Chapter 4 The engagement party

ANNA'S POINT OF VIEW

Perched atop the staircase, I surveyed the gathering space below. Perfection greets my eyes: a champagne tower, chocolate fountains, the elegantly adorned cake, streamers, and balloons dancing in the air.

A swell of pride fills me; this entire affair was my creation, orchestrated in mere hours. The early arrivals mingle below, among them Rose, already resplendent in her crimson knee-length dress. I alone remain unadorned, choosing instead to seek solace in the garden's embrace before the evening unfolds. Today has been a whirlwind of activity.

Stepping into the tranquility of the evening, I am greeted not by solitude but by a figure sculpted from celestial dreams. Stephen stands before me, the epitome of elegance in a tailored black suit, his hair a testament to meticulous grooming, his skin aglow under the moon's caress. And his scent - oh, that divine scent - wafts through the air, a fragrant benediction.

"Hey, pretty boy," I called out, approaching him by the pool's reflective waters.

"Hey," he replies, a tentative smile gracing his lips.

"What brings you out here? The festivities commence in forty minutes," I say with a light laugh.

"I might pose the same query to you, but I anticipated your presence. There is a matter I wish to discuss, a certain... arrangement post-nuptials. It seems every married man requires a mistress," he remarks, a playful smirk playing upon his lips.

"Well, you better pay me. "I tease.

"I am only joking, but you still owe me," I say with a smirk.

"Clearly, even being among the top designers in the world isn't enough to afford the parade of Chanel bags you flaunted on the street earlier," I comment, one eyebrow arched.

"Paparazzi," he simply states.

"That explains it," I chuckle in understanding.

"So, is that a yes or no?"

"Be quiet," I retort, giving him a playful shove.

"You really outdid yourself with the party," he compliments, nudging me with his shoulder.

"Thanks," I respond, laughter bubbling up. A serene quietness envelops us. "Anna" he finally speaks, breaking the silence.

"Yes?" I reply, my gaze fixed on the heavens.

"Do you actually find me pretty?" he asks, a hint of confusion in his voice.

"Excuse me?" I turn to face him, puzzled.

"You called me 'pretty boy' when you stepped out here," he reminds me, and I can't help but laugh.

"Steph-"

"Actually, I do," I admit with a soft smile. "You are more than just a 'pretty boy,' you know."

He looks at me, a mix of surprise and something else - a vulnerability he rarely shows.

"I... I was not fishing for compliments, but that's good to know," he says, his voice trailing off.

I nudge him gently, "I am aware. But sometimes, even the most confident need to hear it."

The moonlight casts a gentle glow on his face, highlighting his features.

He turns to face me fully, his eyes searching mine. "Anna, there is something I have been meaning to tell you," he starts, his tone serious.

I feel a flutter of anticipation. "What is it?"

He takes a deep breath, "I have been doing a lot of thinking, and I-"

Suddenly, the distant sound of music and laughter from the party we left behind reaches us, reminding us of the world waiting beyond our quiet spot. He shakes his head, as if to clear it, and offers me a lopsided grin.

"Never mind, it can wait. Tonight is about celebrating, right?"

I nod, though a part of me is curious about what he was going to say.

"Right," I agree, and together, we head back towards the celebration, the question lingering unspoken between us

"Stephen, I'm off to prepare," I say with a light laugh, making my way to one of the guest rooms

"I chuckle walking away. I walk to one of the guest rooms. I take a quick shower, slip into my strapless, black dress with a slit going down the left leg. It was long and fit perfectly around my waist. My hair was in loose curls, I did some make-up and grabbed my black heels. One final look in the mirror and I was out the door.

I stand on top of the staircase as I look down at all the people in the room. There were a lot of people. Seeing that Stephen was the most famous billionaire in New York and Olivia was a pretty well-known model, the wedding and every event included were going to be filled with people.

"You look beautiful, Anna." I see Chris standing at the end of the staircase in a black suit, hair styled and looking handsome as ever. Who knew a doctor could be that cute? Besides from being a doctor, he modeled now and then, when his mom forced him to.

"Thank you, Chris." I chuckle as he walks up the steps.When he reaches the top he extends his hand out for me. I gladly take it as we walked down the staircase.

