She: Part 2 (38 page)

“Ready?” Logan asks me.

He holds out his hand and I take it without hesitation.

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

* * *

Logan’s assurance proves true — the red carpet (which is actually blue) and its mere seven photographers from various media outlets, is no cause for concern. In fact, I find myself quite enjoying the experience of standing in front of an enormous Leary Constructions banner, having my photo taken with the man of the hour. We pose with his family, all of us unintentionally colour co-ordinated. Karen’s forest-green mini dress compliments my light-green one; Mary-Gene and Abigail have both opted for red, though Abby’s is slightly more tutu-esque than her grandmother’s conservative number; and all three men wear very similar grey-shaded suits.

Like Logan promised, we move quickly past the photographers, closer to the hotel lobby, beyond which the event will be taking place in the hotel’s ballroom. Before we make it inside, we’re set upon by a small bundle of journalists, seeking a few minutes of Logan’s time. While his family sidesteps the human obstruction, I stay with Logan as he graciously answers the questions they ask. Things like:
did you ever image your company would be so successful
?
How do you respond to those who say your company should be more green
?
What advice would you give to young men and women who are just starting out
?
What do you say to those who are critical of the fact that one of Paris
’
s biggest companies is owned by an American
? And my personal favourite:
who are you
? Which is addressed, almost disdainfully, towards me.

“The other love of my life,” Logan answers, schmoozing them all like a consummate professional.

Amongst their twitters of laughter we excuse ourselves and finally enter the privacy of the hotel. Logan’s family are nowhere in sight. They must already have been ushered into the ballroom, I think.

“So far, so good,” Logan says happily. That’s one dreaded thing that he can tick off of his list.

“Baby, this is awesome,” I beam at him, already enjoying myself so much more than I thought I would. “I’m so impressed by how…how
real
everything is,” I blurt out. “The banners, the photographers and journalists…it’s like you’re famous!” The finesse and organisation that’s gone into tonight is obvious before we’ve even reached the ballroom, and it gets me wondering. “Who organised it all? Was it someone at Leary Constructions?”

Logan laughs loudly, as though I’ve said something completely ridiculous. It turns out that I have, because he answers, “Gemima, never,
never
in my life will I order someone in my own company to put on a night of appreciation for me.”

Right, I think.
Duh
,
Gem
,
he
’
s not vain
. “The AABD then?” I ask.

He shakes his head as we cross the lobby, hand in hand, following well-showcased signs, and turn down a long corridor that leads to our destination.

“The PBA,” Logan says, but when I look back at him nonplussed, he explains, “The Parisian Building Association. Anyone who’s anyone in this industry is a part of that association.”

I think back, trying to recall the name. “Nope, never heard of them.”

“Jerry didn’t mention them?” Logan asks.

Hearing his name makes my stomach lurch. “
He
’
s
not going to be here tonight, is he?” I exclaim. But before Logan can give me a response, I add, “Because if my mom sees him she
will
kick his ass!” It’s an irrevocable certainty.

“And I’d do it with the greatest amount of pleasure,” my mom says, only a few metres ahead of us, standing next to the large, wide double doors, through which the loud murmur of a crowd can be heard.

She’s dressed to the nine’s, and looks incredibly sexy. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her so dressed up. Her floor-length midnight blue dress shows off her curvaceous figure, accentuating her large bosom and petite waist, and I can tell from her lively face that she’s excited by the prospect of being here.

“Barbara-Anne,” Logan smiles, stepping forward to kiss her on each cheek. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course, dear. Anything for my daughter’s new beau,” she smiles back him, and her smile is
actually
genuine. It seems that during the last twenty-four hours she’s grown fonder of him.
Good
! “Sweetheart,” she turns to me, “you look resplendent.”

“Thank you,” I smile at her. “You look beddable, mom,” I say and both she and Logan laugh.

Pleasantries exchanged, Logan then stares into the ballroom, and says, “Shall we get this over with?”

I take his hand once more and squeeze it. “This is not a lynching,” I tell him. “Everything will be fine. And you’ll still be alive tomorrow.”

