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***
The rest of the day floats by uneventfully. I go for a run after breakfast, and Marcus heads to the gym with Mike. We meet up in town for lunch and to pick up a few last minute things for tonight.
At exactly 8:00pm, our taxi pulls up outside the Mercure Manchester Piccadilly Hotel.
Marcus climbs out first, then turns and holds his hand out to me. I step out into the soft evening light, the fabric of my gown catching the glow of the setting sun like I’m stepping into a dream.
The air is warm, with just the faintest chill of the evening setting in. The city is alive and vibrant, and my skin hums with anticipation for the night ahead.
Marcus’s fingers lace through mine as he flashes me that devastatingly perfect smile. “You ready?”
I nod, heart fluttering, and we walk inside.
The hotel lobby is buzzing. A mix of people mills around us, many of them guests arriving in gowns and tuxedos, while others are tourists or hotel staff passing through. There is a sense of movement and energy everywhere.
We fall in step behind an older couple – the man in a tux, the woman in a cream-coloured dress with a large hat with a flower angled on the side of her hair. We follow them through the lobby in the direction of the signs pointing towards the International Suite.
Even though I have no reason to be nervous, I feel a flutter in my stomach and a tingle in my fingers, biting my lip as we approach the door.
I attended the gala last year, but it had been on a much smaller scale, with only a hundred invited guests. This year, the guest list stood at six hundred, with each guest paying anywhere from £1,000 to £3,000 for the evening’s entertainment and food, not to mention the massive donations to charity many of the guests would be making.
Last year, I’d been a shadow in the background. This year, I’m on the arm of one of the main organisers of the event. I won’t be able to hide in the wings – I’ll have to talk to people, smile for photos, and mingle with guests.
Marcus squeezes my hand, glancing at me as though he can sense my nerves, and I feel steadier.
As we step through the doors, I gasp at the beauty of the scene in front of us. If I felt like a princess before – the ballroom amplifies that feeling tenfold.
Light pours in through massive floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a golden glow that mingles perfectly with soft pink and purple uplighting along the walls and on the stage. Rows of beautifully set tables stretch before us, each adorned with black seat covers and silver accents. Crystal chandeliers shimmer overhead, scattering tiny reflections like stars across every surface.
Marcus walks in confidently, pulling me gently forward as I realise I’d frozen in place, mouth slightly open, completely awestruck by thebeauty of the space – and had blocked a row of people behind us. I flash an apologetic smile, giving a small wave as I fall in step beside him, his arm slipping comfortably around my back as soft music floats on the air.
We make our way to the bar where Marcus grabs two flutes of champagne from a neat line of ready-poured glasses and hands me one. I take a quick sip, needing something to settle the flutter in my chest.
“A bit bigger than last year, huh?” he says with a cheeky grin.
I laugh. “Just a bit.”
He turns, scanning the room. “Ready to talk to hundreds of people you’ve never met before?”
“Bring it on,” I say, pride blooming in my chest.
He’s worked so hard for this night – late nights, constant stress, endless details – and it’s all come together beautifully. Seeing the confidence in his smile makes every sleepless hour worth it.
Marcus leads me over to a small group of people standing in a circle behind a table. As we approach, a short man with a thick moustache breaks from the group, walking right up to Marcus.
“There he is!” the man booms, slapping Marcus on the back. “Gentlemen, this man right here is the reason you are all here tonight,” he says, turning back to the group he was talking to. “This man,” he continues, “not only saved my restaurant, but transformed it into an overnight success! Marcus!” He pulls him into a hug. “How the bloody hell are you, mate?”
“I’m good Raj, it’s great to see you,” Marcus says, shooting me a quick eye roll that makes me giggle.
“You’re looking well,” Marcus adds. “I’ve seen the Amber Royal’s doing great. I hear you’re planning a second location?”
“Oh yes, business has been fantastic! All thanks to you! Our second location is opening at the end of the year, and we’re making plans to open three more!” he exclaims.
“That’s brilliant Raj. Congratulations,” Marcus says, taking a sip of his drink.
Raj’s eyes swing over to me, widening dramatically.
“Marcus! Now who is this stunning young lady you’ve brought with you tonight? Not your daughter, surely?” He lifts my hand and kisses it gently.