it still fit well.
Everything was working rather well, this disguise of contentment she’d concocted, until her false confidence started to garner the unwanted attention of gold diggers. And they were gold diggers. Any man more interested in her name than her breasts was not a man she needed to know.
Perhaps Sawyer had broken more than her heart, because any sort of masculine attention grated on her nerves. She was jaded, cynical, and uninterested in men as a whole.
Throughout her entire life she’d been overshadowed by one indomitable personality to the next. Whatever species of human they wrote about in romance novels, she decided, was purely fictitious, woven fantasies that made little girls believe in things that were as nonexistent as unicorns.
Real heroes and shining knights didn’t exist. So it was her job to save herself.
But the pathetic advances got worse and worse—fortune hunters dead set on cornering her and asking uncomfortable questions—always about her family’s business. They came out in droves and could be as relentless as a swarm of wasps. It became such a problem, she was certain something had to be provoking so much attention. It certainly wasn’t her.
“Do me a favor, Lucian,” she said one afternoon when her brother stopped by the house. “Don’t send any more of your colleagues to these functions with the expectation that I might fall desperately into their arms.”
He frowned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Isa.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. I know you and Evelyn have been trying to secretly set me up. It’s getting tedious—and a bit insulting.”
“Isadora,” he said slowly. “ What are you talking about?”
“Just stop, okay? Every time I attend a benefit or a gala, more men come up to me, introducing themselves as your colleagues, and asking me to dinner. Enough already.”
He laughed. “Did it ever occur to you that if men are asking you out, it’s because they want the pleasure. Evelyn and I have nothing to do with it.”
“But…” That couldn’t be right. It happened too often to merely be a coincidence. Although her father had always insinuated she should marry a sizable bank account, it had been years since he hounded her on the subject.
Lucian had to be lying. Either that, or his wife was doing this on her own.
“I know Evelyn thinks I’m looking to meet someone, but I’m not. Can you ask her to stop? It has to be coming from somewhere.”
He gaped at her and scoffed. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why is it so hard to believe someone might be interested in you without any prodding? I assure you my wife is not contacting any men, on your behalf or otherwise.”
“I…”
Men weren’t interested in her. It was either her name or her money.
“Well, I don’t like the attention. They’re only talking to me because I’m a Patras.”
He shook his head. “Yes, you’re Isadora Patras . You’re beautiful and nurturing and have the kindest heart of anyone I know. I can’t, for the life of me, understand why you still don’t see the value in yourself. Trust me, Isa, people like you for more than your name.”
Changing the subject, she snatched a heavy, white invitation off the counter and smacked Lucian in the arm with it. “When were you going to tell me about this?”
He glared at her. “About what?”
“The opera house event! Lucian, you were voted Man of the Year and you said nothing? Did you expect us not to find out?”
He shrugged. “I don’t need all that attention.”
“But you’re going, right?”
He let out a sigh. “I’m going, but Evelyn should be the one they honor. She’s the one who got me involved with St. Christopher’s.”
She nudged him with her shoulder. “ Man of the Year . Like your ego isn’t going nuts over that title.”
He snatched the invitation from her and arched a brow, his mouth twisting into a boyish grin and reminding her of when he was young. “It is pretty impressive.”
The opera house’s white tie gala was Folsom’s most formal event of the year. Each year the proceeds went to a different cause. This year all donations were going to the homeless shelter.
Isadora had been a volunteer at the shelter since it reopened, so she was quite passionate about the cause. However, four generations of Bishops had chaired on the board of the old St. Christopher’s church, so she suspected Sawyer would be in attendance. As much as she hated the possibility of running into him, she couldn’t miss an event that honored her brother.
Toni and Shamus were in some sort of disagreement, so Isadora decided her sister would be the perfect buffer for the gala. Although she didn’t want to see Sawyer, she needed to look her absolute best in case he saw her. For the first time in her life, Isadora put great thought into her attire, pulling out all the stops and sparing no cost.
Ball gowns were de rigueur for woman, no exceptions made. Full-length, white opera gloves were also expected. It was probably wrong that she bought a dress the exact shade of Sawyer’s eyes, but it was one of the few colors she recognized and pale enough to be in theme. The men were expected to wear tuxedos with white accessories down to their pearl cufflinks and gloves.
Toni refused to tailor her gown according to some silly tradition. And while she stuck out like a sore thumb, she looked radiant in a crimson antebellum gown that covered one shoulder and fell into a cascade of roses at the hip.