“That’s good news indeed,” he laughs, and I wink back at him.

I then link arms with my mom, and the three of us walk into the ballroom.

“Holy
shit
!” I breathe.

This is not what I was expecting at all. A medium-sized gathering, an open bar, something similar to the function that Logan and I attended ten days ago, perhaps, but not this…

I am stunned. The room is
massive
— there are around fifty, huge formally-set tables which only partially fill the space between us and the raised stage, which stands a hundred metres across the room. The rest of the space is filled with people. There has got to be at least a thousand people in here! My impressed state increases instantly.
No wonder Logan
’
s apprehensive
, I suddenly see why. I take in the grand splendour of the room, everybody dressed to perfection chatting away in small cliques, and I marvel that Logan created all of this. His work, his impact, his reach is the reason that one thousand people are here tonight. It’s
incredible
!

“This is what it must feel like to be sleeping with a rockstar,” I muse out loud.

Logan, my rock god, manages a half-smile, whilst also looking uncomfortable. “There are more people than I thought there’d be,” he says.

His apprehension brings me back from my state of awe. “You’ll still be alive tomorrow,” I repeat, reaching up to give him a quick, reassuring kiss. It’s fleeting, and yet it does something powerful. The second our lips touch, that familiar, electric spark ignites between us and immerses us into our delicious bubble. Just he and I, despite the number of other people in the vicinity.

Logan smiles back at me as if to tell me that he feels it too, and the calmness that overcomes him spurs me onwards and urges me to kiss him again. It is so gratifying to know that I am able to quell his discomfort and insecurities just as successfully as he does mine.

“Thank you, baby,” he mutters against my lips. “Will you mingle with me?” he then says.

“I’d love to,” I beam at him.

It takes us over fifteen minutes to reach the centre of the room. It’s so busy, and Logan is greeted by people left, right and centre, everyone wanting to catch his attention. The more we immerse into the room, the more he relaxes, and his permanent hold on my hand softens. When he introduces me to people, I am met mostly with wide eyes and looks of surprise before smiles and polite greetings take their place. From this reception, it’s clear that most of the people we converse with have never seen nor heard of Logan bringing a girlfriend to an event such as this. It’s stupid to be pleased by this, yet I can’t keep myself from being so. I like knowing that I’m the first woman that he’s comfortable being seen with, especially because I know that I’ll also be the last. This night will be number one of tens or even hundreds of events that we’ll go to together over the course of our marriage, I think.

No pressure
,
Gem
,
but you better make a good impression
, I taunt myself.

As we integrate, my mom lingers with us until she spots Mary-Gene and the rest of Logan’s family nearby and she disappears in their direction. Mercy is with them too. She looks radiant in a flowing white gown and when she catches sight of me, she smiles broadly and waves me over.

I let go of Logan’s hand for the first time since entering the room. “I’ll find you in a little bit,” I promise him, and he nods, his attention stolen a moment later by one of his colleagues. “Mercy, you look beautiful,” I tell her when we’re face to face a few moments later.

Ignoring my compliment, she pulls me into a big hug and mutters quietly, “I’m so happy for you!”

Huh
? It takes me a moment to remember that she knows about our engagement.

“Oh, thank you,” I say when we break apart, unable to keep the smile from my face.

“You’re going to have such a good life together, I just know it,” she effuses joyfully. “I’ll be so happy to look after your children.”

“I’m not preg—” I begin.

“Not now,” Mercy cuts in, “but soon you will be,” she nods surely.

Uh…
Change the subject
, I tell myself hastily. “I think we’ll focus on our puppy for the time being. He’s
so
gorgeous, Mercy, I can’t wait to meet him.”

“I’m so glad you’ve decided to have him,” she smiles at me. “Mary-Gene was just telling me that you’re visiting Charleston this summer,” she says, making me grin.
Oh
,
did she now
, I think comically. “So don’t think twice about asking me to look after the little pup,” Mercy says firmly. “I promise you he’ll be safe with me.” She’s so insistent that I suspect she wouldn’t mind keeping our Samuel for herself.

