Page 32 of Mistletoe Masquerade
“I know it’s unexpected. I could have just come to talk to you or called, but that didn’t feel like enough. A major fuckup deserves an epic apology.”
“I’m not sure I understand, but we can probably talk tomorrow after the dinner,” I respond, confusion furrowing my brows.
“Oh, no. This apology is all about you, and it starts right now.” He takes my hand and guides me down a hallway and into a sitting room. Inside is a clothing rack lined with beautiful cocktail gowns. “I’d be honored if you’d be my guest for dinner tonight.”
My jaw drops.
“Those are dresses.” My gears are a little slow to catch up.
“Yes,” he says with a note of amusement.
“And that was my name.” I point absently over my shoulder toward the banquet room. “On the placard.”
“Yes, again.”
“You want me to put on a dress and join you for dinner at your charity banquet.”
His beaming grin heats the room a solid ten degrees with its radiance. “Exactly.”
I place my hands on my head and try to recall the state of my hair. “I don’t have a brush.”
I swear to God, the most inane things keep coming out of my mouth, but I can’t help it. I’m utterly flabbergasted.
Dean takes my hands in his, his expression sobering. “The people attending dinner tonight are all incredibly generous, gracious people. I wouldn’t think you’d have anything to worry about, but just to make sure you’re comfortable, I have a hair and makeup stylist waiting in another room. I understand this is a big ask with no warning, so it’s totally up to you. The dress, shoes, and jewelry are all available for your selection, but if you’d rather not, I’ll respect your decision.”
Jewelry? A stylist?
He's put a ton of thought and planning into tonight.
Aside from still being in shock, I’m flattered and incredibly grateful.
Excitement pulls my lips into a wide grin and brings creases to the corners of my smiling eyes. “Do I pick any dress I want?”
He flashes his sexy dimples, fighting a grin. “Take your pick.”
I slide the hangers down and have a look at each gown one at a time. It’s not an easy choice. “They’re all so gorgeous.” So much so that I run my hands down one looking for a tag. I don’t recognize the label, nor can I find a price tag, but I can tell by the quality that the dresses must cost a small fortune.
“Something wrong?” Dean asks, his tone wary.
“No, I’m just a little confused. Where did you get these?”
“A boutique shop where a friend works.”
“They just agreed to loan you dresses for the night?” If I’d known that was an option, I would have done that for every party ever.
“No, the dresses are yours. Bought and paid for.”
I freeze, turning a wide-eyed stare up at the beautiful man standing beside me. The New York City detective, who most likely would have to cash in his pension to buy one of these dresses, let alone all of them. “Dean, it’s too much,” I whisper, praying we can get his money back.
His lips twist as he considers his response. Meanwhile, my heart pounds in my chest like a war drum.
“This always gets a little awkward to admit.” He brings a hand sheepishly to the back of his neck. “I’m a detective—you know that—but what you and most people don’t know is my parents were killed in a hit-and-run accident when I was sixteen.”
My stomach lurches as a horrified chill brings goose bumps to my arms.
“I spent the next couple of years fostered by a relative until I was an adult and had access to my inheritance, which was … sizable.”
“Your apartment,” I breathe, the pieces clicking into place.
