Chapter 15

The day of the gala arrived faster than I wanted it to.

I stood in front of the full-length mirror in our bedroom, barely recognizing the woman staring back at me. The stylist Christopher had hired had transformed me into someone who looked like she belonged in his world, even if I didn't feel like it yet.

The dress was stunning, a deep emerald green that brought out the color of my eyes. It had a fitted bodice with delicate beading that caught the light, and a flowing skirt that made me feel like I was floating when I walked. My hair was swept up in an elegant twist, with a few loose curls framing my face. The makeup was subtle but sophisticated, emphasizing my features without overwhelming them.

I looked like someone who could stand beside Christopher Zane at a charity gala.

I just needed to convince myself I could actually do it.

"You look beautiful," Christopher said from the doorway, and I turned to find him watching me with an expression that made my breath catch. He wore a perfectly tailored tuxedo that emphasized his broad shoulders and lean frame, his dark hair styled back, his blue eyes intense as they traveled over me.

"You clean up pretty well yourself," I managed, my voice coming out slightly breathless.

Christopher moved into the room, stopping just behind me so we were both reflected in the mirror. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a velvet box.

"I want you to wear this tonight," he said, opening the box to reveal a stunning emerald necklace surrounded by diamonds. "It was my mother's. My grandmother gave it to me years ago, told me to save it for someone special."

My hand flew to my throat. "Christopher, I can't. That's too much."

"It's not too much. It's exactly right." He lifted the necklace from the box, his movements careful as he fastened it around my neck. The weight of it settled against my collarbone, the emerald cool against my skin. "My mother would have liked you. She would have appreciated how you don't let me hide behind my walls."

I touched the necklace gently, emotion tightening my throat. This wasn't just jewelry. It was a symbol, a statement that I mattered to him, that I was part of his family now.

"Thank you," I whispered, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

Christopher's hands rested on my shoulders, his expression serious. "Remember what I said. If at any point tonight becomes too much, we leave. I don't care what anyone thinks."

"I'll be fine," I said, trying to convince both of us. "We'll be fine."

He turned me to face him, his hands cupping my face with a tenderness that made my heart ache. "You're the strongest person I know, Anastasia. You just don't see it yet."

Before I could respond, he kissed me, soft and lingering, like he was trying to pour all his support and belief into that single touch.

When we broke apart, I felt steadier, more grounded. Whatever tonight brought, we'd face it together.

The drive to the hotel where the gala was being held took thirty minutes through evening traffic. Christopher held my hand the entire time, his thumb tracing circles on my palm in a gesture that had become familiar and comforting.

As we pulled up to the entrance, I could see the red carpet, the photographers lining both sides, the flash of cameras already going off as other guests arrived. My stomach clenched with anxiety.

"Ready?" Christopher asked, squeezing my hand.

"No. But let's do this anyway."

His driver opened the door, and Christopher stepped out first, then turned to offer me his hand. I took it, letting him help me from the car, and immediately the cameras exploded with light.

Photographers shouted Christopher's name, calling for him to look their way, to pose, to give them a smile. And then they saw me, and the shouting intensified.

"Christopher, who's your date?" "Is this your wife?" "Anastasia, look over here!" "How did you two meet?" "When's the wedding?"

Christopher's hand tightened on mine as we moved down the carpet. His expression was calm, controlled, giving nothing away. I tried to mirror his composure, keeping my head high and my smile in place even though my heart was racing.

We paused for photos, Christopher's arm sliding around my waist, pulling me close. The cameras went wild, capturing every angle, every moment.

"You're doing great," Christopher murmured in my ear, his voice barely audible over the chaos. "Just a little further."

Finally, we made it inside, and the noise of the photographers faded to a dull roar. The hotel ballroom was breathtaking, all soaring ceilings and crystal chandeliers, with round tables draped in white linen and elaborate floral centerpieces. Everywhere I looked, I saw elegance and wealth, people in designer gowns and expensive tuxedos, their conversations punctuated by practiced laughter.

This was Christopher's world. And I was about to enter it as his wife.

"Deep breath," Christopher said quietly. "I'm right here."

We moved into the ballroom together, and I felt the moment people noticed us. Conversations paused, heads turned, eyes tracked our movement across the room. I could practically hear their thoughts, their judgments, their questions about who I was and what I was doing here.

"Christopher!" A booming voice cut through the murmur, and a tall man with silver hair and Christopher's blue eyes approached us. "So this is the wife everyone's been talking about."

"Father," Christopher said, his tone carefully neutral. "This is Anastasia. Anastasia, my father, Richard Zane."

Richard's gaze swept over me, assessing and calculating. "Ms. Reed. Or should I say Mrs. Zane?"

"Either is fine," I said, extending my hand. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Zane."

His handshake was firm, businesslike. "I wish I could say we'd heard about you before the press release, but apparently my son prefers to keep his personal life private." There was an edge to his words, a subtle criticism of Christopher's choices.

"We wanted to figure things out before dealing with outside pressure," Christopher said smoothly. "I'm sure you can understand that."

"What I understand is that you made a major life decision without consulting the family." Richard's expression was cool. "But what's done is done. Welcome to the Zane family, Anastasia. I hope you're prepared for what that entails."

The warning in his words was clear. Before I could respond, Eleanor appeared at my side, her presence immediately warming the tense atmosphere.

"Richard, stop intimidating your daughter-in-law," she said firmly. "Anastasia, you look absolutely stunning. That necklace suits you perfectly."

"Thank you, Eleanor," I said gratefully.

