Monica briefly rested her head on his shoulder. “I also wanted to thank you for telling me the truth about my sad life. I kind of love you. Like a brother, so don’t get all creepy.”
“Is one of us dying?” he asked. “Because otherwise, this shit’s getting uncomfortable.”
She glanced up at him. “Always with the jokes. I’m going to L.A. tonight. I’m going to put my heart on the line, Ev. I’m so scared, I can’t even think straight.”
He gazed down at her, his expression serious for a change. “That sounds potentially disastrous or very exciting.”
“I know.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “Good luck. Call me tomorrow. Let me know how it goes. And Monnie, if you need me to come to L.A., I’ll be on the next plane.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
“You know I’m always here. Like Batman and Robin, kid.”
Monica nodded at the girl near the bar who licked her hand, knocked back a shot, and sucked on a lime wedge. Nowhere in nature did skin appear that shade of orange. “I assume that’s your date.”
“Of course. Speaking of which, that was her fourth tequila shot. I need to stop a train wreck. Break a leg with the speech.”
Monica gave him a hug before returning to her family.
“Okay,” Allie said, blowing out a breath. “Speech time. Wish me luck.” She handed her glass off to Trevor.
He kissed her temple. “You’ll be marvelous, darling. You always are.”
Allie wended through groupings of people, stopping to chat on her way to the podium. When she stepped up on the dais, the music stopped, and she tapped on the microphone. “Thank you for coming tonight.”
As everyone clapped, Monica made her way forward. She wasn’t a big fan of speaking in public. But all she had to do was give a simple thank-you to the staff and the board, and it would be over. Her gaze bounced off Marcus Stanford and his busty wife. Perhaps Mrs. Stanford should be less concerned about junk food and more concerned about injecting toxins into her blank face. Ouch. That was bitchy. Monica put it down to nerves.
Allie rambled on a bit too long, then she announced Monica. Holding up the hem of her dress, Monica climbed the steps, hoping she wouldn’t fall.
Allie smiled and handed her the mic. As Monica stared at the crowd—Vegas’s richest and a few infamous—she blanked. Her mind stopped working. She stood, statue-like, for at least a full minute, maybe more.
When Monica said nothing, murmurs broke out over the crowd. This had never happened to her. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Monica stared out at a sea of faces and remained silent.
Evan raised his brows. Trevor lowered his. Marcus Stanford smirked.
Out of desperation, Monica said the first thing that popped into her head. “Patricia Campbell isn’t a statistic.”
The murmurs stopped and everyone became silent, waiting.
Monica cleared her throat. “We talk about survivors and victims of the disease. Well, my mom wasn’t a victim.” She took a deep breath, unsure of what to say next. So she decided to go with the truth for a change. “She was a fighter. Cancer didn’t define who she was. My mom laughed too loud and liked hair metal bands. She had this wicked, biting sense of humor. And she fought to live, from the day she was diagnosed until the day she died.
“She believed in me, when I didn’t believe in myself. My mom was my best friend, and I still miss her. I want to thank you all for being here tonight, and for honoring her memory with your donations. Thank you so much.”
Monica was about to lose it. She shoved the mic back in Allie’s hand, who looked as surprised as Monica felt. But she also felt free. Free of the guilt she’d carried around for so long. Her mom loved her. She wouldn’t have held Monica’s stupid decisions against her. Why had it taken her so long to realize it? Patricia Campbell wasn’t a saint, but she’d been an amazing woman.
Monica hustled to the steps, intent on getting the hell out of there. She wanted Cal’s arms more than ever. She took strength from him; she felt cherished when he held her tight. Monica only hoped like hell it wasn’t too late to win him back.
* * *
She was brilliant, his Monica. Cal was proud of her. His brave girl spoke about her mother in public, and looked lovely doing it.
That dark scarlet dress was made for her. The silk hugged her curves and outlined those stunning breasts. In the back, it clung to her ass, accentuated it. No more Miss Prim. The dress was as bold a statement as that speech had been. Monica wasn’t hiding anymore.
She kept her head lowered, her steps quick as she sped to the back of the garden. Cal followed her. When she almost reached the pond, he grabbed her hand, pulling her to a stop.
With a gasp, she twirled around and gazed up at him with wide eyes. “Oh my God. Cal, what are you doing here? I thought you were in California.”
He smiled. “They have these amazing contraptions called planes. I know how we left things, but I had to be here. This was your big night. You were fucking awesome up there.” Cal couldn’t remember being this anxious. This hopeful. He wanted to touch her, but refrained. She might have changed her mind about him. She may not want forever. She may have washed her hands of him completely. God, he hoped not.
“Thanks.” Monica tucked her hair behind one ear. “I can’t believe you came. And you’re wearing a tux.”
“Only for you. So, am I a good surprise or a bad one?”
“Good.”
Thank God. “That was an incredible speech. Was it hard, talking about your mum?”
“Very. I didn’t plan it.” She placed a hand in the center of his chest. “Cal—” She glanced around, nodded to a few gawkers. “Let’s go somewhere private.” She took his hand and led him to the back wall.
He had to tell her how he felt, right now, before he lost his nerve. “Listen, I know I’ve been an idiot, but I’m in love with you. Have been all along, but I was too blind to see it. Now, I know you may not feel the same way, and you’re perfectly justified. But I only just realized I love you, so in my defense, I think you should give me another chance.”
As she turned to face him, Monica’s lips quivered slightly. “You’re in love with me?”
“I am. I missed you, darling. So terribly.”
“I missed you too. Like crazy.”
He placed his hands on her waist. “Truly?”
“Truly. I love you too.”
Now Cal smiled as well. “Say it again.”
“I love you, Calum George Hughes.”
He stepped closer, wrapping his arms around her. “You look so beautiful, I’m almost afraid to touch you.”
“Trust me, I won’t break.”
He swept her into his arms, kissing her tenderly. God, he’d missed her. Her sweet smell, her honey-blond hair—which was swept to one side tonight, making her look like a glamorous movie star from a bygone era. Cal had never seen a sight more beautiful than Monica Campbell.
She pushed at his shoulders until he lifted his head, but he didn’t loosen his hold. “I texted Jules every day and got updates on your dad.”
“Did you? That little monster never said a word.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about either one of them right now.” She felt good in his arms, and he planned on never letting her go again. “You wore red.”
“It made me think of you. I was going to fly to L.A. tonight.”
His fingers stopped moving across her hips. “Were you? To see me?”
“Yeah. I quit my job, and I wanted to tell you in person.”
“How do you feel about it? That job meant everything to you.”
She played with the studs on his shirt. “No, you mean everything.”
Cal touched her cheek, drifted his fingers along her jawline. “I don’t deserve you. You’re so lovely and clever. You’re out of my league, in every respect.”
“That’s not true at all. I know you won’t stay forever.” Cal opened his mouth to stop her, but she kept going. “I’m not asking for a lifetime.”