Chapter 13
The gala preparations consumed the next four days.
Izzy had never seen anything like it. The estate transformed into something out of a fairy tale, with white flowers everywhere, crystal chandeliers hung in the gardens, and ice sculptures that cost more than her old apartment's yearly rent.
She tried not to think about the price tags.
"Stop fidgeting," the stylist said, pinning another section of Izzy's hair.
"I'm not fidgeting."
"You've moved three times in the last minute."
Izzy forced herself to sit still. The dress hung on the door—midnight blue silk that probably cost more than her car. She'd argued about it, but Alex had just handed over his credit card and walked away.
Her phone buzzed. A text from her mom: *Good luck tonight, honey. You look beautiful. I saw the photos from the rehearsal.*
Izzy smiled. Her parents had been surprisingly supportive once she'd explained everything. Well, most of everything. She'd left out the fake engagement part.
Another text, this time from Sarah: Don't trip. Don't spill anything. Don't accidentally tell the truth.
Izzy laughed despite her nerves.
The stylist stepped back. "Done. Take a look."
Izzy turned to the mirror and barely recognized herself. Her hair was swept up, elegant and simple. The makeup was understated but somehow made her look like she belonged in this world.
She hated that she cared about that.
"The dress," the stylist prompted.
Twenty minutes later, Izzy stood in front of the full-length mirror again. The dress fit perfectly, hugging her curves before flowing to the floor. She looked like someone who dated billionaires. Someone who belonged on Alex's arm.
She looked like a fraud.
A knock at the door. "Izzy? It's me."
She opened it. Alex stood there in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, and for a moment she forgot how to breathe.
"You look…" He stopped, staring.
"Is it too much? I can change…."
"No. Don't change. You're perfect."
The way he said it made her chest tighten.
"You clean up pretty well yourself," she managed.
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. He'd been like this since the hearing—quieter, more withdrawn. Confronting Nathan and Vivienne had taken something out of him.
"Ready?" he asked.
"No. But when has that stopped us?"
The gala was already in full swing when they arrived. Three hundred guests filled the gardens, champagne flowing, string quartet playing. Cameras flashed as Alex and Izzy made their entrance.
Izzy plastered on her practiced smile and took Alex's arm.
"Remember," he murmured, "we just need to get through tonight."
"Right. Smile, make small talk, don't reveal we're complete frauds."
"Exactly."
They moved through the crowd. Donors congratulated Alex on surviving the hearing. Society matrons cooed over Izzy's dress. Everyone wanted a piece of them, a moment of their time, a photo for their social media.
Izzy's face hurt from smiling.
"Mr. Blackwood!" A board member approached, wife in tow. "Wonderful event. Simply wonderful."
"Thank you, Gerald."
"And Ms. Chen, you look radiant. When's the wedding?"
Izzy opened her mouth, but Alex beat her to it. "We're taking our time. Making sure we do it right."
"Smart man. My wife and I rushed into it. Best decision we ever made, but still." Gerald laughed. "You two seem happy together. That's what matters."
When they walked away, Izzy whispered, "Do we seem happy?"
"Apparently."
"Weird."
They made it through the cocktail hour. Through dinner. Through the speeches about the foundation's work and Lila's legacy. Alex's jaw tightened every time someone mentioned his late wife, but he held it together.
Izzy wanted to take his hand under the table. She didn't.
After dinner, the dancing started. Alex stood, offering his hand. "Shall we?"
"I'm not very good at this."
"Neither am I. We'll figure it out."
They moved to the dance floor. His hand settled on her waist, hers on his shoulder. They swayed to the music, and Izzy tried to ignore how right this felt.
"Thank you," Alex said quietly.
"For what?"
"For being here. For everything at the hearing. For not running when you had the chance."
"I had several chances to run. I'm just stubborn."
He smiled. "I noticed."
They danced in silence for a moment. Around them, other couples swirled past. Cameras clicked. Everyone was watching.
"Alex," Izzy said carefully, "what happens after tonight?"
His expression shifted. "What do you mean?"
"The contract. It ends next week."
"Right." He looked away. "I suppose we'll need to stage a breakup. Something clean. Mutual. We can blame the media pressure."
"That makes sense."
"Unless…" He met her eyes. "Unless you want to extend it."
Her heart stuttered. "Why would we do that?"
"The board is watching. Vivienne might still cause problems. Having you here helps."
"Helps with what?"
He didn't answer.
The song ended. Someone tapped Alex's shoulder, another donor wanting to talk. He gave Izzy an apologetic look and stepped away.
She moved to the edge of the dance floor, accepting a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. Her hands were shaking slightly.
*Unless you want to extend it.*
What kind of question was that? What was she supposed to say?
"Quite the performance."
Izzy turned. A woman stood there, sixties, elegant in a black gown. Her eyes were sharp, assessing.
"I'm sorry?"
"You and Alex. Very convincing." The woman smiled. "I'm Margaret Chen. Your aunt."
Izzy nearly dropped her champagne. "My what?"
"Your father's sister. We haven't spoken in years, he and I had a falling out. But when I saw your name in the society pages, I had to come see for myself."
"I didn't know I had an aunt."
"Your father probably didn't mention me. He disapproves of my lifestyle choices." Margaret sipped her drink. "But that's not important. What is important is why you're really here."
"I don't know what you mean."
"Please. I've been attending these events for thirty years. I know a business arrangement when I see one."
Izzy's stomach dropped. "I'm not—"
"It's all right. I'm not going to expose you." Margaret's expression softened. "But I am going to give you some advice. Whatever you're doing here, whatever deal you made with Alex Blackwood, be careful."
"Careful of what?"
"Of forgetting it's fake. I've seen it happen before. People play a role long enough, they start to believe it." She looked across the room to where Alex was talking with donors. "And that man has been broken for two years. If you're not careful, you'll both end up hurt."
"I know what I'm doing."
"Do you?" Margaret set down her glass. "Just remember—when the contract ends, you go back to your real life. Make sure you're ready for that."
She walked away, disappearing into the crowd.
Izzy stood there, champagne forgotten. Across the room, Alex caught her eye. He excused himself from the conversation and started toward her.
"Everything okay?" he asked when he reached her.
"Fine. Just needed some air."
"Come on." He took her hand. "I know a place."
He led her through the gardens, away from the party. They ended up by a fountain, far enough from the gala that the music was just a whisper.
"Better?" Alex asked.
"Yeah." Izzy sat on the fountain's edge. "How much longer do we have to stay?"
"Another hour at least. Why?"
"Just tired of pretending."
Something flickered across his face. "Yeah. Me too."
They sat in silence, listening to the water. The night was cool, stars visible despite the city lights.
"Izzy," Alex said finally, "about what I said earlier about extending the contract. Forget it. That was unfair of me."
"Why?"
"Because you deserve better than being stuck in a fake relationship. When this ends, you should be free to live your life."