"Come, let me introduce you to some people before the ceremony begins." Eleanor linked her arm through mine, gently steering me away from Richard. "Don't mind him. He's upset that Christopher made a decision based on his heart rather than a business spreadsheet. He'll come around eventually."

Eleanor guided me through the ballroom, introducing me to various family members and business associates. Most were polite, if reserved, their curiosity barely concealed behind practiced social smiles. I answered their questions with as much grace as I could muster, aware of Christopher's steady presence beside me the entire time.

Then I saw her.

Victoria Ashford stood near the bar, stunning in a blood-red gown that clung to every curve. Her blonde hair fell in perfect waves down her back, and her smile was sharp as a knife as she watched us approach.

"Christopher," she purred, her voice carrying across the space between us. "How wonderful to see you. And you must be the bookstore owner everyone's buzzing about."

The dismissal in her tone was calculated, designed to make me feel small.

"Victoria," Christopher said coldly. "I didn't realize you'd be attending tonight."

"I never miss the Zane Foundation gala, darling. You know that." Her eyes flickered to me, assessing. "That's quite a necklace. Family heirloom?"

"It was my mother's," Christopher said, his arm tightening around my waist.

Something dangerous flashed in Victoria's eyes. "How sentimental. I'm sure she's thrilled to see it on someone so... unexpected."

"Anastasia is my wife," Christopher said, his voice dropping to a tone I'd never heard before. It was cold, dangerous, protective. "And if you have a problem with that, Victoria, you're welcome to leave."

The people around us had gone quiet, conversations faltering as they sensed the tension.

Victoria's smile turned brittle. "No problem at all. I just hope she knows what she's gotten herself into. This world can be so unforgiving to outsiders."

"Then it's fortunate she's not an outsider anymore," Eleanor said sharply, appearing beside us. "She's family. My granddaughter-in-law. And anyone who has a problem with that can answer to me."

The steel in Eleanor's voice made Victoria's composure crack slightly. She recovered quickly, her smile sliding back into place, but I could see the anger simmering beneath.

"Of course," Victoria said smoothly. "Welcome to the family, Anastasia. I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot of each other."

The threat was barely veiled.

As Victoria walked away, Christopher leaned down to murmur in my ear. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I said, surprised to find it was true. Victoria's words had stung, but they hadn't broken me. "She's trying to get under my skin."

"Don't let her," Christopher said fiercely. "You belong here just as much as she does. More, actually, because you're here with me."

The evening continued in a blur of conversations and introductions. Dinner was served, an elaborate multi-course meal that I barely tasted. Christopher gave a speech about the foundation's work, his voice confident and commanding as he addressed the room full of New York's elite.

I watched him from my seat, seeing the man the world saw—powerful, controlled, untouchable. But I also saw the small tells that only I would notice. The way his hand clenched slightly when he mentioned helping families in need. The brief softness in his eyes when he glanced my way during a pause.

This was Christopher in his element, and he was magnificent.

After dinner, the dancing began. Christopher led me to the floor, his hand settling on my waist, the other taking mine as we moved to the music.

"You've been quiet," he observed, his voice low enough that only I could hear.

"I've been watching you," I admitted. "Seeing you like this, in your world, it's different. You're different."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" There was vulnerability beneath the question.

"It's just true. You're confident here, commanding. People listen when you speak." I paused. "But I prefer the Christopher who burns pasta and doesn't know how to use the washing machine."

His lips quirked into a small smile. "That Christopher only exists because of you."

"Then maybe we balance each other out," I suggested. "You teach me how to navigate your world, and I remind you that there's more to life than business and obligation."

"Deal," Christopher murmured, pulling me closer as we swayed to the music.

For a moment, surrounded by hundreds of people but feeling like it was just the two of us, I felt something settle inside me. This could work. We could make this work.

Then I saw Victoria watching us from across the room, her expression calculating, and I knew the night wasn't over yet.

As if sensing my thoughts, Christopher followed my gaze. His expression hardened.

"Ignore her," he said firmly. "She's not worth your attention."

But as the song ended and we made our way back to our table, Victoria intercepted us, a photographer in tow.

"Christopher, Anastasia, would you mind a photo?" she asked sweetly, her smile predatory. "For the foundation's social media?"

Before we could decline, the photographer was positioning us, Victoria sliding in beside Christopher with practiced ease. I stood on Christopher's other side, his hand gripping mine tightly.

The camera flashed once, twice.

"Perfect," Victoria said, her voice dripping with false warmth. "What a lovely family photo this will make."

The way she said "family" made it clear she still considered herself part of Christopher's world in a way I never would be.

As she walked away, I felt something inside me harden. Victoria wanted to make me feel like I didn't belong, like I was temporary, replaceable.

But she was wrong.

I turned to Christopher, seeing the frustration in his eyes, the apology already forming.

"Dance with me again," I said before he could speak. "And this time, let's give them something to really talk about."

Christopher's expression shifted, surprise giving way to admiration. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

He led me back to the dance floor, and this time when he pulled me close, there was no careful distance, no awareness of watching eyes. His hand splayed across my back, holding me against him, his gaze locked on mine with an intensity that made everything else fade away.

We moved together like we'd been doing this for years, not weeks. Natural, effortless, right.

And when the song ended and Christopher leaned down to kiss me, soft and tender in front of everyone, I heard the gasps, the whispers, the camera flashes going wild.

But I didn't care.

Because in that moment, with Christopher's arms around me and his heart beating against mine, I finally understood what Eleanor had meant.

This was real. We were real.

And nothing Victoria or anyone else said could change that.