Page 119 of Dropping the Ball

I exit the limo,allowing my gown to settle around me before I step onto the red carpet leading into the entrance tunnel. Mom and Madison are in the car right behind mine. I press my hand to my stomach to calm my nerves.

It’s time.

I’d left the warehouse midafternoon after ensuring everything was set up and ready. Micah had been with me all day, jumping in where needed with everyone from the event planner to the sound guys. But I left to meet Madison at my parents’ house to get ready, and Micah went home. He should be waiting for me at the end of this tunnel.

I force myself to take even breaths as I walk through the soft lighting of the tunnel, passing stunning floral arrangements representing the countries of the designers being featured tonight.

I see Micah before he sees me, and my breath catches at the sight of him in formal wear. He’s gone with black on black, a single-button suit with long satin lapels over a black band collar shirt. A razor thin line of jet-black beads runs down theplacket of the shirt. Coupled with the black-and-gray snakeskin Copperhead boots he’s chosen for the evening, there is not a man in the entire state who has this much swag. He’s gorgeous and wearing his modern tux as comfortably as he does his joggers.

When he spots me, he freezes.

I step from the tunnel and stand still so he can get the full effect, and he smiles, but his eyes stay intense. Hungry.

“Wow,” Madison breathes softly behind me. “Look at him. Look at him looking at you.”

I ignore her as Micah and I walk toward each other. He holds out his arm for me to slip my hand through.

“You look incredible,” he says. “So beautiful.”

“Thank you.” I enjoyed consulting with Maheen this summer over color and design. It pleased me to know that I was a credit to her work, but tonight, I’m wearing this for an audience of one. “You’re the most handsome man here.”

“So far, I’m the only man here.”

I give him a small headshake. “It won’t change when the rest of them come.”

He brushes a soft kiss against my hairline. “Let’s go show them how it’s done.”

The event staff direct us along the red carpet to the step-and-repeat, where we pose several times against the Threadwork backdrop for the pool of photographers. Because the gowns will be from rising designers, several fashion sites have sent correspondents, and some entertainment sites are covering the celebrities on the list.

Where the backdrop ends, the staircase begins, the red carpet rising along the wide-but-shallow steps painted with black lacquer. An event staffer politely holds Micah back and cues me to pause on the fifth step so the photographers can get a shot of my gown’s back. Micah is released to escort me the rest of the way.

The stairs crest in a landing bisected by the open bay door, which has been utterly transformed with flowers. The arches spill over with the thousands of red silk marigolds it took a crew of six people three full days to attach. It’s extravagant. Transformative. Nearly worthy of the masterpiece it leads to.

Another staffer sends me to pose on the top step for a photographer waiting inside, and Micah escorts me down the grandest part of the staircase. It widens with each step, curving backward at the edges, exactly the staircase a princess would descend in a castle.

We’ve arrived early so we can greet the other guests, and we move for Madison and Oliver to make their entrance. Madison reaches the bottom of the stairs and rushes over to throw her arms around me, nearly drowning me in fuchsia tulle. “Nobody ever had a better sister!”

“Then you won’t have a problem with the job title I’ve chosen when you come back from maternity leave.”

“Anything you want.”

“Goddess Divine of Threadwork.”

“Done. I’ll order the nameplate.”

We greet my parents, who come down next, Mom looking regal. Madison’s best friends follow in quick succession with their husbands, each looking awestruck by the marigold canopy.

Micah and I go with Sami to check out the stage for Pixie Luna’s acoustic set. She nods in satisfaction. “Sounded good at the sound check earlier.”

She turns to study the rest of the space. Tall, elegant table centerpieces rest on slim columns, flowers spilling from a crystal vase on top. Gabriela Juarez’s glass vases flank the stage. Silk gauze hangs from different points in the sculpture, lit under Micah’s direction to create even more visual interest.

“This will be the swankiest gig Pixie Luna has ever played,” Sami says, hugging me. “You did so good, Katie-Kat.”

“Whoa,” Micah says, and I turn to see Sara Elizabeth coming down the stairs in a silver gown, catching and refracting every light aimed at her.

“Pretty cool, huh?” I say.

“I knew she was coming, but it’s wild seeing a celebrity in person.”

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