The Unveiling (Work of Art #2) (13 page)

Riley regards me with a steely resolve and nods, assuring me that if Jonathan’s played me, she’ll be right by my side ready to take the bastard down.
Mission accomplished.

Deceiving others. That is what the world calls a romance.

~ Oscar Wilde

“Y
ou said Jonathan’s on a plane, right?” Riley asks, as we drive to the salon.

“He usually takes the later flights from New York.”

“So, you probably won’t hear from him until late at best. This is a conversation you need to have in person. It’s good that you’re supposed to see him tomorrow.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have left that message.” My stomach churns with renewed vigor.

“The message didn’t give anything away. But you need to figure out a way to get your mind off it until then. As I said earlier, there’s a good chance he isn’t married, and if that’s the case, you don’t want to make yourself sick and ruin your whole evening.”

Damn,
I’d managed to push tonight’s event out of my head. It’s the last thing I want to do now. I plot ways to get out of going, but the anger sets in. Riley’s right. Why should I let this potential mess ruin my evening? I pull myself up by my bootstraps. I’m going to have a good time tonight if it’s the last thing I do. I can face the real or imagined firestorm tomorrow.

Luckily, my dashing hairdresser, Leo, is a sympathetic ear, and between his pampering nature and colorful stories, the ghost of Jonathan’s ex-wife or wife begins to evaporate in the blow-dried air. Leo is a cross between Vidal Sassoon and the character Warren Beatty played in the movie
Shampoo
. He’s very British and ambitious, but most importantly, he loves…and I mean
loves
women.

He gives me a sexy Lana Turner style with a deep side part and soft waves falling around my face and shoulders. He growls softly as he holds up the mirror for my final review.

“You are gorgeous, Ava!”

God, I love this man
.

By the time we leave, I’m feeling two-hundred-percent better.

Riley and I have never gone to this type of event together, so when we get home, the bonding over grooming becomes an event in itself. We lay out our dresses and accessories, then apply our makeup. By the time we zip each other up in our gowns, we look pretty damn good. Riley helps me put on the diamond pendant necklace and earrings Katherine loaned me for the evening.

I do a final check in the full-length mirror. Katherine’s vintage Valentino dress fits me like a glove. It’s a shade of claret, not quite burgundy, with a band of tiny glass beads wrapping around my torso at the bust and waistline. The back is cut low, and the bottom half is a gathering of the lightest, most fluid chiffon. As I move around the apartment, it swirls at my feet.

Riley opens the front door when we hear a knock. Dylan smiles, looking very handsome in his tux.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says gently, as he moves toward Riley with that look in his eyes. “You’re breathtaking.”

“So are you,” she replies, as he wraps his arms around her and kisses her gently. When he releases her, she twirls around.

“Do you like the dress? Ava found it for me.”

“It’s perfect,” he says, smiling.

Riley gestures to me. “Doesn’t Ava look great?”

“Hey, Ava. You look really nice. I didn’t mean to ignore you, but you know I only have eyes for my baby.”

I smile. “As it should be. I’m ready when you guys are.”

“Shall we?” Dylan gestures to the door. Riley and I grab our evening clutches and wraps and step outside. On the porch, Riley stops and gives me a hug.

“What’s that for?”

“I’m really proud of you for coming…and you look fantastic, by the way.”

“Gee, thanks. I’m proud of me too, but you can bet I’m going to start Googling Jonathan and his ex as soon as we get home from this shindig. Meanwhile, I’m going to do my best to push it out of my mind and have a good time.”

During the drive to Pasadena, Dylan receives a text and has Riley read it.

“It’s from Max…
painting’s on its way
. What does that mean?”

“Every year, Max gives us a painting to raise money for our charity. It’s always one of the highlights of the auction. Anyway, when he went to the framer to pick up the piece earlier, they had scratched the painting, so he had to repair it. Ideally, it should’ve been here hours ago.”

“Here he was doing such a nice thing, and it’s turned into a hassle.” Riley frowns.

“Exactly. I have to hand it to him, though. He always comes through with the art for this fundraiser, so I’m not going to complain if it’s a little late.”

