Eleanor Pemberton was holding court near the Temple of Dendur, a vintage champagne in hand, wearing enough diamonds to fund a small country's GDP. At seventy-three, she was still formidable—silver hair swept into a chignon, posture absolutely perfect, eyes sharp as a hawk's.
"Eleanor," I said warmly as we approached. "You look radiant."
"Olivia Sinclair." She set down her glass to embrace me, European-style air kisses on both cheeks. "Your mother said you'd finally come to your senses. About time, darling. That Chen boy was never right for you."
"I've realized that," I said smoothly. "Eleanor, I'd like to introduce Damien Cross. Damien, Mrs. Eleanor Pemberton."
Damien extended his hand with exactly the right amount of deference—respectful but not servile. "Mrs. Pemberton. I've heard wonderful things about your hotel empire. My mother stayed at your Paris location for her fiftieth birthday. She still talks about it."
Eleanor's eyebrows rose slightly—mentioning his mother was a smart move, humanizing him. "Cross. CrossTech Industries?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Hmm." She studied him with open assessment. "You're the one buying up everything in sight. Real estate, technology companies, that airline last month."
"I invest in quality and potential," Damien said easily. "Much like your family has for five generations."
"Flattery, Mr. Cross?" "Observation, Mrs. Pemberton."
A small smile played at her lips. "Olivia, your taste in men has improved considerably."
Before I could respond, a familiar voice interrupted.
"Olivia?"
I turned to find Marcus standing there, Vanessa at his elbow. Up close, I could see the shock still written across his face, his eyes darting between my gown, my jewelry, and Damien.
"Marcus." I kept my voice pleasant, neutral. "Vanessa. Congratulations on your engagement."
"I— thank you." Marcus seemed to remember his manners. "You look... different."
"Do I?" I touched my diamond necklace absently. "I suppose I do. This is Damien Cross. Damien, Marcus Chen and Vanessa Hartley."
Damien's handshake with Marcus was firm, territorial. I could see Marcus wince slightly. "Chen. I've heard about your company. Small tech firm, right? You do something with... apps?"
It was a perfect cut—not technically insulting, but making Chen Industries sound like a hobby project compared to CrossTech's empire.
"Software solutions," Marcus said stiffly. "We've been growing steadily. Twenty percent year over year."
"How nice." Damien's tone suggested he found it quaint. "Olivia, didn't you say we should find your parents before dinner?"
"Right, yes." I turned back to Eleanor. "Will we see you at our table?"
"I'll make a point of it, dear. Mr. Cross, we should talk more about quality and potential sometime."
"I'd enjoy that, Mrs. Pemberton."
As we walked away, I heard Vanessa whisper to Marcus, "Who was that woman? She seemed..."
"That was my ex-wife," Marcus said, his voice strained.
We were barely out of earshot when Damien leaned down to murmur, "Well played. The necklace touch was a nice detail."
"Those diamonds are worth three million dollars. I wanted to make sure he noticed."
"Oh, he noticed. The man looks like he swallowed a lemon." Damien guided me toward the bar. "Another champagne?"
"Please. And Damien? That bit about CrossTech being bigger than Chen Industries?"
"Too much?"
"It was perfect." I accepted the champagne from the bartender. "Also true. Your company is worth about fifty times what his is."
"Sixty, actually. But who's counting?"
My mother found us before dinner, looking between Damien and me with open speculation. "Mr. Cross. How are you finding our little gathering?"
"Enlightening, Mrs. Sinclair. Your daughter has been an excellent guide."
"I'm sure she has." My mother's smile was knowing. "Olivia, your father is looking for you. Something about the seating arrangements."
"I'll find him." I turned to Damien. "Will you be alright?"
"I think I can manage not to offend anyone for five minutes."
"That's not a guarantee I'd bet money on," my mother said as I walked away.
I found my father near the main dining hall, but he wasn't looking for me about seating arrangements. He was standing with Alexander, my older brother, who I hadn't seen in six months.
"Livvy!" Alex pulled me into a hug, lifting me off my feet. At thirty-five, he ran Sinclair Global's international
division and spent most of his time in Hong Kong. "You look like yourself again."
"I am myself again."
He set me down, his expression turning serious. "I saw Chen. Want me to accidentally spill wine on his tuxedo?"
"Alex."
"What? I'm subtle. It'll look like an accident."
"Both of you, stop it," my father said, though he was smiling. "Your date seems to be making quite an impression. Eleanor Pemberton hasn't looked that interested in someone new in years."
"That's the plan."
"And it's purely business?" Alex asked skeptically.
"Yes."
"Uh-huh. Because you definitely bring business associates to high-society galas as your date."
"He's helping me make a point."
"What point?"
I glanced across the room to where Marcus was standing with Vanessa, his eyes still finding me every few minutes, confusion and something else—regret?—clear on his face.
"That I never needed him at all."
Dinner was announced, and we filed into the main hall. The seating arrangement put Damien and me at a table with my parents, Eleanor Pemberton, a tech CEO and his wife, and a federal judge. Marcus's table was visible across the room, close enough that he could see us, far enough that he couldn't hear our conversation.
Throughout dinner, Damien was charming, intelligent, and exactly the kind of man who belonged in this world. He discussed art with the judge's wife, debated economic policy with the tech CEO, and told Eleanor stories about his mother's immigrant journey from Ireland that had even my mother looking
misty-eyed.
"Your mother sounds formidable," Eleanor said.
"She is. She taught me that where you come from matters less than where you're going." "Wise woman." Eleanor dabbed her lips with her napkin. "Mr. Cross, I understand you're interested in the hospitality industry."
I nearly choked on my wine. That was fast.
"I am," Damien said smoothly. "I believe luxury hospitality is due for innovation while maintaining its core values of excellence and exclusivity."
"An interesting philosophy. Tell me more."
For the next twenty minutes, Damien laid out his vision for modernizing luxury hotels while preserving their heritage. He was persuasive, passionate, and clearly knew his subject matter inside and out.
Eleanor listened with her full attention—rare for her—and when he finished, she nodded slowly.
"Call my office Monday. My assistant will arrange a meeting."
Damien's expression didn't change, but I felt his hand briefly squeeze mine under the table. "Thank you, Mrs. Pemberton. I appreciate the opportunity." "Don't thank me yet. If your ideas are half as interesting in a boardroom as they are at dinner, we'll talk. If not, we won't waste each other's time."
"Fair enough."
After dinner, as guests mingled and danced, I excused myself to the powder room. I was touching up my lipstick when Vanessa walked in.
We stared at each other in the mirror.
"Olivia," she said finally. "I wanted to... I mean, Marcus and I never…""Never what? Never fell in love? Never started seeing each other while he was married to me?" I capped my lipstick, turning to face her. "Vanessa, I'm not angry at you."
She blinked. "You're not?"
"No. Because you did me a favor. You gave Marcus an excuse to end a marriage he was never fully invested in. You saved me from wasting more years on someone who didn't love me."
"He did love you," she said quietly. "He still talks about you. About how you were so independent, so self-sufficient. How you never needed anything from him."
"That's because he never offered anything worth needing."
I walked past her, back into the gala, where Damien was waiting.
"Everything alright?" he asked.
"Perfect." I took his offered arm. "Dance with me?"
He led me onto the floor as a waltz began. His hand settled at my waist, proper and firm, and we moved together with surprising ease.
"You're full of surprises, Olivia Sinclair."
"So are you, Damien Cross."
Across the room, I saw Marcus watching us dance, Vanessa beside him looking small and uncertain.
And for the first time since signing those divorce papers, I felt completely, genuinely free.