“I feel like a cupcake,” her sister laughed, as they took the wide marble steps up to the opera house entrance.
Antique sconces flickered on every wall, illuminating the grand interior staircase leading to mezzanine seating. Invitees were dressed to the nines. Dapper men loitered in the lobby, sharply adorned in designer tuxedos, as women graced their arms like d
ebutantes at a royal affair.
A quartet played while guests ascended the steps. They were required to give their name in order to pass, the long celebrated event boasting an “invitation only” VIP guest list of the most elite men and women on the east coast.
“You look fine,” Isadora told Toni, as her sister continued to fuss with her extravagant gown. “You’re lovely.” The train of her skirt might have been a little too much, but her sister didn’t need to hear that.
“Hey, isn’t that Emily Cornerstone, the actress? I loved her in Don’t Come Knocking Twice.”
“Who?” Evelyn asked, not sharing Toni’s affinity for A-listers.
Pretending to look at the actress, Isadora scanned the crowd for Sawyer, pausing at every silver head her gaze passed.
While she hoped he wasn’t there, she also didn’t want to be caught off-guard. Better to spot him first so she could avoid crossing paths.
The evening opened with cocktails and butlered hors d'oeuvres and by the end of the first hour they were moving to their seats. Their family owned a mezzanine box and Lucian was eager to get to their private balcony.
“Let’s head upstairs.” He maintained a territorial hand on his wife’s hip.
Wanting to freshen up before the main event, Isa excused herself. “You guys go ahead. I’ll catch up.”
Toni frowned as their brother and Evelyn followed the crowd. “It’s starting in five minutes, Isa. Lucian’s giving his speech soon.”
“I’ll be there. I need to use the restroom.”
“Okay.” Her sister followed their brother as the lights dimmed, signaling the guests that it was time to take their seats.
Bedecked men and women flowed through the wide corridor to their seats and Isadora traveled down the extensive hall, eyes searching for a restroom.
Instruments hummed from the pit as a prelude to the evening. The halls were almost empty when she left the bathroom. The balconies quieted as people settled in and the orchestra echoed from below.
The prelude concluded and the halls were silent except for her shushing skirt. A woman’s voice resonated from the stage, welcoming guests.
She needed to get back to their box or she’d miss her brother’s speech. There was a round of applause followed by Lucian’s recognizable, deep voice.
“Damn it,” she hissed, pausing at a random archway to watch from someone else’s balcony.
He looked magnificent in his tuxedo, so much a man to admire. Her heart pinched with pride as she allowed herself to take a small bit of credit for the incredible person he’d become. Gone was the ruthless young opportunist he’d been, and now a palpable sense of contentment flowed in place of his vengeance.
“Not many of us know what it is to go hungry,” he began, voice strong. “But some of us do. Some of you have taken quite a journey to get here tonight.”
He smiled the way he often did when in deep reflection. “Some of us wear courage like a second skin, making it all the more difficult to detect. There’s a woman here tonight, I won’t give her name, but she’s the most courageous woman I know. She didn’t start her life at the top, yet she sits amongst us like a queen in her own right. She played a silent role in keeping St. Christopher’s doors open.”
The audience sat silently, hanging on his every word. If someone dropped a pin, she imagined the sound would echo through the theater.
“There are a lot of privileged people here tonight. But with privilege comes great responsibility. Your generosity ensures that the less fortunate have a roof over their head, food in their bellies, and coats on their shoulders. Your generosity feeds hope. It fuels an unwavering belief that every member of this community deserves a second chance. The woman I mentioned… She survived many cold winters with little more than flicker of hope to keep her warm.
“That’s real courage. It’s a fire that burns through the darkest hour but remains bright enough to lead a person home. It’s going against all odds and holding onto the faith that you can always be more tomorrow than you are today. Your generosity meets more than basic needs. Your generosity keeps that flame alive, lighting the way to a better future. You are all honored guests this evening.”
He lifted the crystal award he’d been presented for his work on the new homeless shelters, three more built just that year.
A grin teased at his lips. Turning his gaze toward the upper balconies where their family sat, he smiled.
“I humbly accept this honor on behalf of every donor in the room tonight, but I dedicate it to you, the queen amongst us that let that little fire guide her all the way home.”
Uproarious applause broke and Isadora blotted her eyes. A reoccurring gratitude filled her chest as she, too, was overwhelmed with appreciation for the generous people here tonight, the ones that gave Evelyn the tools to rise above adversity and find a home in her brother’s heart.