Dylan pulls off at the first exit in Pasadena and drives into the elite neighborhood of San Marino, which is one of the wealthiest areas of Los Angeles. The homes are older and quite grand, and set on huge pieces of property by L.A. standards. We pull up to the valet, and I just begin to realize the magnitude of Dylan’s parents’ wealth and why it intimidates Riley.

The sprawling Mediterranean estate has a grand entrance, huge picture windows trimmed with hand-painted Italian tile, and carved wooden Juliet balconies off several of the upstairs rooms.

I give Riley a squeeze as we walk to the reception area under the portico.

She gives me a wide-eyed look. “I know…crazy, huh?”

The front lawn leading up to the house is the size of a football field, every inch of the property is meticulously landscaped, and almost every tree is decorated with twinkling white lights.

After Dylan checks us in, we follow the other guests to the back patio. There’s a huge rolling lawn with a pool lit dramatically and a fountain on the far end. The tennis court on the right will serve as the dance floor and stage for the band scheduled to play later. There’s also a massive patio dotted with Italian-style pots filled with flowers and miniature fruit trees that run from one end of the house to the other. Besides the various sitting areas, including an outside living room complete with fireplace, dozens of tables with chairs and several bars have been arranged for the event. Live music from the jazz quartet floats past us.

Dylan detours to the bar to get our drinks, as Riley and I wander around the tiled patio, trying to corner the waiters with the trays of fancy hors d’oeuvres. We score an eggplant-gorgonzola crostini, two bacon wrapped scallops, and a mushroom stuffed with sausage and Romano cheese before Dylan finally returns with our drinks.

“Where were you?” Riley asks a bit indignantly.

“I can’t go more than ten feet here without running into someone I know. Let’s just stay together from now on. That way, I can introduce you to everyone. There are a lot of family friends here.”

I can’t tell if Riley is happy about the idea or not, until three good-looking young men in tuxedos stop to say hello to Dylan. She looks newly inspired. Evidently, they all went to private school together, and Dylan introduces Richard, Davis and a tall Swede named Rodger. They’re all clever and charming, and before I know it, they’re all gathered around Riley and laughing as she tells stories about Dylan. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I was standing in the middle of a Ralph Lauren advertisement.

As Riley continues, I notice Rodger checking me out, but just as he turns to me and starts to ask me something, Davis interrupts.

“Who let him in?” he says loudly, looking off into the distance.

I follow his gaze, and my heart skips a beat when I see Max in his leather jacket and paint-splattered jeans moving toward us with a framed painting in his arms. His jaw is locked and his expression angry as he fixes his glare on the tall Swede, who’s still trying to get my attention. By the time he reaches us, the group stops talking and there’s an awkward moment.

“Great…the painting,” Dylan says, as he takes the artwork from Max’s hands. “Hey guys, this is Max.”

The men don’t acknowledge each other—not that I’m surprised.

Dylan shakes his head. “Man, I didn’t know
you
were going drive it all the way out here. You should’ve let me know. I would’ve had someone come get it.”

“It’s all right,” Max says, as he glances my way, his gaze moving over me—the dress, the makeup, the hair. He finally meets my stare, and his face is flushed and his gaze intense.

He glares at the Swede and clenches his fists. I can feel his anger rising like steam from a boiling kettle. Rodger takes a step back.

“I’m going to take it over to the auction area,” Dylan says, and Riley turns to join him.

“Hey, Max, thanks a lot for bringing it all the way over here. You know it’s going to raise a lot of money tonight.”

Max is still looking at me as he nods.

He moves closer, and the Ralph Lauren boys take the hint and move to the bar.

“Damn, Ava, you look gorgeous,” he says in a low voice.

“Thanks.” I didn’t realize how much his reaction meant to me until that moment.

“I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I didn’t expect to see you either,” I say with a smile.

Suddenly, his eyes get very dark and he looks around. “Who are you here with? Did you come with Jonathan?”

“No, I’m dateless. I came with Riley and Dylan. Why don’t you stay? I’d really like to dance tonight.” I gesture to the tennis court where the band’s setting up on stage.

