THE BALLROOM VIBRATED with the din of a thousand people. Holly’s heart thundered in her chest as Ethan maneuvered them from table to table for introductions. He charmed all the women and the men regarded him with great respect.
“Ethan, how has another year passed already?”
“Lovely to see you, Mrs. Thorpe. Good evening, Mr. Thorpe.” Ethan pecked the older lady’s cheek and shook the hand of her white-haired husband. “I would like to introduce you to Holly Motta.”
Mrs. Thorpe’s crinkly eyes lit up. “Well, now, Ethan, are we to believe that you have given up the single life at last?”
“Only because you are already spoken for,” Ethan said, flattering her.
Holly was dumbstruck and could only squeak out, “Nice to meet you.”
She felt horribly out of place. The giddy fun of getting dressed was gone now, and in this moment she felt like a young child in a Halloween princess costume. It was one thing to imagine being the fiancée of a respected and victorious billionaire. But it was another thing entirely actually to be presented as such.
“You look exquisite,” Ethan whispered in her ear, as if he sensed her discomfort.
It offered no reassurance.
This wasn’t going at all the way she’d thought it would. She hadn’t felt this kind of pressure on the yacht the other evening, when Ethan had made small talk with casual acquaintances. The people here tonight knew him well, and she felt as if everyone—but everyone—was inspecting her. Panic pricked at her skin like needles, even while her brain told her she must not let Ethan down.
Taking short and fast breaths, she shook hands with a plastered-on smile.
“Henri!” Ethan clasped the shoulder of a mustached man. “Cela fait longtemps.”
“Ça va?”
“Marie. Magnifique, comme toujours.” Ethan kissed the man’s wife on both cheeks. “Je vous présente Holly Motta.”
French. Naturally Ethan spoke perfect French. As men who take showers on private planes were likely to do.
As they walked away he told her, “Mr. and Mrs. Arnaud made a substantial personal donation to a low-income housing project we did outside of Paris.”
“Merci!” Holly threw over her shoulder.
Ethan’s eyes always took on a special shine when he mentioned those charity projects that were so important to him.
They approached a stone-faced man whose huge muscles were all but bursting out of a tuxedo that was a size too small. He stood ramrod-straight, with his arms folded across his chest. Holly saw that he wore a discreet earpiece with a barely noticeable wire.
“Holly Motta, this is Chip Foley, our head of security,” Ethan introduced her.
Chip bent toward Ethan’s ear. “I take it you received that fax with the information you requested, sir?”
Ethan looked confused. “No, I did not.”
A Japanese couple were coming toward them.
“Ethan. Ogenki desu ka?”
The woman wore an elaborate kimono.
“Hai, genki desu,” he answered back.
French wasn’t intimidating enough. He had to speak Japanese, too.
The evening was starting off like a freezing cold shower.
Holly had imagined it was going to be easier. And more fun. What girl wouldn’t want to be at the ball with the dashing prince she was madly in love with?
Madly. In. Love. With.
The four words echoed through her as if someone had yelled them into her ear. Especially the third word. Because there was no denying its truth.
She was in love with this sophisticated, handsome, brilliant man beside her.
Had it happened the very night she’d arrived in New York, when she’d opened the door to the apartment and found him reading his newspaper with that one curl of hair hanging in front of his eyes?
Had it been when he’d bought her all the painting supplies she’d been able to point to, because took her seriously as an artist in a way that no one else ever had?
Maybe it had been atop the Empire State Building, when those earth-shattering kisses had quaked through her like nothing she’d known before?
Or had it been on the yacht, under the tender shadow of the Statue of Liberty, when they’d danced together as one, late into the night?
It didn’t matter.
Because she was in love with Ethan Benton.
And that was about the worst thing that had ever happened to her.
“We should make our way to the table now,” Ethan said, after finishing his small talk in Japanese.
He took her hand and led them toward the head table, where Aunt Louise and Fernando were already sitting.
Awareness of his touch was a painful reminder that Holly would never have a bona fide seat at this family table. There would be no keeping the glass slippers. The Ethan Bentons of this world didn’t marry the Holly Mottas. She was a commoner, hired to do a job—hardly any different from either a scullery maid or an office assistant in his corporation.
Ethan’s world was a tightly coiled mechanism of wheels. She was but one small cog. Loving him was going to be her problem, not his.
She willed herself not to fall apart now. Overall, Ethan had been kind and generous to her. She had to hold her end up. That much she owed him. Despite the fact that she was crumbling inside.
Love was awful.
“Louise, you look wonderful tonight.” Holly greeted the older woman with a kiss on the cheek.
The style magicians had worked wonders. None of the scrapes and bruises from her fall were visible. No one would guess she wore a wig that was thicker and more lustrous than her own thinning hair. Shiny baubles complemented her black gown.
Holly nodded hello to Fernando who, in return, lifted his nose and looked away.
Fernando sat on one side of Louise and Ethan the other. Holly sat next to Ethan. Rounding out their table were company VIPs whom she’d been introduced to earlier today but couldn’t remember their names.