"Do you have a date?" he inquired.

"Not at all," I replied, with a distinct pop of the 'p'.

"Likewise. I suspect she stood me up to avoid the paparazzi," he sighed heavily.

"Who is she?" I probed, scanning the room.

"A colleague. Things were fine until she discovered my Instagram and realized my identity."

"That is unfortunate, Chrisy," I sympathized, using his affectionate nickname.

"Do not fret, she will come around," I reassured him, though I was not sure why I felt so certain this time would be different for him.

"Anna, my dear, you are stunning," my mother exclaimed, embracing me warmly.

"Hello, Mom. Thanks, you look beautiful as well. Where's Dad?" I asked, hopeful.

"He is in Mexico, but he will return tomorrow," she informed me, causing my smile to fade. Dad's presence was scarce; his career as an artist always took precedence over family time.

"Hey, sis," a familiar voice called out. I turned to find my 'little' brother, who was not so little anymore, towering over me with a newfound depth to his voice.

"What exactly are you feeding Eric?" I joked with Mom, who just chuckled in response.

"He claims I do not cook," mom teased, earning a playful grin from me"

"Though, I will admit, Roda handles most of it," I conceded, referring to our housekeeper.

"It is about cooking, not parenting," Eric muttered under his breath as Mom drifted away to mingle with an actress.

"Where is Skylar?" I wondered aloud.

"Right here," came a voice, and my younger sister approached. I needed to stop thinking of them as 'the little ones' – they had grown up too fast, and it tugged at my heartstrings.

"Hey," I greeted her with a tight hug.

"Anna, you should visit more often, it's dreadfully dull without you," she pleaded.

"I am aware, and I am sorry, Kid. My new fashion line has been consuming all my time," I apologized, feeling a pang of guilt for leaving her to fend for herself in a home where our mother was too preoccupied with her own affairs to care for us properly.

The atmosphere shifted, and I sensed a familiar presence. Turning around, I locked eyes with the striking blue-green gaze of Stephen King

"Stephen"

"You are a vision, Anna" he murmured, causing an involuntary blush to spread across my cheeks.

"Thank you," I managed, my laughter betraying my flustered state.

"Anna could be a top-tier event planner with her skills," Rose commented, admiring the surroundings.

"Annabelle Jones Event Planners," Chris chimed in, complete with theatrical jazz hands.

"Be quiet," I retorted, unable to suppress a giggle as I playfully hit him.

"There he is!" Olivia's unmistakable voice rang out.

We all turned to see her arriving, hand in hand with her father, donning a knee-length gold dress that shimmered elegantly. She was undeniably attractive, possessing the kind of beauty many envied.

"Stephen" Mr. Fallon greeted, shaking hands with him.

"Anna, Chris, Rose," he acknowledged us with a nod.

"The photographers are ready to take some shots with Olivia and phen," he announced, oblivious to Stephen's discomfort with the nickname.

"Stephen," he corrected firmly, meeting Stephen's eyes with a pointed look.

They continued to snap a multitude of photos.

An overwhelming number of photos, to be precise. Observing them only intensified my discomfort, prompting me to politely excuse myself and engage with others. I conversed with numerous designers, models, actresses, and other notable figures. Feeling it was time, I decided to indulge in a glass of champagne.

Mid-sip, I nearly sputtered as a voice from behind caught me off guard.

"Hi Baby doll," it sneered, causing me to inwardly recoil.

Trey Morgan. My ex. The mere thought of facing him threatened to make me nauseous.

Why was he even here?

"What are you doing here?" I questioned, not bothering to look back.

"Are you not missing my charming face?" His laughter was tinged with mockery.

"Trey, you need to leave," I demanded, my voice tense with frustration.

He edged closer, and in an attempt to maintain distance, I inadvertently backed myself into a corner between him and the wall.

"Turn around, sweetheart." I hoped our exchange wasn't disrupting the event.

Reluctantly, I faced the repulsive visage that had tormented my dreams for the past year. He positioned his hand against the wall, effectively blocking any escape.

"Please, no more harm. You've caused enough," I whispered, fighting back tears.

Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

"Morgan, back off now," it commanded with authority.