Wounded Birds (The Grayson Series Book 1) (23 page)

The intercom buzzes and I rush over, giving security permission for Blake and Francis to come up.

While I’m waiting, I pull the drapes closed, turn off all the lights, and grab a gold-beaded shawl to match the attire. The bell rings, and the elevator doors open.

I’m shocked and flabbergasted. “You . . . look amazing! Blake, Francis, you’re remarkable. You are the true Romeo and Juliet,” I gasp, placing my hand over my heart as I curtsy.

Blake and Francis let out loud laughs as they walk into the foyer. “You are the authentic Cleopatra, if not more beautiful, Ariana,” Blake comments.

“You are sweetie,” Francis says. “It’s too bad you didn’t have Mark Antony at your side,” Francis comments. He’s a dentist and stands just a little over five-foot-ten with green eyes and brunette hair, with a slimmer built.

A pang of guilt shoots through me, but I recover quickly. “Hey, remember, Cleopatra had more than one lover. Maybe I’ll find another.” I flash them a devious smile and whisper back, “Don’t you dare tell Michael I even suggested such a thing. I’m kidding,” I say and stare at the floor, missing him and wishing he were here.

“Are you okay, Ariana?” Blake asks, hugging me.

“Guilt. I should have invited Michael to the function like you suggested.” I crinkle my brows.

“Don’t worry, love. He’s been extremely busy with the project in Hong Kong. He might not have been able to accompany you. So don’t worry. Turn your frown upside down, love, and let’s enjoy the evening. You worked really hard to get this going.”

“You’re right; let’s go.”

I rented a limo, which is appropriate for the occasion. I smile to myself, and I’m genuinely looking forward to this night.

I hired several limos to pick up the women from the shelter and hired eight personal assistants to help them get fitted for their costumes.

I called in my girlfriend, who owns a salon, and she and her team of stylists arrived early this morning to cut, shampoo, and style the women’s hair. She had three of her makeup artist come in and make up their faces. They were also treated to manicures and pedicures.

They deserve to be pampered. While the girls are out having the time of their lives, I planned a special night for the kids, a fun-filled Halloween party with costumes, plenty of games, goodies, and tons of ice cream and candy. Yep! They’re going to sleep well tonight. Yeah, right.

“What made you choose the Waldorf Astoria, Ariana?” Francis asks.

“Why not? It’s the perfect, picturesque setting for the fundraiser and a memorable one for all the women, which will last them a lifetime. How often do you think they will get a chance to attend a sophisticated and glittering function such as this?”

“Blake told me all the work, time, and effort you put into this event. You are truly the philanthropist,” Francis says.

I blush because this isn’t something I discuss with anyone. All team members inside and outside of the shelter I hire sign a non-disclosure agreement. I’m not looking for any recognition. I just want to help them back on their feet with an education so that they will be able to stand up for themselves. I hired a trainer, who visits three times a week, to teach them martial arts.

“I didn’t work alone. I had plenty of volunteers, and the staff members all worked together. Plus, everyone deserves all the good things in life, especially excellent health, love, and success.”

“Well, it’s still very generous and noble of you.”

“Thank you,” I say with grace, and I gaze out the window thinking of Michael and a pang of remorse washes over me when an old song by Oleta Adams “Get Here” echoes softly through the speakers.

Chapter 20

The Masquerade Ball

We arrive at the hotel, and we’re escorted through the lobby and lead into the grand ballroom.

The four-story high, two-tiered ballroom is truly majestic. This was a re-creation of the Court Theatre in Versailles.

The room and floral arrangements have been created with whimsical themes from the most famous love stories in history and literature, like Romeo and Juliet, Cleopatra and Mark Antony, Lancelot and Guinevere, Scarlett O’Hara and Rhett Butler, as well as characters in other historical novels.

The room is bursting with the sweet medley of classical tunes played by the orchestra, and then later the band will be kicking it up with the hottest, and maybe some eclectic, music from around the world.

I greet my guest, which are dressed in impressive costumes and thank them for their generous benefactions. Tickets went for five thousand dollars a plate and we will be holding an auction after dinner to raise more money for the shelter.

I catch sight of the women from the shelter walking in with cultivation and confidence, unfolding their inner and outer beauty with elegance and sophistication as they so deserve to do.

I watch their eyes gleam with elation, gazing over the decorated ballroom, swaying to the music. They appear to be nervous with an overflow of excitement. One of them gets a glimpse of me and nudges the others.

They rush over, greeting me with hugs, kisses, and gratification. My eyes fill with tears and heartfelt joy, as do theirs. This is extremely emotional and personal for me. I love these women, and I only want the best for them. As long as I have God and the universe beside me, I know I can accomplish anything in life.

As the guests continue to arrive, everyone is given a Venetian mask to wear for the first two hours. Mine is handcrafted of gold filigree designs with intricate Swarovski crystals, black sequins and feathers. The asymmetrical decoration emphasizes a discreet transition to being a swan
.

