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Chapter twenty-seven

Anna

I excuse myself from the table, typing out a quick message to Ashlyn to ask how her travel day went. As I push through the ballroom door, I spot a waiter with a tray of fizzy champagne walking down the hall. I smile as I confidently snag one, hoping he doesn’t tell me they are bound for a specific table or a different party altogether. He says nothing as I strut on by, sighing as the cold effervescence slides over my tongue. The room has heated considerably and when I notice a set of doors leading outside aren’t blocked off, I decided to take a little detour to cool off. The patio overlooks the hotel pool. The glowing aqua water steams slightly in the November air. Topiaries and high-end patio furniture are scattered along the pool deck. I choose a low lounge chair to sink into, not even caring that it must be close to freezing. I’m practically feverish between the velvet dress, Chris teasing me earlier, and all the laughter with our very spirited table. I finish the last of the champagne, deciding that’d better be my last drink, and head inside to find the washroom.

The lace panties roll up and itch against my hip as I pull them back up.

I force myself to draw a slow breath through my nose. Getting into comfortable clothes tonight will truly be a delight. Eyeing my clutch on the shelf next to me, I smile. Carefully, I step out of the panties, revelling in how much smoother the velvet fabric skims down my hips without them. I stuff the panties into my clutch and wrap up in the stall. While I wash my hands and reapply my lipstick, a young woman going through the same motions compliments my hair. I recognize her from a few tables away from ours and we easily fall into a discussion about curling irons. As the bathroom becomes busier, I squeeze out of the room.

“Whoa.”

The hallway beforehand was almost deserted. Now it resembles a high school between classes .

Smartly dressed people pour out of open doorways as another event wraps up. I’m about to step to the side and wait because travelling upstream like this is hopeless when I collide with someone. They must have been walking quickly, because the air is all but knocked out of my lungs at the impact. A set of hands steer me away from the busy hall and I’m too busy catching my breath and walking in my heels to notice what’s happening.

“We’ve got to stop running into each other like this.”

I glance up at Darren, wrinkling my nose when I smell the booze on his breath. He’s led me out of the hall and into a quiet stairwell, his body right in front of the door.

“Move out of my way.” My voice is firm but echoes in the carpetless area.

He laughs at my demand.

“You’re drunk, Darren. Just let me by.”

He leans heavily against the door like standing is an effort.

“What are…what are you doing here?”

Oh, god. He’s slurring his words, even.

“I’m at an awards show,” I sigh. “What about you?”

Maybe if I engage him in conversation, he’ll be happy enough to buzz off.

“Wedding.”

I pop open my clutch when my phone buzzes inside.

Chris:

Hey, you okay?

Before I can reply, Darren reaches into my bag and plucks out the panties.

“No—”

“What do we have here?” He squints at the underwear and my face burns hot with fury.

My voice trembles as I hold out my hand. “Give those back.”

“What the fuck? You wearing these for that guy from the coffee shop? I got the vanilla version and you’re giving him the good stuff?”

Even with my heels on, I can’t quite reach his hand as he holds them over his head like a middle-school bully.

I consider the stairs but have no idea where they lead. The last thing I want is for him to follow me and then I’m even further away from the ballroom, from Chris. The metallic thud of the handle clangs on the other side of the door.

“Excuse me, sir,” a voice yells. “You can not block this door. It’s an emergency exit.”

Grumbling, Darren staggers aside, and the same waiter I snagged the champagne from earlier opens the door, indicating for me to go through with the tip of his head. Distracted, Darren lowers his hand enough that I snatch the ball of lace back from him, clicking my clutch firmly closed once I stuff them back inside.

“Darren, I’d let you keep these ‘cause you’re obviously really lonely, but someone else has their name on them.”

I’m pretty sure he’s too half-cut to even understand my insult, but I walk away on my heels with my head held high, completely content with where I am in my sexuality for the first time in forever. I have a gorgeous date to find.

***

“And the winner is…”

The M.C. tears open a cream envelope right as I slip back into the ballroom. I tuck my clutch beneath my arm and cross both my fingers.

“...Isaac Lauri Restorations with the Amberly Road Project!”

“Yes!” I cry out.

Chris turns to the sound of my voice, a huge lopsided grin plastering his face when he sees me. I’d have been so pissed if Darren made me miss this.

I clap with gusto at the back of the ballroom, watching him weave through the tightly packed tables to accept an envelope, shake a couple of hands, and smile for the photographer. I’ve known Isaac, Chris, and the other guys for over a year now and they’ve been utterly devoted to the projects they pick. They deserve this win. As he makes his way back to our table, I can’t help but notice, again, that he’s wearing the hell out of that suit. When he’s within earshot, he slips his arm around my waist.

“Let’s go.”

I glance around, on the stage another category is already being announced.

“Now?”

“Yes. We’ve been here for hours.”

Nobody notices us slip away. If they did, I don’t care. This has been a long day.

“You’re going to need to slow down,” I tell him, noting his long strides toward the lobby. “Shoes,” I explain.

“Want me to carry you?”

I laugh, knowing he’d probably do it if I asked.

“Do you have the valet ticket?” I yawn.

“Don’t need it.” He smiles, pulling me into his side as he takes a sharp turn to a bank of elevators.

“Chris?”

At this time of night, the elevator car arrives right away.

“You didn’t think I was going to drive home this late, did you?”

“I don’t have any clothes. ”

That sounds so dumb, but the thought of putting this dress, lingerie set, and heels on in the morning makes me want to cry. My mascara is burning my eyes and I imagine trying to scrub it off with a fancy white hotel face cloth. While I’m busy worrying about toiletries and the fact that my underwear aren’t actually on my body, Chris steers me down the long hotel hallway, the plush carpeting absorbing the sounds of our shoes. The beep and whir of the electronic lock snaps me out of it and then Chris is standing in the wide doorway.

“Go on.”

I enter the room, slipping off my heels because I can’t bear to keep them on a second longer. Two end tables with warm glowing lamps flank a king bed with crisp white linens. The heavy drapery is open, only the sheers drawn shut, revealing the golf course below. Next to one pillow is a bundle of clothing with a bow on top.

“What the heck is this?”

“Open it.”

The fabric is soft and stretchy, and I clutch it to my chest.

“Are these pyjamas?!”

I could cry knowing I get to put these on soon.

“Hell, yes. And look.”

I turn to see him holding a men’s version .

“We’re going to change, I’m ordering food from a restaurant because I’m starving, and then we’ll sit in this big bed and watch movies. Sound good?”

It sounds like the best idea ever.

“You know what I’m thinking, though?” I ask. “This bed is made up way too nicely for movie watching.”

His eyes gleam and then we each take a side, working together to absolutely destroy the tightly made bed.

Much later, we’re cosy in the rearranged blankets, full of food and half asleep after getting into the mini fridge bar. The champagne wasn’t my last drink of the night after all.

“Chris?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“Darren was here tonight.”

He drops the remote onto the duvet and rolls to face me. A line forms between his eyes.

“Did he talk to you?”

I blow out a breath and explain what happened. There was a tiny part of me that was worried he’d get really riled up about it, but instead he shakes his head like he feels sorry for the guy.

“He’s a loser.”

I agree.

“Where are these underwear with my name on them?” he asks .

I shove against his hard chest. We turn our attention towards the television once more but there’s still one part of my interaction with Darren tonight that bothers me.

My voice is soft when I say, “He said I was vanilla.”

He makes a sound best described as a growl as he turns out his bedside lamp and tugs me closer.

“You know what, Annie?”

“Hmm?”

“Vanilla is my favourite flavour,” he growls before diving beneath the layers of white bedding.