Unbroken: A Second Chance Romance

by Aria Ford

“I understand,” Lacey said feelingly. “That's the worst bit.”

  It was. I couldn't quite erase from my mind the year's worth of undermining that Keith had ladled over me. By the time I'd finally walked out on him, I had microscopic amounts of self-esteem and barely the same amount of confidence. I still found it hard to look in the mirror without hearing the things he'd said. Klutz. Frump. Bitch.

  “I'm doing okay, though,” I told her. I had joined a dance class and was starting to make myself socialize again. Seeing couples didn't exactly ease my sense of isolation, though.

  “Good,” Lacey said. Ah. Here we are!”

  Lacey and I blew in through the door of the cafe and found a seat in the already-crowded space.

  “Cappuccino?” she asked.

  “Mm. Thanks, Lacey.”

  She headed to the front and made the orders, and I went to claim a table. I took a seat and there I leaned back and closed my eyes. When I opened them, I found Lacey looking at me. Her big blue eyes looked excited.

  “Ainsley?”

  “Mm?”

  “I forgot to mention it earlier, but I have some exciting news.”

  “Oh!” I leaned forward, taking the cappuccino from her hand and opening it. “What's happening?”

  “I have an invitation to the Steelcore Charity Gala. It looks pretty fancy. Happening at the Hilton. Want to come?”

  I almost dropped the coffee she had just handed to me. “What?” I stared at her.

  The Charity Gala was a big event. I knew because my cousin Shane went there with his girlfriend, an employee of Steelcore. It was super-stylish and star-studded. And I could go?

  Lacey laughed. “I got the tickets from my dad. He's got a friend who works there, my Uncle Mark. He said I could take a friend and me. Would you come?”

  “Lacey!” I felt my cheeks lift in a big grin. “I can't believe it! Of course I want to come!” I felt like hugging her.

  Lacey had gone pink, two small spots of blush appearing on her high, contoured cheeks. “It would be no fun on my own, would it? You know it's not easy for me to get out sometimes.”

  Lacey had social anxiety issues and sometimes asked me to come with her when she had to go to the bank or post-office. But inviting me to one of the biggest social events of the year? I was really moved. I reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

  “Thanks, L. Really. That's super-sweet.”

  Lacey just blushed. She's like that. Pretty and lovely, with a shy grace like a deer. If she wasn't my best friend, I would be jealous. As it was, I was just very, very protective.

  “Well, then!” I said. “This calls for a shopping spree! When's the gala?”

  “Next weekend.”

  “Wow! So soon?”

  “Yes!” She nodded. She looked somewhere between nervous and excited. “We don't have much time to prepare, do we?”

  “Maybe we can shop this weekend?”

  “Great!”

  That settled it. I was going, more or less, to a ball.

  That weekend, Lacey and I met on Saturday morning at the mall. I was fizzling with excitement and felt better than I had for months.

  “Where do we start?” Lacey asked with a big smile.

  “How about Free People?” I asked, pointing at the store on our left.

  “Great.”

  We tried on several dresses, but nothing seemed to quite work for me. Lacey found a blue dress with a chiffon overlay and floaty sleeves. It looked stunning.

  “You have to take it,” I told her.

  “You think so?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  I waited while she made her purchase, feeling a little restless. Why couldn't I find the one I wanted?

  “What's up?” Lacey asked when she turned back to me, her bag slung over her arm.

  “I don't know.” I shrugged.

  “You're trying too hard,” she commented. “Trust your instincts on this one.”

  I sighed. “I'll try.”

  “You always dress well,” she said. “So you can just forget about what some people might have said.” She gave me a grin, making wide eyes that told me she knew exactly how undermined I'd been in that department. I nodded.

  “Thanks.”

  We walked past a shop window and I stared.

  “That one.”

  “You sure?” Lacey raised a brow. The dress was reasonably plain – a cream sheath dress made out of pulled silk, with a “V” neck and ankle-length skirt, no waist. I loved it.

  “Yes. I'm sure.”

  Lacey shrugged. “Let's go.”