I turn my head to see a distinguished-looking man, dressed as none other than Mark Antony, approach me. I gasp and my heart begins to accelerate. It’s Michael! He immediately places a full-sized mask over his face.

How did he know I was here? Trent said he couldn’t get a hold of him and left him a detailed message about the attack.

He strides with an effortless grace, looking all mysterious. The ambiance around him is animated with electricity. He stops to greet one of the guests, who happen to be Jennifer Lopez, a beautiful and stunning woman, and gazes my way. I pretend I don’t recognize him. He advances toward me, stopping about three feet before me and bows his head. He extends his hand, which is concealed by a white glove. “May I have this dance?” He asks.

I feel a lump form in my throat and excitement flows through me. The tone of his voice sounds so like him, yet I sense he’s trying to camouflage it. I play like I’m nervous. I back away, and he takes hold of my hand.

“Do not be frightened. I spent a considerable amount of money just to have this dance with you,” he speaks in a softer tenor. I giggle to myself. He probably thinks I don’t recognize him.

I play along. I hesitate and then take his hand. “I will grant you this one dance,” I offer. “Agreed?”

“Agreed.” He bows his head.

“Prelude”, a piece from one of my favorite stories,
La Traviata
, begins to fill the room with a tender romantic melody. We circle around the ballroom, dancing the waltz with an effortless grace. All eyes are on us. The music transported me to a faraway memory when I danced with my dad at my Sweet Sixteen. I am jolted back to reality by my mysterious dance partner.

“You’re an excellent dancer, Miss DiMarco,” he whispers into my ear, sending shock waves through my system.

The music piece fades and another one blends in from the orchestra.

“Thank you,” I say, and I pull away.

“Just one more dance,” he orders.

“Bossy, aren’t you?” I comment.

“Sometimes,” he says and smiles. “Are you seeing anyone?”

I giggle at his question. He must know by now that I know it’s him. Right? “Con Te Partiro” by Andrea Bocelli echoes throughout the room. He spins me around, and my dress sways in slow circles. He pulls me back, pressing me harder against his chest. My heart rate increases with excitement.

“Yes,” I answer, and he gives me another spin and draws me back.

“What a lucky man,” he murmurs.

“No, I’m the fortunate one,” I say. “I wish he were here.” There’s a short pause, I look into his eyes behind the mask and nuzzle my face near his neck. “Kiss me,” I say with a soft angelic voice into his ear.

The dance comes to an abrupt end. He releases me as if I burnt him, and he removes his mask with haste. “What!” He exclaims out loud. I gasp, pretending to be shocked.

“Michael . . . Oh, my God . . . Michael . . . Gotcha! I knew it was you all along.” I remove my mask, and we gaze into each other’s eyes, and a tear escapes and slides down my cheek.

A broad grin appears across his face. “God, Ariana, I’ve missed you so much.” He gently wipes the lone tear from my face with his gloved thumb, his eyes stare deep into mine with longing and kisses me.

The sounds of laughter, people chatting, glasses clinking, and champagne bottles popping vaporize, leaving Michael and me dancing and kissing, like two wounded birds that reunite after being apart for so long.

I’m lost in the kiss, floating on air, and my heart is beating to a near explosion. He pulls away, and we drift across the floor. He spins me and another spin, and I’m back in his warm, strong arms. I rest my head over his shoulder inhaling his scent and overjoyed he’s back where he belongs . . . with me.

The music ends, and everyone is invited to take their seats for our dinner and auction, but not before the guests give us a grand applause, accompanied with loud whistles, making me blush with embarrassment.

“Michael, how did you know I was here?” I ask with excitement.

I’m startled when I’m grasped from behind and spun around like a rag doll by none other than Blake, and Francis stands right next to him, laughing. “Surprise, girlfriend,” he expresses loudly.

“You told him . . . . You knew all this time, and you let me sulk all-day like a baby.” I pounce on his chest. “I can’t believe this. You little sneak.” I stare at him with tear-filled eyes and then at Michael.

I embrace Blake and squeeze him as hard as I can. I pull away from him and gaze up at his chocolate-brown eyes shimmering with tears. “Thank you, thank you, and thank you.”

I’m abruptly jerked away from Blake’s arms. “Okay, I think that’s enough hugging for my liking,” Michael says with a tad bit of jealousy.

We all burst into fits of laughter. “There was nothing more rewarding than seeing you light up like Times Square when Michael removed his mask. Enjoy the rest of your evening, love.” Blake kisses me on the cheek.

“Did you know it was Michael?” Francis asks, fixing his costume.

“To be honest, yes, the moment he approached me, and I wanted to run into his arms,” I answer.

“I told you she knew it was him all along. You owe me,” Francis says to Blake.

“Yes, Francis, you were right. I lost a bet,” Blake says admitting his lose. He gives me one more kiss and says, “Off you go,” and spins me around, pushing me into Michael’s welcoming embrace.

