Chapter 17
When our car stopped, I looked through the tinted window.
My stomach dropped.
I could see Preston near the entrance.
He wore a black tuxedo and the self-satisfied expression I knew so well.
Beside him stood Cassidy.
Her champagne-colored gown clung to her figure, emphasizing the small curve of her pregnancy.
The dress had a dramatically open back.
Of course it did.
She looked radiant.
Confident.
Certain.
Preston's hand rested possessively against her waist.
They posed together as though they had nothing to hide.
A photographer called Preston's name.
He smiled.
Cassidy tilted her chin toward the cameras.
I watched them for several seconds.
The sight should have destroyed me.
Perhaps a week earlier, it would have.
But I had already cried for this marriage in a hundred different ways.
I had cried silently in bathrooms.
In hospital changing rooms.
In the dark while Preston slept with his back turned.
Tonight, I had no tears left to give him.
Gideon opened his door.
Then a security attendant opened mine.
A wave of noise entered the car.
Camera shutters.
Voices.
Traffic.
The distant sound of music drifting from the ballroom.
I took a breath.
For one brief second, the old fear returned.
What if they laughed?
What if someone photographed my scars?
What if the pictures appeared online the next morning?
What if strangers said the same things Preston had said?
I nearly pulled back.
Then I remembered Cassidy's voice.
That deformed woman would never dare show her burned skin beside me.
I placed one foot onto the red carpet.
Then the other.
I stepped out.
The midnight-blue silk settled around my legs.
Gideon waited beside me and offered his arm.
I took it.
We walked toward the entrance.
At first, the photographers focused on Gideon.
"Ashford! Over here!"
"Mr. Ashford, one photograph!"
"Who are you attending with tonight?"
Then someone recognized me.
"Is that Vivian?"
Another voice followed.
"Vivian, look this way!"
I stopped.
My heart hammered.
Gideon glanced at me.
"Would you like to keep walking?"
I looked toward the cameras.
Then I shook my head.
"No."
I turned.
The open back of my gown faced a wall of flashing lights.
For the first time in five years, I didn't try to twist my body away.
The flashes intensified.
I felt painfully exposed.
Every nerve in my back seemed awake.
But I stood still.
One photographer lowered his camera for a moment.