Page 89 of Remembering Passion

As Michael drove Damien and I up onto a wide driveway, the Shermans’ home glowed with golden light, reminding me of a Thomas Kincade painting. The house spanned both directions, with a large entry in the middle.

Damien reached for my hand. “You’re stunning in that gown.”

He was dashing as ever in a custom tuxedo.

“Oh, this thing,” I said with a smile. “Just a Brandon Maxwell I had lying around.”

He kept his voice low. “You are gorgeous in nothing at all. The reason for the clothes was because I wanted to be sure that these people saw you as I do, a brilliant, competent, self-assured woman. You’re not less than them because of their wallets. You’re equal if not more. I know you have your own clothes. Thank you for letting me dress you.”

My lips curled into a smile. “The clothes are beautiful.” I looked down at the black fabric and back to his orbs. “Wearing them does add to my confidence. I’m sorry I was mad at you. I had no idea what you were going through.”

He leaned closer and kissed my cheek as the car came to a stop. “You worry about disappearing, Ella. The truth is that all eyes will be on you.” His smile quirked. “I’m damn lucky to have you on my arm.”

“Friends, remember.”

“No, you already showed them that you deserve to manage this campaign. We can come clean and let them know there’s more than friendship between us.”

The door to my side opened, ushering in the cool night air.

Quickly, we exited the car and made our way up the stairs to the front doors. Even before we reached the top step, another gentleman opened the door. “Please come in,” he said.

Through the first doors, the man helped me with my coat. It was as he opened the second set of doors—lead-glass French doors, that I saw the jaw-dropping beauty of the interior. Music filled the air. The tiled entry within gave way to glistening wood floors, rounded archways to both sides, and a large room beyond with pillars. The back wall was floor-to-ceiling windows. The staircase curved upward to the second-story landing and beyond to a third story. Both levels and the staircase had railings and a banister with a shiny wood handrail and wrought-iron railing spindles. A fire roared in a large glass fireplace.

“Ella and Damien,” Julia called as she came from another room. “Welcome.”

Julia looked amazing in a long blue gown, one that made her eyes pop.

“Are we the first to arrive?” I asked.

“No, Robert and Dwain are in Van’s office, and the Cades are in the kitchen.” She motioned us toward the kitchen. “Come, the bar is open.”

The grand piano caught my attention. “Do you play?” I asked Julia.

“Van does.” Her smile blossomed. “Maybe we can talk him into playing something tonight.”

As we followed her past the glass fireplace, the sound of other voices came into range. Soon I had a glass of cabernet and Damien had a tumbler of bourbon with a large round ice cube.

“I think Van has cigars in his office,” Julia said to Damien. “If you want to partake.”

Damien’s gaze came to me.

“Oh, I’m fine,” I said, “but I’m not a fan of the smell.”

“Do you remember where his office is?” she asked.

Damien kissed me on the cheek.

So much for only friends.

“I’ll be back.”

The Cades were dressed as elegantly as the rest of us. By the time the Holstons arrived, the men had returned. Thankfully, the cigar aroma wasn’t overpowering. Damien said Van had some expensive air filter that kept the smell to a minimum. Apparently, Julia made him install it when she was pregnant with their son.

“I was hoping to see the children,” I said.

“They’re spending the night with dear friends.”

Dinner was served in the dining room as darkness filled the tall windows lining the back side of the house.

---