Page 7 of Wes

“They say it’s inspired by it as well as Vienna’s Grosser Musikvereinssaal.” Moira pops up to my left.

I swing my head around to face her. “The pictures in the proposal didn’t prepare me for the reality of this breathtaking hall. Not to mention the talented orchestra.” I gesture to the stage where the teen and young adult musicians play a moving rendition of Chopin’s Nocturne Op. 9.

“Right? These kids are amazing,” Ana agrees. “I’m not surprised we’re sold out.”

I put my hand on my chest, over my heart. “That’s great to hear. How many people does this room take?” I glance up at the two tiers of balconies before dropping my gaze to the vast ground level.

“Thirteen hundred.” Moira supplies the numbers.

I knit my eyebrows thinking about the much smaller space where the auction will happen. “You can’t fit all of these people in the Hall of the Arches.”

“Correct.” Ana nods and informs me, “We offered different types of packages. So, some people bought a full experience with show, dinner, and the auction. While others paid for dinner plus a choice between concert and auction. And others still bought tickets for either the concert or the auction.”

“Smart move because you reach different audiences with very distinct budgets. Although, I can’t understand the appeal of coming here to bid on famous people only.”

Moira slings an arm around my shoulders. “They’re doing it for a good cause.” She winks, chuckling. “But I bet some people might be hoping to get lucky.”

“Speaking of clueless people.” I change the subject to the one person whose presence has been gnawing at me the whole day. “I don’t believe Wes Baron had the nerve to show up for Hidden Scars fundraiser after the last shenanigan he’s pulled off,” I huff. “He’s gunning for a photo op.”

Ana shakes her head as she defends her husband’s friend. “Noah’s known Wes for over a decade. Muse of Darkness toured with Izzie Anderson back in the day. We’ve also gotten to know him.” She wiggles her thumb between Moira and herself.

My heart sinks at their naïveté. “You guys see the best in people and your men are the exception to the rule. Wes came to the event just because he’s in hot water after those compromising pictures got published.”

“He went to a by-invitation-only party, with a reasonable expectation of privacy. If anything, he’s a victim of his celebrity status, in my humble opinion,” Moira comments.

“I don’t know about that,” I confess. “But I met him earlier today and he strikes me as a person who has sailed through life, without hitches or big problems thrown in his way.”

Ana and Moira exchange a knowing look but before they have time to comment on whatever they are thinking, Natalia rushes in.

“I’m so glad you guys are here. Two more volunteers had to go back to the hotel due to health issues. I need a hand sorting out the identification wristbands and setting up the reception counter.

“I’m on it,” the three of us reply.

* * *

Idry my hands and watch my reflection in the mirror in the elegant restroom of the Hall of the Arches. I reapply the bright red lipstick that the napkin stole during dinner. After putting it away in my silver clutch, I check the dress. The royal-blue sequins that cover the bodice shimmer under the lights while the chiffon skirt falls in a wide circle around my legs, hiding my silver high heels.

Satisfied, I turn and head back to the room where the auction is underway. I return to the spot where I stood before talking to Moira and Ana, but find Tristan Knight and Aidan Gallagher, instead. I glance about and find out the ladies are working the room.

Noticing the direction of my gaze, Tristan chuckles. “Those two are relentless. I bet they’re going around shaming people into bidding.”

“I’m sure of that. They were trying that tactic on me a little while ago.”

“Oh, now I get why you dashed to the ladies’ room like the place was on fire or something,” Aidan, Moira’s husband, says in his charming Irish brogue.

“Not confirming or denying that,” I murmur with burning cheeks.

I drag my eyes to the stage where the emcee is conducting the auction of a dozen celebrities, both local and international. People standing around the hall wave their paddles in the air with enthusiasm, shouting numbers, as the man holding the microphone describes the famous person under the spotlight.

Literally.

A cannon of light shines amber beams down at the center of the stage on whoever is being auctioned.

Three or four celebrities later, Noah joins us. Ana’s husband has a boyish charm and an infectious laughter that comes out of him naturally. Right now, the mischievous glint in his green eyes makes me steel myself.

“Maria, someone sent me over to deliver something to you,” he informs me as he takes my right hand and places the wooden handle of a plastic paddle on my palm. Wrapping my fingers around it, he winks. “Ana noticed you didn’t have one of these thingies you need so you can bid, and she won’t have any of that.”

I cut my stare to where his wife is standing, on the opposite end of the room, close to the stage. She sticks her thumb in the air and smiles, tilting her head toward the emcee. I shake my head and cross my arms. She glances around and gestures to Natalie, who crosses the couple of feet that separate us in a heartbeat.

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