Chapter 7 7

Three days later, Boone Manor was a fortress of light. Limousines lined the driveway like a parade of shining beetles.

Elaina stood in front of the full-length mirror.

She was wearing a dress she had found in the back of a vintage store in SoHo. It was black velvet, long-sleeved, with a high neck and a deep, plunging back. It was severe, elegant, and timeless. She had spent two nights tailoring it herself, pricking her fingers until they bled to get the fit perfect.

She wore no jewelry except for simple pearl studs. Her hair was swept up in a loose, sophisticated chignon.

The door opened. Cordero walked in. He was adjusting his cufflinks. He stopped when he saw her.

For a second, the room was silent.

He looked her up and down. There was no sneer. No mockery. Just a blank, stunned appraisal.

"You're ready," he said. It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes."

He held out his arm. "Let's get this over with. Try not to embarrass me."

"I'll do my best," she said dryly.

She slipped her hand through the crook of his arm. The contact was electric. Even through the layers of fabric-her velvet, his wool suit-she felt the heat of his skin. Her heart skipped a beat, betraying her. She hated that her body still reacted to him.

They walked down the stairs. The ballroom was packed. The air smelled of expensive perfume and lilies.

As they entered, heads turned. The whispers started.

"Is that the foster girl?"

"She looks... decent."

"Where are the sequins?"

They navigated the crowd. Suddenly, a wall of floral perfume blocked their path.

Joanna Olsen, Amanda's mother, stood there. She was wearing a dress that looked like it was made of gold foil. She held a martini glass dangerously tilted.

"Well, well," Joanna sneered, her eyes raking over Elaina. "Cordero, you brought the charity case. And look at that dress. Black? For a birthday? It looks like you're going to a funeral. Is it second-hand? It smells like mothballs."

A few women nearby tittered behind their fans.

Cordero stiffened. His jaw clenched. He opened his mouth to speak, to defend the family name if not her.

Elaina squeezed his arm gently, stopping him.

She smiled at Joanna. It was a radiant, terrifying smile.

"Actually, Joanna, black is the color of elegance in every fashion capital from Paris to Milan. Vogue just did a whole spread on the return of gothic minimalism." She paused, letting her eyes drift over Joanna's shiny, crinkled gold dress. "But I love your dress. It's so... festive. You look exactly like a Ferrero Rocher wrapper. It makes me want to unwrap you and see if there's a nut inside."

Someone choked on their drink. A ripple of laughter spread through the circle.

Joanna's face turned a violent shade of beet red. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish.

Cordero looked down at Elaina. The corner of his mouth twitched. He looked like he was fighting a smile.

"Excuse us," Elaina said politely. She steered Cordero away, leaving Joanna fuming in her gold foil.

"Ferrero Rocher?" Cordero murmured, leaning closer to her ear.

"It was the kindest thing I could think of," Elaina whispered back.

Just then, a hush fell over the room.

The double doors opened. Amanda made her entrance.

She was flanked by two assistants carrying a massive, flat box wrapped in white silk. She was wearing a white ballgown that looked like a wedding dress.

She walked straight toward Mrs. Boone, who was holding court near the orchestra.

"Happy Birthday, Mother Boone!" Amanda cried out, her voice projecting to the back of the room.

Elaina tightened her grip on Cordero's arm.

"Watch this," she said softly.