  The shop was a small boutique called Jade. The sales-girl seemed surprised when I marched straight in and up to her.

  “Can I try that on?” I asked, pointing to the dress in the window.

  “Sure,” she said. It was the only one in the shop, so she took it off the model in the window and handed it to me. I barely needed to try it on. But when I did I loved it. It was discounted, too. A lot to pay at once, but worth it for what it was.

  Lacey grinned at me as we walked out, the paper bag slung on my arm.

  “Will we meet at my place to get dressed?”

  “Hurray!” I said. “Let's do it.

  On the weekend, I drove to Lacey's downtown apartment, my overnight bag on my arm. She met me at the door with loving warmth.

  “Ainsley! Hi!”

  “Hi!” I grinned at her stupidly. I was so excited. My blood was fizzling in my veins like champagne and my head floated.

  “I'm excited,” she commented.

  “Me too.”

  “Whoops! Mind the books...I was just reorganizing the shelves in the sitting-room.”

  We tiptoed round the stack of books in the way, ducked under the ceiling-lamp and headed through her small chaotic apartment to her bedroom. I shrugged off my jeans and t-shirt and let the whisper-soft silk fall down around me. It fit like a glove. I reached for my gold heels, gold earrings and a thick gold chain for my neck. When it was all put together, I stepped back and looked in the mirror.

  “Wow,” my best friend said. I blushed.

  The girl who looked back at me from the mirror was middling height, with a well-contoured face with high, angled cheekbones and big brown eyes. My mane of brownish hair shone with gold lights: My mom always called it “clover honey”, and I guess it did have golden streaks in it, seeing it now. The cream dress brought them out. I pulled the top to sit properly across my full breasts and narrow waist. Then I did a little turn in the mirror, loving the silky feel of the dress on my ankles.

  “You look gorgeous too,” I said to Lacey. She smiled at me in the other mirror, busy with makeup.

  “Thanks.”

  With her platinum-blonde hair and the knee-length dress with fluttery sleeves, she looked like a flower-fairy. I told her that and she pulled a face at me.

  “Thanks. I think.” She giggled. “Not sure it's the right look for a gala, but I'm doing it anyway.”

  We both laughed. Then we hurried down the stairs, feeling a little giddy with excitement, to her car.

  “You sure it's safe to drive in heels?” I asked as we headed outside.

  “I got flip-flops in the car,” she explained succinctly. She jumped in and we headed off.

  My stomach was a churning mass of nerves when we pulled up to the hotel. There was a small row of cameras and reporters, security personnel and limos, and a red carpet trailing its way up the front steps – alluring and intimidating all at once. Were we really going to go in there? In front of the press and all those people?

  I looked out through the windshield. We were sitting in Lacey's secondhand BMW with its faded red paint and missing front wheel-cap. I felt a bit awkward.

  She looked at me.

  “Where do we go?” I asked.

  “In the front like everyone else,” Lacey said with a rebel grin. “Though I guess we'll leave the car round the back somewhere...”

  I laughed. We did that. Clutching a butter-cream chiffon s
hawl around my shoulders, shivering in the capricious breeze, I climbed out of the car, following her up the sidewalk. The pair of us were giggling like schoolgirls at a prom as we approached. We stopped at the edge of the crowd.

  “Well?” Lacey whispered nervously. “What should we do?”

  “Go up?” I said pragmatically.

  “Well...” Lacey looked nervous.

  “We're invited, just like them,” I reasoned. I was trying to psych myself up as much as I was encouraging her. I was so tense with nerves I wasn't sure my knees would bend properly.

  “Well, I guess so,” Lacey shrugged slight shoulders under her thin evening coat.

  I nodded. “Let's go.”

  Me being me, with an impulsive streak I sometimes wish I didn't have, I put my foot forward and strode onto the carpet. It was with boldness and force that I strode up the stairs and through the door.

  Straight into a guy in a suit.

  Oh, for...

  I rolled my eyes. Keith always said I was clumsy. I drew in a deep breath.