“Well, Cleopatra, shall we sit? I’ve been looking forward to having a magnificent evening with an extraordinary woman at my side,” Michael murmurs and escorts me to our table.

I go over every detail everyone worked so hard to create—from the elaborate decorations to the lights twinkling against the crystal, from the glistening silverware to the elegant tables set with an array of china with the towering, whimsical floral arrangements. The sounds of glasses clinking together celebrate the night, with laughter filling the air.

Each costume is more enchanting than the next. The staff members are charming and very accommodating to my generous philanthropists.

“A dollar for your thoughts,” Michael says and tips my chin to face him.

“I’m admiring all the hard work everyone put into bringing this event to life.” I smile and kiss him tenderly on the lips. “Thank you for being here.”

“There is no place else on this earth I’d rather be than with you in my arms.” He winks and pulls me into his warm chest.

“You sure have a silver tongue, Mr. Grayson.” I wink back.

A seductive smile begins to surface from his beautiful face causing my heart rate to increase and my eyes to focus on his soft, full lips. Our eyes meet, and my breath hitches. His hand touches mine and he gives me a gentle squeeze.

“How much longer do we need to stay here?” He asks with anticipation.

I glance at the time. “After my speech, which is right after the auction. Is that okay?” I ask. This has been two of the most excruciating weeks of my life, and all I want to do is sneak off and hold him in my arms all night long and whatever happens thereafter.

“Honestly? No. Do I have a choice?” He asks, rubbing his hands over his face. He looks at me with an agonized expression. “No. So I have to thank God for the length of this costume, or I would certainly be attracting an audience my way, mostly women.” He chuckles, leaning his head to my forehead.

I burst into a bubbly laugh. “Okay, Mark Antony, let’s eat and watch the auction. By the way, you have very sexy legs.”

“I still can’t get over this is how the men dressed back then. I better not see myself on the cover of
People Magazine
.”

I laugh. “Don’t worry. No one will know it’s you. Umm . . . not to change the subject, but have you spoken to Trent?” I hold my breath, waiting for the explosion.

His lips press into a thin line and his eyebrows crease together, eyes filled with mixed emotions. His demeanor changes from calm and passionate to a distressed man.

“That’s one of the prime reasons I’m here tonight. I had to see for myself you were all right and in one-piece. I didn’t care how much reassurance Trent gave me.”

“So . . . are you okay?” I carefully ask.

He stares at me as if I’m crazy. His eyes go wild with fear and confusion.

“Ariana, you have any idea what I put the pilot through to fly that plane faster than it could move?”

“I wasn’t supposed to be here until late this evening to surprise you; however, things changed the moment I heard Trent’s message. I called him back, and he went into details about the motorcycle incident. I was on the damn phone chartering a private jet before Trent even had a chance to say ‘goodbye’.

“I was going out of my mind wondering if this fuck had plans to pull another stunt like he did while I was flying over the Pacific,” he whispers so no one can overhear our conversation. He rakes his fingers through his hair, looking distraught as though he’s sitting in a pressure cooker ready to erupt. I take his hand and caress it.

“Michael, I’m fine. See? Here I am, in one-piece. Not a scratch on me thanks to Trent.”

“You think that eases my anxiety or the panic and explosive emotions wrapped around my gut?” He seethes with trembling hands. “God, Ariana, do you have any idea how close you came to being severely injured or worse? I don’t even want to think about the latter. You may not be as lucky next time. You can have a hundred bodyguards, and I’ll never be at peace until they catch this
demented fuck
.”

“Let’s change the subject and enjoy the rest of the evening. You’re here with me. Doesn’t that ease you a little?” I gaze at him through my lashes, lean my head against his, and kiss his lips with affection.

He blows out a long, exasperated breath. “Yes, you’re right.”

Oh, thank God, I think to myself, releasing a sigh of relief.

Our meal is culinary perfection, created for a feast for the gods. Our auction brings in over two million dollars. We dance and have dessert, but before the night ends, I need to make my speech.

The master of ceremonies introduces me. “Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to introduce our host for this evening’s function, Ariana DiMarco.”

“You’re an angel,” Michael says before I walk toward the mic.

“Thank you,” I whisper and kiss him softly on his lips.

I face the five hundred guests and blush as they begin to applaud and whistle. I smile at the ladies from the shelter who are seated up front, looking as radiant as when they first walked in earlier this evening.

“I’d like to thank everyone in this room for your gracious benefaction. Your generosity helps these women and children regain their self-esteem, receive an education, life’s essentials, and support from our volunteers and staff, whom I call angels. But let me say this. We are all angels with altruistic hearts.

“I praise these women for their strength and courage, for walking away from their torment and pain.

“It is difficult to imagine, however true, how long the healing process for any ill-treated person can take. Maybe days, months, or even years, but with your heartwarming gifts, we can get them the appropriate support they need to accomplish their goals and dreams.