“Bonjour, Gemima,” a familiar voice says to my right.

I turn and see Amélie Clémence standing next to me. Her attire is much like that which she wears to work — classic, stylish, sophisticated. The main difference is that now, for quite possibly the first time that I’ve seen, she’s got her hair hanging down in long, loose curls. They soften her usually austere appearance; she looks good like this, I note.

“Bonjour,” I say, still smiling from Mercy’s last words.

Mercy excuses herself, leaving me with another hug and a sweet kiss on the cheek. She really is adorable.

“A good friend of yours?” Amélie enquires after her.

“She’s very close to Logan,” I explain. “Have you seen him yet?” I ask, looking around for him.

“Non,” she says. “Excusez-moi pendant un moment,” she then says, responding to an apparently urgent message on her phone.
Excuse me for a moment
.

“Uh, OK…” She comes over to speak to me and abandons me a second later. I refrain from rolling my eyes. Instead I put them to better use, looking for Logan once more. I do a double take when I catch sight of him. I watch him move, tall and graceful, shaking hands, kissing cheeks, and being received with great enthusiasm. I don’t watch him to monitor his interactions, I watch him because he is too stunning not to. He knows exactly where I am, because every twenty seconds or so, he looks over at me, just for long enough for me to catch a glimpse of that stunning smile. Our spark is still potent, I note, no matter how far apart we are, the second our eyes meet it’s as though there’s no one here but us. It’s a beautiful, magical, fulfilling feeling to have. It suddenly occurs to me that our mutual affinity of our bubble, our connection, means that separation renders it unbreakable.

The sound of Amélie tutting makes me drop my gaze from Logan and look at her again. Her phone is nowhere insight, but for some reason her body language is extremely tense and a moment later I learn why. I jump in fright when someone behind me unexpectedly pinches my waist. I turn and see Buddy, looking more dapper than I would have thought possible.

“Chill, Gem,” he greets me, smiling mischievously. I know in an instant that it’s not a coincidence that he’s chosen right
now
to come and say hello. “Amélie, you’re looking…” he considers his coming insult carefully.

However, before he can deliver it, Amélie says, “Tais-toi, vous des porcs.”
Shut up
,
you disgusting pig
.

There’s a terse silence. They’re staring at each other with a mutual lack of respect.

Gem
,
say something
! With little else going through my mind, I revert back to my earlier question. “Have you seen Logan yet?”

“No,” Amélie says sharply, evidently not remembering that I’d already asked her.

“Not yet,” Buddy says shortly.

Silence looms around us once more. Why would Buddy choose to create a situation
this
uncomfortable?

“You both look wonderful,” I say, desperately trying to kickstart some form of decent conversation.

“Merci, vous aussi,” Amélie says, though her eyes never leave Buddy’s face.
Thank you
,
so do you
.

“Yes,” Buddy agrees with her, “you scrub up nicely, Gem.”

Something about his words makes Amélie grimace. I sigh. I’ve tried, I’ve failed.

“This is
so
awkward,” I mutter under my breath.

“Let me make it less so,” Amélie announces with a scowl, her eyes dangerously narrow. “Gemima, I will seek you out later,” she says to me, “when we are not interrupted by such low quality company.”

I stop myself from laughing at her words. “Alright,” I nod. “Have a good evening, Amélie.”

She gives me a polite smile, before curtly turning on her sky-high heels and marching far away from us.

Buddy starts chuckling as he watches her leave, as if happy he won the standoff.

“You are a shit-stirrer,” I grin at him.

“Me? Never,” he says cheekily. “Ah, I do enjoy the sexual tension between her and I,” he jokes, and I laugh loudly. There was absolutely nothing sexual about the tension between them.

Despite this, I continue the joke, saying, “If you love each other, you should be together.”

Abruptly, Buddy beams at me.

“What?” I ask. He
doesn
’
t
love her, does he?

“I’ve heard someone else say those words recently.” Then in further explanation, he says, “You’re exactly the same as Logan, do you know that? Just as hopelessly naive about love in the real world,” he laughs, forgetting entirely about Amélie.