As the ballroom’s lights were slightly dimmed a spotlight was aimed on Louise, and a waiter brought her a microphone. Louise stood, subtly using the table for leverage and balance. Holly saw a grimace pass quickly across her face.
“Good evening, Benton Worldwide extended family,” Louise greeted the guests. “It’s been another profitable and productive year for us, which you’ll hear about in my report later. As you know my late husband, Melvin Benton, and his brother, Joseph Benton, began this company with the purchase of a one-bedroom apartment in South Boston. And look where we are today.”
The ballroom filled with the sound of applause.
“Together we have made this happen. Melvin taught me many things. The most important of which is that money in our wallets means nothing without love in our hearts.”
Louise smiled at Ethan and Holly.
“And so,” she continued, “if you’ll indulge an old woman before we get on to pie charts and growth projections, I’d like to share something personal with you.”
A hush swept the room.
“Many of you have watched my nephew Ethan grow up over the decades. I hope you share in my pride at the man he’s become. He’s a leader who drives himself hard, a savvy negotiator who insists on fairness, and a shrewd businessman with a philanthropic spirit.”
The guests applauded again.
Ethan bowed his head, clearly embarrassed by the accolades. Holly touched his arm. He turned his head slightly toward her.
“Yet there’s been one thing missing. It has always been my greatest wish for Ethan that he would find a partner to share his life with. To rejoice with in triumph and to weep with in sorrow. To have a home. To have children. To know a love like Mel and I had. And it’s with great joy tonight that I announce that Ethan has found that soul mate. And, althou
gh it’s asking a lot of her to meet her extended family of one thousand all in one evening, I’d like to introduce you to Ethan’s fiancée: Miss Holly Motta.”
Ethan and Holly looked at each other, both knowing this was their moment. They rose from their chairs in unison and turned to face the crowd. Holly’s chest crackled at the irony of the moment.
Applause and good wishes flooded the room.
“Bravo!”
“Bravo!”
“It’s about time!”
“Holly!”
“Ethan!”
They smiled and waved on cue—as if they were a royal couple on a palace balcony. Guests began tapping their knives against their water glasses in a signal for a couple to kiss.
Without hesitation, Ethan leaned in to Holly’s lips. Thankfully not with a passionate kiss that would have thrown her off balance. But it wasn’t a quick peck either. Perhaps he was incapable of a kiss that didn’t stir her up inside.
She felt herself blushing. When she giggled a little the guests cheered.
As planned, the chandeliers were dimmed further and the dance floor became bathed in a golden light. Ethan took Holly’s hand and brought her to the center of the dance floor, this time as two thousand eyes fixed on them.
The love song from their practice session boomed out of the sound system.
Holly lifted one hand to Ethan’s shoulder. One of his fastened around her waist. Their other hands met palm to palm.
They floated across the dance floor, bodies locked, legs in sync. The moment was so perfect Holly wanted to cry.
It was a moment she would never forget. Yet, in time she must learn to forget, if she was ever to love someone who could return her love.
With the gleam of lights beaming down on the dance floor and the rest of the ballroom darker, it was hard to see. Yet Holly’s eyes landed on the table where they had been seated. Ethan turned her as they danced, but she kept craning her neck to focus on a strange sight.
Louise was chatting with a couple who had come over to the table. Meanwhile Fernando finished his drink and stood up. He reached into his tuxedo jacket’s pocket and pulled out two pieces of paper. He placed one on the chair where Holly was sitting and the other on Ethan’s seat. Then he smirked with a satisfied nod.
* * *
Holly was so spectacularly beautiful Ethan couldn’t help glancing down at her as they danced. She was really just as fetching—if not more so—casual and barefoot in a tee shirt and jeans, having breakfast at the apartment. But tonight... The dance floor lights cast an incandescent glow on her face. The baby pink of her lipstick emphasized the sensual plumpness of her mouth.
It made him want to brand her with kiss after kiss, until he had to hold her up to keep her from falling to the ground. His body reacted—in fact overreacted—to the intimate feel of her breasts, belly and hips pressed to him as he held her close.
Every now and then the sobering fact that Holly wasn’t really his fiancée would flit across his mind. There wasn’t ever going to be the wedding, home and children that Aunt Louise had spoken of during her toast. He batted away the reality of those thoughts every time they came near. If only for tonight, he actually did want to believe the masquerade was real.
He could risk that much.
Yet a voice in his gut pleaded with him to stop. Told him that he knew better. That his mission had been to guard and defend. That dangerous fantasies would confuse his intentions and lead to irrevocably bad decisions.
Opposing forces argued within him. So his rational mind welcomed the distraction when he followed Holly’s eyes to the table where they’d been sitting. He watched with curiosity as Fernando placed a piece of paper on his and Holly’s chairs.
As soon as the dance was over Ethan nodded politely at the applauding guests to the left and to the right. When the next song began he gestured for others to join in the dancing. Couples stood and approached. Once the rhythm was underway, and the dance floor was well populated, he gestured to Holly to return to their table.
