Chapter 4 The Welcome Party

Ella's POV

By the time Margarette and I arrived at the mansion, I had almost convinced myself that tonight was nothing more than a welcome party for Miles.

Margarette parked near the entrance, and I immediately reached for the door.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"To my room. Your father said there's a gown waiting for me, and considering how involved he seems to be in tonight's party, I'm slightly afraid to see what he picked."

Margarette laughed. "Knowing Dad, he probably asked someone else to choose it."

"That doesn't make me feel better."

"You worry too much."

"And you don't worry enough."

"That's why we're best friends."

I shook my head and climbed out of the car.

The mansion was already busy when we entered, with the household staff preparing everything before the guests arrived. Margarette disappeared to get ready while I headed upstairs.

The moment I stepped inside my bedroom, I noticed a long garment bag hanging from my wardrobe. A small box and a pair of heels had also been placed on my bed.

"So he really wasn't joking."

Uncle Marcus had apparently thought of everything.

I unzipped the garment bag and stared at the gown inside. It was beautiful, elegant without being too extravagant, and exactly the kind of dress I would have chosen for myself.

I ran my fingers over the fabric as nervousness settled in my stomach.

It was only a dress and only a party.

And Miles was only a man.

A rude, arrogant, irritatingly handsome man who had called me clumsy only a few hours ago.

Why was I thinking about him again?

I changed into the gown and stood in front of the mirror. It fit perfectly, which shouldn't have surprised me. Nothing Uncle Marcus arranged was ever done halfway.

I was still studying my reflection when my bedroom door suddenly opened.

"Margarette!"

She walked inside as though bursting into my room without knocking was completely normal.

"You need help."

"I need you to knock."

"You've been telling me that for years."

"And somehow you've learned nothing."

She closed the door and looked me over before her eyes widened. "Oh, Ella. You look beautiful."

"It's the dress."

"No, it's you."

"You're biased."

"Obviously. You're my best friend."

She inspected me for another moment before shaking her head. "But we need to do something about your hair."

"What's wrong with it? I brushed it."

Margarette stared at me in disbelief. "You brushed it? How impressive."

I rolled my eyes. "Leave my hair alone."

"Absolutely not."

Before I could protest, she pulled me toward the chair in front of my dressing table.

"Sit."

"Margarette."

"Sit."

I sighed and obeyed.

She immediately opened one of my drawers. "Where's your makeup?"

"That is my makeup."

She stared at the lipstick, mascara, and powder inside before slowly turning toward me. "Ella, I'm pretty sure you've had some of these since college."

"They're fine."

She shook her head and reached for the makeup bag she had brought with her.

"Why did you bring that?"

"Because I know you."

"I don't need makeup."

"Here we go again."

Margarette placed both hands on my shoulders and looked at me through the mirror. "If you tell me makeup makes your skin age faster one more time, I might actually scream."

"But too much makeup isn't good for your skin."

"You've been saying that since high school."

"And look at my skin."

She stared at me for several seconds. "I hate you."

I laughed. "Why?"

"Because you barely put anything on your face and somehow your skin still looks like that."

"See? My strategy works."

"No. You were blessed with good skin, and you've been using it as an excuse to criticize my makeup for years."

"I never criticized your makeup."

"You told me my foundation was unnecessary."

"Because you look beautiful without it."

Margarette paused. "Fine. That was actually nice."

I laughed as she began arranging her makeup on the table.

"Just don't put too much on me."

"I know what I'm doing."

"That's what worries me."

"Do you trust me?"

"Usually."

"Then tonight would be a wonderful time to start."

She began styling my hair, and I watched her through the mirror. Margarette had always been good at things like this. Even during college, she had been the one helping everyone prepare for parties while I wondered why anyone needed so many different brushes.

"You know," she said casually, "Miles is going to see you like this."

I immediately looked at her through the mirror. "Don't."

"What?"

"You're trying to make me nervous."

"Is it working?"

"No."

She smiled. "Liar."

"I'm not dressing up for your brother. This is his welcome party. He's the one everyone is supposed to be looking at."

"Whatever you say."

"Margarette."

She laughed and continued working on my hair before moving on to my makeup.

When she reached for another product, I frowned. "What's that?"

"Highlighter."

"Why do I need to be highlighted?"

Margarette closed her eyes as though asking for patience. "Please stop talking and trust me."

I laughed but finally stayed quiet while she worked.

Several minutes later, she stepped away with a satisfied smile. "Done."

I turned toward the mirror and stared at my reflection.

The makeup was subtle, just enough to make my eyes stand out, and my hair fell beautifully around my shoulders. I still looked like myself, only more polished.

"Wow."

Margarette crossed her arms. "You're welcome."

"You really are good at this."

"I know."

"Modest too."

"Always."

I stood and looked at myself again, but the thought of going downstairs suddenly made my stomach tighten. Soon the mansion would be filled with guests, and Miles would be among them.

Margarette's smile became mischievous. "Ready to see my brother again?"

"I already saw him today."

"Not looking like that."

I grabbed a pillow from the bed and threw it at her. She caught it while laughing.

"Stop!"

"I'm only telling the truth."

I looked at myself in the mirror one last time, wondering what Miles would think when he saw me.

Why did I even care? After the way he had treated me that morning, his opinion should have been the last thing on my mind.

Yet my heart began beating a little faster as Margarette took my hand and pulled me out of the room.

By the time we reached the garden, the party was already underway. Soft music filled the air, and the entire garden had been transformed with elegant lights, flowers, and beautifully decorated tables. Guests stood in small groups, talking and laughing while servers moved between them with trays of drinks.

I barely noticed any of it.

Because the moment Margarette and I stepped into the garden, my eyes found Miles.

He stood several feet away, dressed in a dark suit that made him look even more handsome than he had that morning.

But he wasn't alone.

A beautiful woman stood beside him, her arm linked comfortably through his as though that was exactly where she belonged.

I stopped walking.

She was stunning and elegant, and the way she held onto him made it obvious they were familiar with each other.

Something painful tightened inside my chest.

I didn't understand it.

Miles and I barely knew each other. Our first meeting had ended with coffee all over his shirt and him calling me clumsy. I had absolutely no right to care who stood beside him or who touched him.

But knowing that didn't stop the ache spreading through my chest.

Then, as though he somehow sensed me watching him, Miles turned his head.

His eyes found mine across the crowded garden, and for several seconds, neither of us looked away until the woman beside him tightened her arm around his.

And for reasons I couldn't explain, I suddenly wished I had never come downstairs.