Chapter 10 - The Winter Gala
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Two weeks passed in a blur of surreal luxury and military discipline.
Vivien’s life had been completely severed from the small, quiet routine of Botanica Lux.
Sarah had been given full management of the flower shop, backed by an anonymous commercial grant that doubled the store's inventory and paid for two new delivery vans.
Daniel was thriving in the east wing study, his grades soaring now that the shadow of prison had been lifted from his shoulders.
Yet Vivien lived in a state of suspended animation.
She shared the third floor with Sebastian Cross, sleeping in a massive master suite separated from his private office by a single set of locked pocket doors.
They rarely spoke during the day; Sebastian was gone before dawn, managing his shipping empire, meeting with city commissioners, and coordinating with federal prosecutors.
Every evening, however, they dined together at eight o’clock sharp.
They sat at opposite ends of a twenty-foot mahogany table, eating meals prepared by a private French chef while classical cello music drifted from hidden speakers.
Sebastian asked about her day; she asked about the port.
It was polite, distant, and charged with an underlying current of unspoken tension that grew heavier with every passing night.
On the second Friday of December, the city held its annual Civic Heritage Gala at the Palmer House Hilton.
It was the premier social gathering of the year, attended by the governor, the mayor, federal judges, and the city’s top corporate titans.
At six o’clock, a team of three stylists arrived at the estate with garment bags bearing the crest of a Parisian fashion house.
By seven-thirty, Vivien stood in front of the full-length gilded mirror in the library.
She wore a floor-length gown of midnight-blue velvet, the neckline dipping into an elegant off-the-shoulder cut that exposed her collarbones.
Her dark hair was pinned up in an intricate chignon, held by diamond hairpins that matched the emerald-cut ring on her finger.
She looked like an empress.
The library door clicked open, and Sebastian walked in.
He stopped in the center of the Persian rug, his amber eyes scanning her from head to toe with an intensity that made the air evaporate from her lungs.
He wore a custom black tuxedo with silk grosgrain lapels, looking impossibly broad, dark, and lethal.
“You look extraordinary, Vivien,” he said, his voice dropping into that deep, gravelly register that made her pulse flutter.
It was the first time he had used her first name without the formal prefix.
“I feel like an imposter,” she admitted, looking down at the velvet folds of her gown.
“You are not an imposter,” Sebastian said, walking across the room until he stood directly behind her in the mirror’s reflection.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy platinum necklace dripping with pear-cut sapphires and diamonds.
He lifted his arms, draping the cold metal against the warm skin of her throat.
His fingers brushed against the nape of her neck, sending a shiver cascading down her spine.
“Tonight, the city’s elite will try to test you,” Sebastian murmured against her ear, fastening the clasp with practiced ease.
“They will look for cracks in your composure.”
“They will wonder how an orphaned florist from Lincoln Park captured the head of the Cross family.”
Vivien turned in his arms, her hands coming to rest against the crisp linen of his tuxedo shirt.
“What should I tell them?” she whispered, looking up into his golden-brown eyes.
Sebastian looked down at her lips, his gaze darkening with something far more dangerous than business.
May you like
“Tell them,” he said softly, his hand coming up to cup the side of her jaw,
“that I am the one who was captured.”