Ethan slipped the piece of paper on his chair into his jacket pocket and sat down, trying not to draw any attention to the action. When everyone was occupied with their first-course salads and dinner conversation, he’d discreetly look at it.
Holly held her piece of paper in her lap. She looked downward to read it.
Her face changed instantly. The rosy blush of her cheeks turned ashen white. The blue in her eyes darkened to a flat gray. She blinked back tears.
Trancelike, she slowly stood.
Her murmur was barely audible, and directed to no one in particular. “Excuse me...”
Fortunately, with the dance floor in full swing and one of the video presentations playing on several screens throughout the room, Holly’s exit from the table didn’t appear too dramatic.
Ethan watched her cross the ballroom as if she was headed to the ladies’ lounge.
Instead she opened a sliver of one of the French doors that led to the ballroom’s terrace. She slipped through and closed it behind her.
At the table, Ethan caught Fernando’s eye. He grinned at Ethan like a Cheshire cat. Ethan’s blood began to boil. But he kept his cool as he rose. He moved slowly toward the terrace. And slid out through the same door Holly had.
The frigid and windy evening slapped across his face and straight under the fabric of his tuxedo. Holly stood across the large plaza of the terrace with her back to him. He figured she must be chilled to the bone.
What was it that had upset her so much that she’d had to leave the ballroom and retreat to this empty space that was not in use during the winter months?
With dread in his heart, Ethan pulled the paper from his pocket.
His temples pulsated louder with each word he read.
Fax to Ethan Benton from Chip Foley, Head of Security, Benton Worldwide Properties.
Regarding Holly Motta.
Per your request, I have gathered the following intelligence.
Holly Motta, age twenty-nine, last known residence Fort Pierce, Florida.
Internet and social media presence significant only as it relates to her occupation as an artist.
No criminal record.
Sometimes known as Holly Dowd.
Married until two years ago to a Ricky Dowd, age twenty-eight, also of Fort Pierce.
Married and divorced.
“Holly!” he spat.
Her shoulders arched at the sound of his voice.
She spun around and they marched toward each other. Meeting in the middle of the grand stone terrace.
“You had me investigated?” she accused, rather than questioned.
“You were married?” he fired back.
“Without telling me?”
“Without telling me?”
“That must simply be business as usual for you, Mr. Benton. Background checks on the hired help and all that.”
“As a matter of fact, it is. My family has spent two generations building our empire. We had better damn well protect it with every tool we have.”
“You might have let me know.”
The hammering at Ethan’s temples threatened to crack open his skull as he read the fax aloud.
“‘Ricky Dowd, also known as Rick Dowd and Riff Dowd, indicted for armed robbery at age nineteen. Served twenty-two months in prison, released early due to penitentiary overcrowding. Indicted six months ago, again for armed robbery. Currently serving a sentence at Hansen Correctional Facility in central Florida.’”
Ethan broke away from the page to glare at Holly.
“Twice indicted for armed robbery?”
He felt heat rise through his body in a fury that, for once, he might not be able to contain.
Holly’s face was lifeless. Her eyes downcast. She
didn’t even seem to be breathing.
Finally she muttered softly, “I didn’t know Ricky was in prison again.”
“But you knew who you married.” Ethan’s jaw locked.
“The first robbery was before we were married. This new incident happened after our divorce. I haven’t seen or talked to him in two years.”
“Yet you married a convicted criminal? And deliberately withheld that from me? How will that look to my shareholders? Do you not understand the importance of an impeccable reputation?”
Ethan was approaching cruelty. Rubbing salt into her wounds. But he couldn’t stop himself.
Women were never who they seemed! Once again a female had betrayed him. Had not been honest. The same as every other woman he had known. The same as his mother.
This was exactly what he’d been warning himself of, despite his growing attachment to Holly. Why would she turn out to be any different from the others? How dense was he still not to have learned his lesson?
They’d spent so much time together this week. Yet all along she’d withheld the information that not only had she been married, but to someone convicted of serious crimes. She obviously didn’t understand how, if that information was to be revealed publicly, it would become an integral part of people’s perception of her. Of them.
What else was she hiding? Omission was its own form of lying. And he’d always known that if this engagement façade was to work, they’d have to be straightforward with each other. He’d told her about his future plans for Benton Worldwide. She knew about his aunt’s health problems. He’d even let her witness Louise being wheeled out on a stretcher by the paramedics. Without measuring the risks of his actions, he had, in fact, trusted Holly.
Trust. Every year, at every shareholders’ gala at this hotel, Ethan got a reminder that trust was a dirty word. One that he should never factor into an equation. After all, a boy whose father had just died should have been able to trust that his mother had his best interests at heart.
To read this background information about Holly, to confirm that he didn’t know her at all, was an unbearable confusion. Just like the one he’d suffered as a boy, never really knowing his mother, or what could make a woman betray her only child.
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