The Gala Where We Pretend

Chapter 4: The Gala Where We Pretend

"I need you to wear this."

Ethan dropped a garment bag on my bed at 6 AM on Saturday. I was still half-asleep, drooling on his expensive pillow because I had somehow migrated to the middle of the bed and stolen all the blankets.

"Do you ever knock?" I sat up, hair looking like a bird's nest.

"No. It's my house. And we're married. Husbands don't knock."

"We have separate rooms! And that door is supposed to be locked!"

"Which you forgot to lock last night," he said with a smirk, looking pointedly at the connecting door which was indeed wide open. "You even called my name in your sleep."

"I DID NOT!" My face turned red. "I was having a nightmare! You were the monster!"

"Sure. You were saying 'Ethan, don't leave' very monster-like."

I threw a pillow at him. He caught it easily.

"Wear this. Car leaves at seven. We have the Blackwood Foundation Gala tonight. Every board member will be there. Every investor. And every gossip columnist in Manila. If they think our marriage is fake, I lose the company and your ten million disappears."

He left before I could argue.

Inside the bag was a red dress. Silk, off-shoulder, body-hugging. The kind of dress made for a woman who was confident, sexy, and not someone who lived in tsinelas and oversized shirts.

There was a note stuck to it:

You said red was your power color when you were 16. - E

I froze.

When I was 16, at my debut, I didn't have a fancy gown. I wore a simple red dress my mother sewed. Ethan was there because our parents forced us.

He had whispered, "You don't look like my enemy tonight. You look like trouble."

I told him red was my power color.

He remembered.

Downstairs at 7 PM, I walked down the grand staircase feeling like I was going to trip and die. The dress fit perfectly, hugging every curve I usually hid. My hair was curled, my lips red.

Ethan was waiting at the bottom in a black tuxedo. He looked up.

And stopped breathing.

For a full five seconds, the billionaire CEO who always had something annoying to say just stared.

"You..." He cleared his throat. "You look... acceptable."

"Acceptable?" I wanted to slap him. I spent two hours looking acceptable?

He walked up the stairs, met me halfway, and offered his hand.

"What I meant was, you look like my wife. And my wife is never just acceptable. She is the most beautiful woman in any room."

My heart did a stupid, traitorous flip.

"Good save, Blackwood," I whispered, taking his hand.

"Rule number three," he whispered back, his lips brushing my ear. "Tonight, you are madly in love with me."

"And you?"

"I'm madly obsessed with you. It's not that hard to act."

The gala was everything I hated. Crystal chandeliers, women with diamonds bigger than their smiles, men who whispered "charity case" behind their wine glasses.

And Chloe.

Of course Chloe was there. Chloe Santos — Ethan's ex-girlfriend, Manila socialite, perfect face, perfect body, and the girl who had laughed when Ethan rejected me at eighteen.

"Sienna?" Chloe's fake surprised voice cut through the crowd. "Oh my god! Is that you? Ethan, you didn't tell me you married... your childhood helper?"

I felt Ethan's hand tighten around my waist.

"Ex-girlfriend," Ethan said coldly. "And ex-friend of my wife. Chloe, you remember Sienna. My wife."

Chloe laughed, looking me up and down. "That dress is cute. Is it... rented?"

This was where old Sienna would have run to the bathroom crying.

But new Sienna — Mrs. Blackwood for a year, with a revenge plan — remembered what Ethan's hand on her waist felt like.

I smiled, sweet and sharp. "Actually, Chloe, Ethan picked it. He said red is my power color. He remembers everything about me. That's what husbands do, right? They remember. Unlike some people who are so forgettable, their ex-boyfriends have to marry someone else to finally forget them."

Chloe's face froze. Ethan made a choking sound that was half laugh, half cough.

"And this necklace?" I touched the delicate diamond necklace Ethan had put on me in the car. "He said it matches my eyes. Which is weird because he always said my eyes were too angry. Guess he likes angry now."

I turned to Ethan, stood on my tiptoes, and kissed him. Right on the mouth. In front of Chloe. In front of everyone.

It was supposed to be fake. A show for Chloe. A power move.

But Ethan responded like he had been waiting for it all night. His hand slid up my back, pulling me flush against him, his mouth opening against mine, deep and possessive. He kissed me like he was proving a point to every man in the room.

When we broke apart, both breathing hard, the whole gala was staring. Chloe had disappeared.

"That," Ethan whispered against my lips, his forehead touching mine, "was not part of rule number three."

"You said madly in love," I breathed. "I was improvising."

"Do that again and I won't be able to pretend this is a contract."

His eyes were dark. His thumb was rubbing circles on my bare back, giving me goosebumps.

For the first time, I realized my revenge plan had a huge flaw.

What if my enemy kissed better than any man I had ever met? What if my enemy was the only man who ever looked at me like I was his entire world?

What if I married my childhood enemy... and I liked it?

"Don't look at me like that, Enemy," Ethan said quietly, but he didn't pull away.

"Like what?"

"Like you're starting to forget why you hate me."

I wasn't forgetting. I was remembering. The spelling bee. The bike. The crayons. The boy who held my ears during thunderstorms.

And that was much more dangerous than hate.

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