  “I'm so sorry!” I stammered. Lacey looked like she wanted to turn to stone. I felt like I had. I looked up into the man's face – he had just turned round.

  I stared.

  It was Drake.

  No. It can't be. But it was. With those big square shoulders and a square-cut jaw and a long, sensitive face, it couldn't be anyone else. Teamed up with a long, magazine-front-cover nose, black eyes and a mobile, expressive mouth, it was Drake.

  I wished the floor would open up and swallow me.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Ainsley

  “Drake!”

  He didn't say anything. He just looked at me with those big dark eyes, searching my face. Whatever expression was in them I couldn't fathom. It was like the whole room had gone still and quiet and it was just the two of us. And a silence like an ice desert, or a thread of steel, that pulled tight between us.

  “Drake!” I said again. “It is you, isn't it?”

  I felt fingers tighten on my wrist. Lacey was gripping my wrist with her fingers like claws.

  “Ainsley,” she whispered. “We should move...”

  I twisted round in time to notice an older couple, resplendent in Dior and diamonds, behind us. I flushed crimson, realizing I had blocked the way for everyone. I heard angry and relieved whispers as I moved.

  “Sorry,” I whispered to Lacey.

  Lacey was as white as a sheet and my attention, which had been consumed by Drake, suddenly focused on her. Social situations were hard for her anyway, I knew that. And I had just embarrassed her more than anything else ever could have.

  “Lacey?” I whispered numbly. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes...”

  She held onto my wrist tightly and I was considering what to do next when someone spoke behind me.

  “Ainsley?”

  “Drake?” I felt a sudden annoyance stab into me. “Look – this isn't a good time,” I began impatiently. “My friend isn't feeling well and I think we should...”

  “I'm fine,” Lacey whispered. Her voice sounded like it came down a long tunnel. “I just want to be by myself awhile.”

  “Okay,” I nodded. “Excuse me,” I said to Drake. I went with her to a seat. Left her sitting there.

  “You're sure you're okay?” I asked gently.

  “Yes. I'm sure.”

  I left her alone and headed back to the lobby. When I got there, to my surprise, Drake was still there. The shock had given way to anger, now: All my embarrassment and guilt over Lacey combined with the resentment and hurt from the past eight years made me dangerously-close to losing my temper.

  “Is your friend okay?” he asked. His brow was furrowed in concern.

  That did it. Here he was, standing in front of me after he hadn't seen me for eight years and hadn’t even bothered told me he was alive. Now, he was more concerned about Lacey than about me.

  “She's fine,” I snapped. “She gets panic attacks. Just hope she'll be okay. If I hadn't seen you I wouldn’t have just stopped dead like that...”

  I knew it wasn't his fault, not really. But all the same it felt good to blame it all on this...this...

  Infuriating. Gorgeous. Stunning, almost impossibly annoying guy.

  “I'm sorry,” he said tightly.

  I sighed. “Look, it's not your fault,” I said wearily. “I just...what are you doing here?”

  He frowned. “I work here.”

  “Here?” I looked at the Hilton Hotel, wondering, stupidly, why they would need a lawyer in the lobby.

  “For Steelcore,” he explained. “I'm a corporate lawyer now.”

  “Oh.”

  What?

  Drake Leblanc worked for Steelcore Inc. A company known for the distinct suspicion that the iron they used came from dodgy mining operations in Brazil. Drake worked for these people? Defended them in court?

  I looked at my hands a moment, trying to compose my thoughts. That was a big surprise. Steelcore Inc. was not a company with a good reputation. In fact, in the light of fair treatment, quite the opposite. It was the last place I would expect to find Drake. It felt as if Father Christmas had just been accused of mass-murder.

  When we were students together, Drake didn't even want to do corporate law. He wanted to defend human rights. He had left me to follow that dream, flying to Kinshasa on the strength of it. I had accepted that because I knew it meant the world to him.

  And now I found him here, sold out to big business?

  “Ainsley? What's wrong?”

  I looked up to find those big brown eyes watching me soulfully.

  I sighed. “Nothing.”