Wanting to catch Lucian back at the box and see Evelyn’s reaction to his speech, she turned and came to an abrupt stop, the breath knocking out of her lungs so fast it obliterated the smile from her face and left her dizzy.
Sawyer.
But he wasn’t alone. He was speaking softly to a woman who looked to be in her late fifties. The woman laughed and cupped his cheek lovingly.
Isadora’s stomach lurched. A scream bubbled in her throat, as he leaned in and pressed his lips to the other woman’s. A crushing ache exploded in her chest as his arm wrapped around her, pulling her close, holding her the way only a lover would.
He drew back, smiled and whispered something in the woman’s ear.
They looked right together. Well-suited. Happy.
Every admitted truth killed a part of her soul, piercing her fragile heart like a sharp, lethal thorn.
The woman laughed over some intimate secret and Isadora could bear no more. Closer and closer she moved until she was standing not two feet away from them.
The words formed in her head, almost without volition. “You son of a bitch! How could you? Too old to date? Can’t get it up? Guess those pills don’t bother you so much now!” She glared at them. “Or maybe it was just me!”
Something cold fell on her breast, and she jerked, as if coming out of a dream, her lips locked tight around her clenched teeth. She was facing her worst nightmare and unlike the enraged voice in her head, her heart was too broken, too shocked, to voice a single sound above a whimper.
Another tear fell, slipping silently down her breasts and disappearing behind the bodice of her gown. The way he looked at her… Smiled…
Oh, God…
She wished she had the courage to say every horrible thing running through her mind, slap him, and rip out that woman’s hair, but thirty-six years of instilled manners, and a fear that she might actually let her true self show, kept her silent. They hadn’t spotted her and she still stood thirty some feet away, unnoticed, her fingers pressing into her lips to hold her pain inside.
She watched them from a tortured prison made of invisible walls that separated her from everyone else. And she hated herself for not having the courage to tell him exactly what he deserved to hear.
How could he do this? He couldn’t be with me, but he can be with someone else? It hasn’t even been a year!
A sob burbled in her throat, nearly slipping out. She needed to get out of there before he saw her. Run!
Pivoting, she hiked up her gown, and bolted toward the nearest exist. She was an absolute disgrace, sobbing and wheezing, unable to do more than walk at a clipped gate in her tight bodice and heeled shoes.
So many attempts to be a strong woman and he’d brought her to her knees in a matter of seconds, cut her down to exactly what she was. Nothing.
She was such a fool! Such an absolute idiot, because despite all he’d done, she still loved him. She foolishly let him have this power over her heart and she hated herself for being so naïve.
He’d clearly gotten over his little blue pill phobia, because he was obviously in an intimate relationship now. Nausea chu
rned and she gasped through her rushing tears.
Her mind replayed the image of him kissing that woman, a cruel carousel that spun round and round in her mind, ceaselessly beating at her until she wanted to rip out her memory and forget everything she ever knew of Sawyer Bishop.
Wiping her gloved fingers over her face, the pale silk smudged with damp mascara. She berated herself for giving her life and heart to a man who never appreciated it—never wanted it.
A sob broke from her throat, disrupting the silence of the halls. She was losing it. She needed to run faster. Get the hell out of this place.
Seeing the sign directing the way to the front entrance, she quickened her strides. Music played and guests were starting to mingle their way into the halls. Soon the entrances would be clogged and she couldn’t let anyone see her like this.
Taking the turn at a breakneck pace, she raced around the corner and cried out as her body was thrown backward, her face colliding with something hard as her heart lurched and her body careened, the back of her head smacking painfully on the floor.
A burst of white light exploded behind her eyes and the chandeliers swirled above her as her body collapsed in a disgraceful heap of tears and silk on the floor.
“Shit!”
Her head throbbed as her body was fully laid out on the carpet. She blinked, literally seeing stars.
Her hearing funneled in and out, making it difficult to focus on what the man above her was saying.
“Jesus, are you okay? I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you and—”
Mortified, she adjusted her gown to cover her legs. “I’m fine. It was my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
She babbled nonsense, her focus on nothing other than getting up and getting out. Heaven help her. Guests were filtering into the hall.
She awkwardly shifted her upper body off the carpet, strands of hair coming undone from her French twist as a woozy sensation stole her breath. Voices carried and her skin burned hot with embarrassment, her humiliation the only distraction from the pain of the fall.
Sacrifice of the Pawn: Spin-Off of the Surrender Trilogy (Surrender Games Book 1) Page 26