Chapter 5 Charity Gala

Amira

The morning after the wedding, I woke to sunlight streaming through windows I had forgotten to close. For a moment, I lay there, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings of my suite in Lucien's penthouse.

My wedding ring felt strange and heavy on my finger-a constant reminder of the contract I had signed.

My phone buzzed with a text from Jace: How's married life?

I smiled despite myself. Glamorous. I slept alone in a room bigger than our apartment.

Tough life, sis, he responded with a laughing emoji.

I was about to reply when a knock sounded at my door. Ms. Chen entered without waiting for an answer, tablet in hand.

"Good morning, Mrs. Devereux," she said crisply. "Your schedule today."

"My schedule?" I sat up, pulling the blankets around me. "I wasn't aware I had one."

Ms. Chen's expression didn't change. "As Mrs. Lucien Devereux, you have responsibilities. The first being a breakfast meeting with the board members' wives at La Maison in one hour."

"I'm having breakfast with strangers?" I ran a hand through my tangled hair. "Why wasn't I told about this yesterday?"

"Mr. Devereux approved it last night. The car will be waiting in forty-five minutes." She placed the tablet on my bedside table. "Your complete schedule is here. The blue dress in your closet would be appropriate for today's events."

Before I could protest further, she was gone, leaving me staring at the tablet. I picked it up, scanning the day's agenda with growing disbelief. Breakfast with board wives. Lunch with Devereux Foundation donors. Afternoon tea with the Symphony committee. A dress fitting for the charity gala tomorrow night.

This wasn't part of our agreement. I had expected to be window dressing at important events, not to have my entire day scheduled without my knowledge or consent.

I grabbed my phone, typing out a message to Lucien: Did you know about today's schedule?

His response came almost instantly: Yes. Part of the deal. Public appearances as my wife.

All day, every day? I typed back.

Just the important ones. Vincent insisted. Sorry.

I doubted he was actually sorry, but at least he'd responded. With a sigh, I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower. If I was going to face a day of socializing with New York's elite, I needed to look the part.

The blue dress Ms. Chen had recommended hung in my closet-a simple but elegant shift that probably cost more than a month's rent at my old apartment. I dressed quickly, did my makeup, and swept my hair into a neat bun. The reflection in the mirror looked almost sophisticated enough to pass for a Devereux.

"Game face on," I muttered to myself, grabbing my purse and heading for the elevator.

The driver was waiting as promised, holding the door of a sleek black car. "Good morning, Mrs. Devereux," he said with a slight bow.

The title still sounded foreign to my ears. "Good morning," I replied, sliding into the backseat.

La Maison was an exclusive French restaurant in the Upper East Side, the kind of place where reservations were made months in advance and the prices weren't listed on the menu. As I walked in, a group of impeccably dressed women turned to stare at me-seven pairs of critical eyes assessing everything from my hair to my shoes.

"Amira, darling!" A woman rose from the table, arms outstretched. It took me a moment to recognize Marguerite Devereux, Lucien's aunt. Today she wore a crisp white suit that set off her silver-streaked dark hair. "Ladies, this is my new niece-in-law, Amira Devereux."

I smiled, trying to project confidence I didn't feel. "Thank you for inviting me."

"We insisted," said a woman with steel-gray hair and a pearl necklace. "I'm Eleanor Blackwood. My husband sits on the board with Lucien."

One by one, they introduced themselves-wives of board members, old money matriarchs, women who had navigated the waters of New York high society for decades. I did my best to remember names and connections, grateful for the social skills I'd developed as a law student.

"We were just discussing the gala tomorrow," Marguerite said, gesturing for me to sit beside her. "Your first official appearance as Mrs. Devereux."

"I'm looking forward to it," I lied, accepting a cup of coffee from a hovering waiter.

"It's for a good cause," Eleanor said. "The Children's Hospital has been a Devereux family project for generations."

The conversation flowed around me-discussions of seating arrangements, silent auction items, and the guest list. I nodded in all the right places, listening carefully for any mention of my father or his connection to the Devereux family.

"And of course," a younger woman named Stephanie said, "everyone's curious about Lucien's mysterious new bride. The tabloids are already speculating."

"Speculating?" I asked, trying to keep my voice casual.

"About why Lucien Devereux, New York's most eligible bachelor, suddenly married a complete unknown." Stephanie's smile was sharp. "No offense, dear."