  I didn't know quite what to say. If he didn't even know why I was shocked, how could I begin to explain? I turned away.

  “Ainsley?”

  “I should get back to the party,” I said in a tight voice.

  He said nothing. I walked back toward the entrance, feeling as if I was walking away from the edge of a cliff.

  I was glad to walk away. All the same, when he didn't call me back, I felt quite angry. Maybe he really never had any feelings for me. What else was I supposed to think? He'd walked out of my life eight years ago and even now he didn't seem too interested in getting to know me.

  Well, maybe I'm not interested in getting to know him. Looks like I didn't know him very well last time.

  I had known someone completely different. A principled, caring man. Not a heartless, money-seeking one.

  I looked around the lobby. Guests were coming in more slowly now. Most people had already gone through to the main hall. I looked for Lacey and found her in a chair by the entrance. She looked a little better.

  “Lacey?”

  “Yes?”

  “You feeling okay?” I asked gently.

  “I think so,” she said slowly. “I'm just about ready to go in now.”

  “Okay.” I stood and waited while she got to her feet. We walked to the hall together.

  Inside, the murmurs of conversation filled the air. I could hear people talking and laughing and the clink of glasses. The air smelled like expensive perfume and the thinnest trace of alcohol. Black-clad waiters moved in between the stylish guests with trays of champagne-flutes and somewhere a violin played.

  I breathed in, suddenly feeling a bit of my excitement returning. This was a special night. I was in a special dress. I wasn't going to let some ghost from the past spoil it for me.

  Especially not a suited, suave ghost who'd been sold out to big paychecks.

  “Let's go find some champagne,” I said decisively to Lacey. She smiled.

  “Let's.”

  We slid through the crowded room, finding a man in a suit with a tray.

  “Champagne, madam?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  We each accepted a glass gratefully and saluted each other with them, then drank. Sparkling and refreshing, the champagne quenched my thirst but also fizzled in my brain, making it hard to think clearly. I giggled.
>
  “Oh, look,” Lacey said, scanning the room from next to me. “There's Uncle Mark. I should thank him.”

  I nodded. “I should too,” I said.

  We wove our way through the crowd to join the party around a cheerful, bald-headed fellow with a big grin. Lacey's Uncle Mark and our benefactor. As we slipped into the circle, which included people of all ages – especially a dark-haired and handsome younger man who looked our way as we joined – I thought of Drake.

  Where are you? I wondered, glancing briefly around the room with a surprising pain in my heart. It was a good question. Where had the Drake I loved – the outstanding, empathetic Drake – gone to?

  Stop it, Ainsley, I thought crossly. It didn't matter where he'd gone. I didn't matter to him, so why should I care?

  “You're a colleague of Lacey's?” the handsome guy asked me.

  “Yeah,” I nodded. I stuck my hand out confidently. “Ainsley Johnson.”

  “Hi,” he grinned. “Warren Lark.”

  “Good to meet you, Warren.” I smiled coyly. I was flirting, just a little, just to see what Drake would do. I swiveled round to see if I could spot him, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  I blinked. Warren had said something and I hadn't heard him. “Um, sorry, Warren,” I said softly. “What was that?”

  “What kind of work do you do?”

  “I'm a translator,” I explained. “It's my job to rewrite books by French authors in English.”

  “Wow.” he raised a brow. “That sounds pretty challenging.”

  I felt a small warm flame of pride. “It is sometimes,” I said. “Depends a lot on the author and how worked up they are about keeping the spirit of the work alive...” I felt myself warm to my theme. I am passionate about what I do. It was nice to be talking to someone who seemed to be interested.

  The conversation carried on for a while and then we headed over to the tables to take seats for the dinner.

  Where is Drake?

  I felt impatient with myself for caring, but I couldn't help it. I looked around and then I spotted him, talking with a solid, imposing looking man. From the way the others were deferring to him and his proximity to the cameras, I guessed he was the company boss.

  Drake, I thought sadly, what are you doing?

  There was nothing of the old Drake left. There was especially no love for me left.