He looks at me for a beat, then nods. “The reception. But you can’t RSVP. No one can know you’re coming.”
I scowl at him. “I couldn’t RSVP if I wanted to. You’ve got the only phone.”
He flashes me a dazzling smile and I feel myself melt in the glow of it.
I wish I could see Jonathan. It still eats at me every day that he knows I didn’t believe in him. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to make up for that. But seeing my old friends from high school will be so amazing. And it will give me something else to think about for a while.
I need this so much right now.
“If we’re not concerned about making the wedding,” Blake says, “we should wait until after dark to leave.”
“So, what time?”
“Nine?”
I scoop up the dress and head toward my room. “I have some things to do to get ready.”
He leans against the counter and watches after me, that cocky almost-smile on his face. “Careful, or you’ll outshine the bride.”
I turn back at my door and smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
His eyebrow arches. “I don’t think there’s anything you’re going to be able to do about it.”
I manage to keep the giddy smile off my face until I’m through my door. I close it and hug the dress, spinning a circle and trying not to giggle like a sixth grader.
WHEN I UNPACK the garment bag after my shower, in addition to the dress, I find matching four-inch heels, silk stockings, and a garter belt. Seems Blake thought of everything. The whole ensemble is sex on a stick.
I wax my legs, massage in lotion, and give myself a pedicure and manicure. I experiment with my makeup and find I’m able to almost completely cover the scar on my cheek. In dim light it shouldn’t be noticeable.
The dress is shimmering champagne and hugs every curve, with a tie at the neck and an open back. It’s got a tapered hem and a slit up the front. It’s elegant and sexy all at the same time, and much nicer than anything I’ve ever owned. I slip it on, and, looking at myself in the dress that Blake bought me, for the first time I can honestly say I’m glad I’m not with Trent. I’m glad it never went that far.
I scoop my hair up and experiment with how I want to wear it. After all these weeks pent up here, this feels like dress-up—like Cinderella getting ready for the ball. Blake is my fairy godmother.
When I come out of my room a few minutes before nine, the view leaves me breathless—and I’m not talking about the lights of the city and the bay below. Blake is standing in the middle of the family room in charcoal pinstripe slacks over black cowboy boots. His black shirt is open at the collar, and over it he wears a medium gray vest and a black leather suit jacket. I’m gaping at him as I try to catch my breath.
“You look . . .” He gives his head one slow shake. “Stunning doesn’t do you justice.”
“You too,” I finally say, moving forward in a little bit of a daze. Blake just turned from my fairy godmother into Prince Charming, and it’s everything I can do not to drool.
His hair has gotten longer, I just now notice, because I can clearly see streaks of blond in the sandy brown. And it’s beach tousled. The whole package just makes me want to unwrap it.
“After you, mademoiselle,” he says with a flourish toward the elevator. He presses the button as I step up next to him.
“We’re really doing this?”
He smiles and nods. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”
I look at him a second, my eyes scanning from the hair to the face and down the suit, and I seriously think about it. But then I shake my head and step into the elevator. “Let’s go.”
He escorts me to the Escalade and opens my door, taking my hand and helping me in. I watch him as he walks around to his side, struck again by how he moves. Just like with his kata, everything he does looks effortless. He slips into his seat and shoots me a conspiratorial smile as he starts the engine. “Ready to crash a reception?”
Chapter Thirty-Three
I’M TRYING REALLY hard not to bounce in my seat like a preschooler as Cooper follows us down the hill in his black Charger. We cross the Bay Bridge into the city and I think of all the hours I’ve spent standing on my balcony and staring at it. I look back toward the Berkeley Hills and try to pick out the house, but it’s just one of hundreds reflecting the last of the crimson sunset.
Trent and Lexie’s wedding was a sunset ceremony on the music concourse in Golden Gate Park, followed by a reception at the de Young Museum, just next door. Blake bypasses the valets standing out front of the courtyard entrance and parks off to the side. He glances at me when I look at him funny. “I have to know I can get you out of here in a matter of seconds.”
“You don’t think . . .” I trail off, looking around to see if we were followed.
“No,” he says, adjusting his jacket around his shoulder holster, “I don’t think you’re in danger, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to be prepared.”
I wonder vaguely what Lexie would think if she knew my date was packing at her wedding.
Cooper pulls past us and parks farther up the curb as Blake comes around and opens my door. He holds out his hand and I take it and slide out of my seat.
I’m nervous as he escorts me in through a courtyard to where music is playing. We step into an open room with hardwood floors and glass walls, and after not being around people for almost two months, it’s overwhelming. Tables line the sides of the room, and up front there is a band on a low stage. I can’t help but smile when I see who they are.
The whole time we were in high school, Trent’s band played at every high school dance. They broke up years ago, when they all went away to college, but this must be their reunion tour, because everyone but Trent is up on the stage. They’re not really what I’d call good, but they don’t suck either. The dance floor is packed with people in dresses and suits, moving to the rhythm.
“Samantha?”
I turn toward the semihysterical voice at a table near the door, sure I must have been imagining it. Mom stands from behind the table and gapes at me for a moment before rushing over and throwing her arms around my shoulders.
I’m momentarily speechless. Despite the fact we’ve been best friends for years, it never occurred to me Lexie would invite my parents.
“Oh my word!” she says, crushing me in a hug. “I didn’t think . . .”
Greg steps up behind her and lays a hand on her shoulder. “Sam,” he says with a little bit of an apologetic squint, then shoots a wary glance at Blake. “I’m glad to see you looking so well.”
“Thanks.”
Mom backs away and her lower lip begins to quiver as she looks me over. She pulls me close again. “That black man came to the house and he wouldn’t say anything and I was so worried that something had happened to you, but then he said you were fine and I shouldn’t worry, and when I told him I wanted to talk to you he said—”
“Mom,” I say, cutting her off mid-ramble. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” I pry myself out of her grip and find tears streaking her mascara into jagged black lines down her cheeks.
“There’s so much I need to tell you,” she hitches. “I’ve been such a hypocrite.”
“Mom it’s okay.”
She shakes her head. “It’s not. I know this is neither the time or the place, but I don’t know when I’m going to see you again and you need to understand why I did what I did.”
I glance up at Blake and he gives me a small nod. I back away a few steps and Mom follows, still clinging to my arm. “Okay. Why did you throw me out?”