Page 55 of Mistletoe Missus
“Thank you.” I smiled and peered around. “So far, everything is off to a good start.”
“Everyone appears to be enjoying themselves,” Mitt added.
I scanned the scenery I had planned out multiple times in my head. The huge colorful hydrangea centerpieces gave each round table a fresh appearance inside tall silver vases. There was candlelight on the tables, with crystal chandeliers overhead. Each numbered table had a gray cloth on top and cutlery placed out for every guest. Silver curtains hung all around, with purple spotlights on each one leading toward center stage, where a wonderful musician would perform and be the highlight of the evening. Fireworks would later light up the sky, and guests could mingle on the balcony to enjoy the magical sight.
I had planned the seating arrangement beforehand, and over one thousand guests were in attendance. The charity ball was massive—one of the biggest events of the year. I was a nervous wreck because nothing could go wrong.
“A large donation will come from Morgan’s Law & Associates,” Cyprus whispered in my ear as he pulled back and caught my gaze with amusement in his eyes. “That is, if everything goes off without a hitch.”
What the hell was that supposed to mean?
Before I could question the odd statement Cyprus had made, he vanished into the oncoming crowd of people and left me perplexed. I had no time to dwell on it as Mitt pulled me further into the event and conversations carried on. We mixed in, greeting the guests with smiles and shook far too many hands. I prayed no one noticed how clammy my palms were or the tiny beads of perspiration on my forehead.
Relax.
Everything would be okay. The Black-Tie Charity Ball was in full swing. Nothing was wrong and nothing would be.
A voice crackled in my earpiece. “Mrs. Morgan, we need your attention in the kitchen.”
Crap. I spoke too soon.
A kind older woman named Iris kept talking about the weather, and I interrupted, “If you’ll excuse me, I need to powder my nose.”
“Of course, dear. We can’t leave beauty waiting.” She laughed as her bracelets jingled—she wore far too many.
She carried on in her conversation, but Mitt peered down at me with confused eyes. “Already? We’ve only been here a half an hour.”
“I shouldn’t be long,” I answered as I pulled away from him and headed in the direction of the kitchen.
Mitt grabbed my wrist. “The bathroom is that way, Tinsley.”
My husband pointed in the opposite direction of where I needed to go and flashed me a gorgeous grin. My heart fluttered as it picked up its pace, and he leaned in closer. Damn him with his charm and intoxicating cologne, clouding my thoughts and making me lose sight of my mission for several seconds.
“Oh, I was going to make a stop in the kitchen first,” I mumbled with a shy smile. “I should make sure everything is okay with the food prep.”
Mitt released me.
“Don’t make me wait, angel,” Mitt commanded as he glanced toward the stage and back at me. “I want a dance before the night is over.”
Heat rose to my cheeks as I remembered our first dance together as husband and wife, but the memory was a million miles away—all scattered as our sways to the music got lost in time, and the rhythm was now off beat. I’d love to remember being in Mitt’s embrace, lost in his arms and forgetting the world existed. The way his hand felt pressed against the small of my back, his breath on my cheek, and his intense eyes staring downat me. I’d be the center of his world until the music stopped and we’d go back to reality. Our dance would be an act to feed the hungry tabloids.
“Sorry, Mitt, I don’t have time. I came in on your arm like a trophy wife, but it’s time for me to shine,” I argued and took a step back. “You got your precious pictures for the company, and it’s time I got some for mine.”
Immediately, I spun around on my heels and headed for the kitchen. Away from Mitt and his constant mission to make his business the main focal point. Tonight, the limelight was on me, and I had to ensure my face made front-page news.
I zigzagged through the crowd with a smile on my face to ensure nothing appeared amiss. My heartbeat hammered in my ears as I approached the double doors, swinging repeatedly as servers left the cooking area and made their way with trays of drinks to serve the guests. Everyone was busy, and the sound of clinking dishes filled my ears as I headed for a woman with narrowed eyebrows and worry etched into her features. She stared right at me, and I knew something was horribly wrong.
“What’s going on?” I asked as I peered around and searched the empty, cold metal table with nothing on it. “Why is the food not out and prepped to be ready?”
She gulped. “There is no food to serve the guests.”
“What are you talking about?” I pulled out my cell phone from my clutch purse and searched for the food order. “I ordered everything weeks in advance. It should be here.”
“The foodishere.”
“Well, then, chop chop!” I clapped my hands together. “Let’s get everything prepped and ready to go.”
“But Mrs. Morgan...” There was a long, awkward pause. “The food is all spoiled.”