He shakes his head, waving his hand up from his old jeans to his leather jacket. “I don’t think I’m dressed appropriately. Not that I care, but Dylan’s parents would be horrified.”

“Okay, I’ll just have to find some other good-looking young man to dance with,” I tease him, and I take a step toward Rodger, who’s still watching me from the nearby bar.

He grabs my wrist and pulls me back gently, but his eyes are stormy. “Well, maybe I should stay for a while.”

“Oh, good…besides, you’re an artist contributing to their event, so you can get away with this look.”

He shrugs and jams his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.

I step closer, grab the collar of his jacket and kiss him on the cheek. “My night just got a whole lot better.”

He takes a deep breath and the corners of his lips turn up. “Are you flirting with me?”

But before I can answer, a waiter distracts us, offering us a selection from a tray of brie and mango quesadillas. After we each take a piece, Max tells me about the fiasco with the framer and how the painting almost didn’t make the event.

A couple of minutes later, Riley and Dylan rejoin us. “Doesn’t Ava look beautiful?” Riley asks Max. Evidently, tonight she’s my one-woman cheering squad.

“Mmm,” he replies, studying me. “But she’s always beautiful.”

Dylan looks over our heads, searching through the crowd.

“Who are you looking for, babe?” Riley asks.

“I want to say hello to my parents and introduce Ava.” His eyes wander a bit more and then he pauses. “Hey, is that Jonathan over there?”

My stomach curls up, and I pray Dylan’s wrong. I really,
really
don’t want to see Jonathan right now. But I turn around with the others to look.

Since every man but Max is wearing a tux, from a distance it could be easy to misidentify one tall man with sandy-blond hair from another. But even though we only see his profile, Jonathan’s tortoise-shell glasses give him away.

To my great irritation, Riley asks, “Who’s the woman he’s with?”

I guess she can’t help herself, knowing what she does about my situation.

We all continue to stare now, examining the middle-aged woman with her arm linked with his. She’s facing our direction, and I get a clear view. Attractive, although not overtly so, she’s gazing warmly at Jonathan. Despite looking a bit frail, she’s elegantly dressed in a black strapless dress with a short beaded jacket, and even from this distance, I see a very large diamond on her ring finger. It’s the materialization of my worst nightmare and I feel myself float out of my body and hover just over the scene.

The woman looks up, scans our group, and furrows her brow. But when she sees me, her expression clouds over.

My breath is shallow and I can’t feel my hands or feet.

Riley quickly steps in front of me, blocking my view. “Dylan, could you show us the auction items inside?” she asks, her voice slightly edged with panic. She gives him a push and he turns toward the house. Max frowns and slips his arm around my waist as we follow them. He watches me carefully. Does he sense that something’s very wrong?

We walk into the great room, which is devoid of furniture to act as the auction viewing room. Everything swirls in slow motion. Even the sounds blend together in a cacophony.

Riley chatters nonstop, glancing at me as they examine tables filled with picnic baskets of expensive wine with tickets for Hollywood Bowl box seats, gift certificates for ski trips to Aspen and designer jewelry.

When the woman in charge of the auction asks Dylan for help with an issue, he and Riley turn away for a moment.

Max seizes the opportunity for us to be alone and leads me to the formal living room at the front of the house. This room is huge, like those showplaces in 1940s movies where the couples lounge in evening gowns, having cocktails before dinner. We move toward the sitting area near the massive fireplace. The room’s softly lit by a collection of Murano chandeliers. All the colors surrounding me are muted—burnished silvers, pales blues and beiges—providing a sharp contrast to the panic of red coloring my mind.

“Are you okay?” he asks, gazing at me with concern on his face.

I wonder if I should tell him what’s going on when I sense we’re not alone. I look over to the doorway and there she is…my usher leading me to my front row seat of my personal horror film.

It’s clear the elegant woman with the big ring intends to speak to me.

Fucking A. Ladies and gentleman, the film has started. I hope you have your popcorn and soda already, because you aren’t going to want to miss a minute of this show.

I turn to Max and look him in the eye with the most serious look I’ve ever given him. “Can I have a moment? I need to speak with her.”

He looks over at the woman and then back at me. “Are you sure?”