"None taken," I replied, matching her smile with one of my own. "I'm sure it's confusing for people who don't know us."

"How did you meet?" asked another woman, leaning forward eagerly.

I had rehearsed this story with Ms. Chen. "Through mutual friends," I said smoothly. "We kept it private. Lucien values his privacy."

"And yet he married someone with no social connections, no family background, no-"

"Stephanie," Marguerite cut in, her voice sharp. "That's enough. Amira is family now."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the table. I took a sip of my coffee, gathering my thoughts.

"It's a fair question," I said finally. "I'm not from your world. I don't have the right connections or background. But Lucien and I understand each other. Sometimes that's enough."

Eleanor nodded slowly. "Well said, my dear. Now, about the seating for tomorrow night..."

The rest of breakfast passed in a blur of social niceties and veiled questions. By the time I escaped to the car for my next appointment, my head was pounding with the effort of keeping up appearances.

"How was breakfast?" the driver asked as he pulled into traffic.

"Educational," I replied, leaning back against the leather seat. "Very educational."

Lunch with the Devereux Foundation donors was marginally better. At least there, the focus was on charitable work rather than my background. I spoke about my interest in education for underprivileged children, drawing on my own experiences growing up in a struggling neighborhood. To my surprise, several of the donors seemed genuinely interested in my perspective.

"You have good instincts," said an older man named Howard as we parted. "The foundation could use fresh eyes."

I was still thinking about his words during the afternoon tea with the Symphony committee-another collection of wealthy women who seemed to have unlimited time for social events. This time, I was prepared for the scrutiny and deflected personal questions with practiced ease.

By the time I returned to the penthouse, I was exhausted from the constant performance. I kicked off my heels in the foyer, ready to collapse on my bed for an hour before my dress fitting.

"Rough day?" a deep voice asked.

I looked up to find Lucien leaning against the doorway to the living room, jacket off, tie loosened. He looked as tired as I felt.

"You could have warned me," I said, not bothering to hide my irritation. "Three social events in one day? Is this what you expect every day?"

"Not every day," he replied, running a hand through his hair. "Just until they get used to you."

"Get used to me? Like I'm some exotic new pet?"

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Welcome to my world, Amira. It's all a performance."

I sighed, too tired to argue. "Is there anything else I should know about? Any other surprises waiting for me tomorrow?"

"Just the gala." He straightened, his expression turning serious. "It's important. The board will be there, major investors, press. We need to look..."

"In love?" I supplied.

"Convincing," he corrected. "I've arranged for a car to take you to the dress fitting. Marguerite will meet you there."

"Your aunt has been unexpectedly helpful," I said, studying his reaction.

Something flickered in his eyes. "Marguerite has her own agenda. Always has."

"And what's your agenda, Lucien? Besides keeping control of your company?"

He looked at me for a long moment, his blue eyes unreadable. "Get some rest before your fitting," he said finally. "Tomorrow will be demanding."

Before I could press further, he turned and walked away, disappearing down the hallway to his office. I watched him go, frustrated by his evasiveness but too tired to pursue it.

The dress fitting was mercifully brief. Marguerite had already selected a gown-a stunning emerald green silk that complemented my olive skin and dark hair. As the seamstress made final adjustments, Marguerite circled me critically.

"You'll do," she said finally. "But you need to work on your confidence. These people smell fear."

"I'm not afraid of them," I replied, meeting her gaze in the mirror. "I just don't understand all the rules yet."

"The rules are simple. Appear perfect. Support your husband. Never show vulnerability." She adjusted a pin in the dress. "And find out who your real enemies are before they find you."

"Is that what you did?" I asked.

Her lips curved in a humorless smile. "I married into this family when I was younger than you. I learned quickly that appearances matter more than truth."

"And is that why you're helping me? Because of appearances?"

"I'm helping you because Lucien needs you, whether he realizes it or not." She stepped back, examining the dress. "And because I recognize a fighter when I see one."

When I returned to the penthouse, a small package waited outside my door. Inside was a velvet jewelry box containing a pair of emerald earrings that matched my dress perfectly. The note simply read: For tomorrow. - L

I ran my fingers over the sparkling stones, wondering about the gesture. Was it part of the performance? Or something more?

Sleep came easily that night, my body exhausted from the day's social marathon. But my dreams were restless, filled with faceless people watching me, judging me, waiting for me to make a mistake.