Page 28 of Embracing Trust

Our conversation is casual as we make the trip—Luke’s work at the hospital, his father, a vacation he’s planning for winter. He doesn’t ask me many questions and I mostly listen, which seems to be the standard for the majority of my dates over the past few years. I’m ready to give up on ever having a relationship where someone cares about what I think. I want something different—someone to be interested inme.

This luxury sedan is smooth and elegant but reminds me nothing of my trip with Ryan in Bella Black—especially this conversation with Luke doing all the talking.

My mouth drops open when Luke pulls the car up to the gated residence.

We are stopped in front of an ornate wooden gate with wrought accents.

I try not to gawk like a tourist, but even the gate is beautiful. I can’t imagine what the house will be like.

Luke rolls down the window and presses the intercom’s button.

“May I help you?”

“Dr. Davis here for the dinner party.”

The massive gate opens, and the mystery of the residence is revealed. A winding driveway leads us through a plethora of large, well-established oak trees, stunning flower gardens, and ornamental shrubs. I manage to keep my gasps inside as I don’t want to look like I don’t belong here—even though I feel like I don’t. We’re greeted by a young man in black pants and a crisp white shirt. Luke exits the car and before I can blink, another young man opens my door for me. I step out to Luke’s outstretched arm and link my arm. The young man gets in the car and drives away to another part of the home.

Valet parking? What the hell?

At this point, I want to take off running. I’m so out of my element right now. I’m not sure how I’ll get through this evening.

My arm is still linked with Luke’s and as we make our way to the house. We stroll through an atrium with dazzling water features on both sides of a cobblestone walkway and reach, what I can only assume, is the front door. Luke rings the doorbell and we’re greeted by a woman dressed in a long skirt and stylish blouse. She looks to be in her early forties, blond and attractive.

Adrenaline pumps through me with every pound of my heart.

“Luke,” she says and greets him with a hug and a kiss on each cheek. “So glad you could make it.”

This is insane. The only time someone has kissed me on each cheek was maybe my mother when she was checking to see if I was running a fever.

Luke makes the introductions and Cynthia Hamilton is the wife of his colleague, Dr. Brendon Hamilton. Of course, I recognize the name immediately, a prominent heart surgeon.

Cynthia purses her dark red lips as she examines me from head to toe. She smiles pleasantly.

My face heats up. I don’t like the way she studies me.

We follow Cynthia through the large foyer to a sitting area where the guests are gathered—the men on one side around the large bar and three women on the couch and several chairs.

Luke makes a beeline to the bar, and I take a deep breath as I approach the women. Cynthia invites me to join the group and after I sit down, she signals a member of the wait staff to bring me a drink.

Geez, bring me a bottle of wine. I need it!

Although I don’t ask for an entire bottle of wine, I’m rewarded with a glass of red that I sip, and surmise is something out of my budget—even my ‘this is a special occasion budget.’ I’m no wine connoisseur but I do enjoy a good glass of wine with dinner. I chuckle under my breath as I imagine Cynthia shopping at a cheap liquor store in a bad part of town.

“This is Pamela Lewis,” Cynthia says as she points to a brown-haired woman with a sleek bobbed hairstyle. Her floral dress looks pricey, and I recognize the designer handbag that sits near her feet.

“And this is Erika Edwards,” Cynthia says and the beautiful woman with long hair pulled up on her head smiles. She has the most expressive eyes, perfect lips, and cheekbones that make her look like a cosmetic sales rep. She knows how to make the little black dress work, accentuating her tiny body. Her tight-fitting little black dress makes mine look like a garage sale find.

Cynthia points to the remaining woman in the group and introduces her as Deborah Sullivan. Her pencil skirt, stylish jacket, and silky blouse scream professionalism.

My hands sweat as four pairs of eyes are on me. “It’s nice to meet all of you.”

“Did I tell you we finally had to let the nanny go?” Pamela asks her friends.

“Oh no,” Cynthia purrs. “Now what?”

Pamela takes a sip of her martini and waves her hand, which shows her large diamond wedding ring and stylish manicured nails. “I told Martin that I simply cannot handle the children and the house without the extra help.”

Pamela has children? You’d never know with the way her small, model-like figure looks in the floral dress. And the manicure. How does she find the time?

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