The Whitmore Foundation Gala was exactly the kind of event Sienna had spent three years avoiding.
The Plaza Grand Ballroom—crystal chandeliers, white roses everywhere, ice sculptures costing more than her rent. Women in designer gowns. Men in perfect tuxedos. Wealth that whispered instead of shouted.
Sienna had chosen emerald green. Fitted but elegant. Jade had helped.
"You're not dressing for them," Jade had said. "You're dressing for you. Walk in like you own it."
Easier said than done when every eye assessed your worth.
Dante waited by the bar, devastating in his tuxedo. When he saw her, his face lit up.
"Wow. You look incredible."
"You clean up pretty well yourself."
"This old thing?" He gestured to his obviously expensive tux. "Just something I had lying around."
She laughed despite her nerves. This was good. Normal. Her boyfriend being charming.
