“No,” Alex said, lifting his champagne. “I’m entertaining.”
But several minutes later, when the party noise had grown louder and the string quartet had shifted into a waltz, Alex saw the waitress again.
She slipped through a side door into the private hallway, still carrying her tray.
A reckless thought sparked in his mind.
The kind of thought that always came to men who had been protected from themselves.
He excused himself from Vivian with a kiss on her knuckles and followed.
Outside the ballroom, the hallway was quieter. Golden wall lamps cast soft light over framed portraits of dead Whitmores, each face stern, proud, and judgmental. Behind the closed ballroom doors, laughter and music became muffled, as if the entire world had been wrapped in velvet.
The waitress walked quickly.
Alex caught up and touched her shoulder.
She stopped.
Slowly, she turned.
Up close, he noticed her eyes first.
They were dark. Steady. Too steady.
“What do you want?” she asked.
Her voice was calm.
Not frightened.
Not impressed.
Alex smiled. “I want to make the night interesting.”
“It already is.”
He chuckled. “You have attitude for someone carrying empty glasses.”
“And you have confidence for someone who confuses cruelty with charm.”
The words landed sharper than he expected.
For a second, Alex’s smile flickered.
Then he laughed, because laughter was easier than being offended.
“I’ll give you fifty thousand dollars,” he said. “Take the challenge. Walk back in there. Dance one song. Make everyone gasp.”
The waitress studied him.
“Fifty thousand,” she repeated.
“Cash,” Alex said. “Tonight.”
“And if I win?”
Alex’s eyebrows rose. “Win?”
“If I dance well enough that the room stops laughing,” she said softly, “what do I win?”
Alex leaned against the wall, amused.
“You want more?”
“I want your word.”
“My word?”
She stepped closer.
The hallway seemed to grow colder.
“You said you would dump her and marry me tonight.”
Alex barked out a laugh. “That was a joke.”
“Then why repeat it in front of everyone?”
His smile tightened. “Because it was funny.”
“To you.”
He looked her up and down, the gray uniform, the simple shoes, the tray still balanced in her hands.
“Fine,” he said carelessly. “You want my word? You have it. If you walk in there and make that room lose its mind, I’ll kneel in front of everyone and ask you to marry me.”
The waitress did not blink.
“Say it clearly.”
Alex smirked. “If you can really dance, I’ll propose to you tonight.”
“And Vivian?”
His mouth curved. “I’ll dump her.”
The waitress nodded once.
Then, almost gently, she smiled.
“I accept.”
Something in that smile unsettled him.
Only for a second.
Then Alex pushed the feeling away.
He thought he had just bought entertainment.
He thought he had won.
He thought the young woman in gray had accepted humiliation because the money was too much to refuse.
He was wrong about all of it.
Ten minutes later, the ballroom lights dimmed.
The music softened.
A ripple moved through the crowd as the golden double doors at the far end opened.
Alex turned lazily, expecting perhaps a performer, perhaps a surprise guest, perhaps some dramatic entrance arranged by the Whitmore family to impress donors.
Then he saw her.
And his glass nearly slipped from his hand.
The waitress was gone.
In her place stood a woman in red.
A breathtaking crimson evening gown flowed around her body like fire poured over silk. The fabric caught the chandelier light with every step. Her shoulders were bare. Her hair, no longer tied back, fell in dark waves against her skin. Around her throat rested a delicate ruby necklace that looked older than everyone in the room.
She did not walk like a servant.
She walked like an answer.
The ballroom changed.
Conversations died one by one. Laughter vanished. Phones rose, but no one spoke. Even the musicians faltered, their bows hovering above strings.
Vivian’s fingers tightened around Alex’s sleeve.
“Who is that?” she whispered.
Alex could not answer.
Because the woman in red was walking directly toward him.