Chapter 8: The Auction

The children's hospital gala was held in a ballroom with chandeliers the size of cars.

I wore a long green dress that Leon's housekeeper had found in my size by three o'clock on Friday, and I didn't ask how.

It was Saturday night.

Day 4.

I wore a ring from his mother's jewelry box.

I had a husband who'd had me on his office desk two nights ago.

A man who hated me was holding a stolen copy of my own contract.

I smiled until my face hurt.

"You look like you're being strangled," Leon said into my ear.

"I'm being strangled by nine hundred pearls."

"Breathe out."

"I'm breathing."

"Your hand is crushing mine."

I let go.

His fingers stayed laced through mine, warm and certain.

At the front of the room, a small man in a tuxedo tapped his microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the live auction!"

The first three lots were a week in Tuscany, a signed guitar and a dinner with a famous chef.

The fourth was announced by the auctioneer in a voice that had gone strange.

"Lot four. A gift basket, donated by the new Mrs. Leon Merrick."

I stopped breathing.

"I didn't donate a basket."

Leon's hand went still.

"Reginald," he said.

Across the room, under a chandelier, Reginald Merrick raised his champagne to me.

On the screen behind the auctioneer, a photo came up.

It was my catalog, page six.

The Executive.

Quiet motor.

Ten speeds.

Laughter ran through the room, thin and nervous.

A woman in diamonds put her napkin to her mouth.

A man near the front said, loudly, "Who's bidding on that?"

Reginald's table burst into laughter.

I felt Leon start to stand.

I pressed my hand down on his arm.

"No," I said. "This one's mine."

"Lilia."

"You said I was enjoying it. I am."

I stood up and walked to the stage.

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