Chapter 10: Under The Ballroom Chandeliers
The downtown hotel ballroom smelled of expensive perfume, damp winter coats checked at the heavy oak doors, and the faint, unmistakable scent of white lilies banked around the stage. Flashing camera strobes flickered against the mirrored pillars like lightning behind glass. I kept my chin up, my posture straight inside the emerald silk gown I had chosen myself, but the heat of a hundred curious eyes pressed against my skin.
Julian’s hand was warm and solid at my elbow. His thumb brushed a steady, rhythmic pattern against my inner arm—a silent anchor meant only for me, hidden beneath the grand sweep of my skirt as we navigated the sea of tuxedoed men and glittering women.
"Smile, Ana," Julian murmured, his lips barely moving as a flashbulb popped to our left. His voice was low, devoid of the cold command he used in boardrooms, carrying instead that new, guarded protectiveness that had grown between us since the clinic. "You look extraordinary. Let them look."
"They aren't looking at the foundation's annual report, Julian," I murmured back, keeping my gaze fixed on the mahogany doors at the far end of the ballroom. "They're looking for the cracks."
"Let them search."
Before we could reach the perimeter of the room where the quieter tables sat, Richard Vance intercepted us. Richard sat on the executive board of Julian’s foundation, a man whose tailored suits always looked slightly too tight across his thick chest, as if his ambitions were constantly straining his seams. His smile was wide and entirely devoid of warmth.
"Julian. And Ana. My word, we thought you’d abandoned the circuit entirely," Richard said, his voice carrying just enough projection to draw the ears of a nearby reporter from the city’s financial gazette. "Between your sudden withdrawal from the spring acquisitions committee and your mysterious schedule adjustments these past few weeks, people were starting to wonder if the great architect of downtown was finally taking a vacation."
Julian didn't flinch. He didn't drop his hand from my elbow. Instead, he shifted his weight slightly, angling his body to form a subtle, impenetrable barrier between Richard and me.
"The foundation’s projects are fully funded, Richard, and the development pipeline is locked through the third quarter," Julian said, his tone dropping into that flat, dangerous register that always signaled the end of a debate. "If my absence from three committee lunches caused you anxiety, I can arrange for my legal counsel to brief you on operational continuity tomorrow morning."
Richard’s smile flickered, his eyes darting briefly to me before returning to Julian’s unblinking gaze. The passive-aggressive barb had missed its mark, swallowed up by Julian’s absolute refusal to take the bait or expose any vulnerability in public.
"No briefing necessary, of course. Just concerned about the momentum," Richard recovered smoothly, though a faint sheen of sweat appeared on his upper lip. "It’s a demanding city. Takes a toll on everyone."
May you like
"It does," Julian agreed quietly. "Which is why efficiency is everything. Excuse us, Richard. My wife needs to sit."
The word wife hung in the heavy ballroom air, spoken with such casual, unassailable finality that Richard actually stepped back, blinking in surprise. Julian didn't wait for a reply. He guided me past the knot of donors and socialites, steering us away from the glare of the center stage toward a quieter, dimly lit corridor that bypassed the main crush of the crowd. The noise of the orchestra faded into a dull, rhythmic thrum against the polished marble floor. My breath hitched, a sudden wave of dizziness catching up with me under the weight of the lights and the scrutiny. Julian felt the slight sway in my step instantly; his arm tightened around my waist, lifting me past the threshold of the main room and into the relative peace of the side hall.
