The next morning, Riley made her decision. It was last minute, but she decided not to attend the gala with Paige and Clint, not even if she was supposed to be meeting Jesse for the first time.

The gown was stunning—last season, but still beautiful—and it fit her like a glove. It hugged all her curves, accentuated her breasts, and had sequins along the hem of the skirt, which flared enough at the hips to fall with a swishing sound at her feet. It made her look and feel like a princess who had just stepped off the movie screen and into the real world. There was no way Jesse wouldn't fall for her, Paige reminded her, not when she looked this fantastic.

The only caveat was that Riley had to wear four-inch heels to pull off the princess look, a prospect that scared her half to death because she'd never been able to walk straight in them. Three inches had always been her limit, no matter how fabulous the Louboutins made her legs look. My sis has legs for days, was how Paige described it on her Instagram.

But now that she'd made her decision not to go, she wouldn't have to worry about that four-inch heels or looking fantastic with her stomach pulled in all night. Instead, she'd get to spend her Saturday night the usual way with Miss Bailey purring by her side, possibly reading a book that had belonged to her mother, maybe even with a few of her mother's handwritten notes along the margins.

Saying 'no' would be easy, Riley thought as she stared at Paige's number on her phone. But if it was so easy, then why couldn't she simply dial Paige's number right now and tell her that she wasn't going after all? Surely it wouldn't matter to Paige and Clint. It wasn't like she was the one invited to the gala. She was just a guest of a guest, so it would be no big loss for Paige if Riley didn't come along. Paige could focus on her usual socializing and not worry whether her kid sister was getting it on with Jesse, or tripping and falling down the red carpet in her gown.

The ringing of her phone interrupted her thoughts and Riley made a face as Paige's name showed on the display. Oh, crap, I spoke too soon.

"Are you excited yet?" Paige asked as Riley answered the phone.

"I know that you are," Riley replied, "but I've decided not to go."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm not going," Riley said, keeping her eyes focused on the small TV set in front of her. "I need a break. I've been working a lot lately, and I'm tired. I want to stay home and lie low. I mean, what if someone there recognizes me as the girl who kissed Gareth?"

"So?" Paige asked, her voice clipped. "It's not like you're still in the news, Ri. Even if anyone recognizes you, so what? You did nothing wrong."

"That's not what they think," Riley said, remembering the lively conversations in the fan forums about that skank named Riley. "Look, maybe I should just lie low instead of attending some gala where people only go to be seen and make a fool of myself."

"We go because it's for a good cause, Ri," Paige said. "It's for disadvantaged children all over the world and each ticket cost, at least, $1250. It's being held at the Museum of Natural History."

"Jeez, Paige, I'm sorry," Riley said. Twelve hundred dollars was a lot of money. "I thought I was a guest of a guest. The last thing I wanted was for you and Clint to pay for my ticket. I could have met Jesse at the Library for free."

"Well, for your information, Riley, you're an official guest, and you really ought to be there. You agreed to come, and now you're backing out on me at the last minute. That's just not cool. But why am I even surprised?" Paige said, sighing. "It's so like you."

Now Paige was just being mean, Riley thought, though she had a point. Riley had agreed to go. She'd lost weight to fit into the dress, snacked only on carrots, celery, and juices to look, well, gaunt, really, if she were honest.

"I'm tired, Paige," Riley said, and at that moment, she was tired—tired of everyone telling her what to do.

"Pull through for me, Ri, please," Paige said, this time with a slight whine in her voice, another of her tactics. "Jesse paid to be there and meet you. You look stunning in that dress, and you even got lash extensions and a facial to look your best."

"You gave me a gift certificate for the lash extensions and the facial, Paige," Riley said. "Not to mention the body wrap."

"All the more reason to go, Ri. And really, don't worry what other people think. They're probably not even going to remember what was in the tabloids," Paige said. "Didn't Isobel's father pull down the pictures a few hours after they came out? Damage control to protect his baby girl—that's what Betty told me. So really, you have nothing to worry about."

When Riley didn't reply, Paige continued. "Come on, Ri, just for tonight, and then I'll leave you alone, I promise. After this evening, no more galas. I'll have Bob pick you up at 5:30, and I can do your hair when you get here. How does that sound?"

"You promise there'll be no more galas after this? No more meddling with my life?" Riley asked.

"I promise."

She really should grow a spine, Riley thought, hating the thought of having to slip her feet into those four-inch heels.

"All right," Riley said, pulling herself up from the couch where she'd settled herself amid the throw pillows in anticipation of finishing up the last few videos of her Pride and Prejudice box set. On the screen, Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy emerged from the lake.

"I'll be ready by 5:30, then," Riley said before hanging up.

* * *

Bob arrived at 5:15, and Riley was in the backseat of the town car by 5:30, her stomach growling after eating nothing but a few baby carrots and five celery sticks all day. She had managed to squeeze herself into her gown and pull her long hair into a loose bun. Since Paige was going to style her hair, there was no point in stressing out about it. She just had to worry about the gown, the shoes, and her makeup—not to mention her lack of a spine.

But growing a spine would have to wait till tomorrow. Tonight she'd have to play along with Paige and Clint, and be nice to Jesse. Maybe she and Jesse would hit it off, and she'd become just like Paige, drinking vodka sours at the Polo Lounge and always worrying about how her butt looked in her mommy jeans.

The town car was a block away from her apartment building when she saw him, walking toward the direction of her apartment. He'd been looking up at the street signs, looking gorgeous as ever. Riley almost thought she was hallucinating but she leaned toward the front seat and prayed her boobs didn't pop out of her dress.

"Stop the car!"

"What's wrong? Did you forget something?" asked Bob, double-parking in front of a drugstore as drivers angrily honked their horns and yelled at them. Riley barely heard them as she opened the car door and stepped out, hearing the shouts replaced by whistles and catcalls.

"What the hell!" Bob yelled as he lowered the car windows. "Miss Eames! Where are you going?"

Riley didn't hear him for she was sprinting away from the car, and for the length of the first block, that's what she did—sprinting in her four-inch Louboutins the best she could. It felt like she was in some chick lit or romance movie, running after the man she loved, complete with some fantastic song playing inside her head and it felt exhilarating.

But by the second block, the song and the feeling of exhilaration faded and the idea of seeing herself in a movie seemed ridiculous. Suddenly Riley wasn't so sure anymore whether she'd seen him, and somewhere along the way, she'd lost the clip to her hair. She was also uncomfortably aware that people were looking at her, some of the men whistling at the sight of a woman wearing a gown with a plunging neckline in the middle of the street, held together with discreetly positioned fashion tape. Riley looked around her, scanning the sidewalks, trying to quell the feeling of panic growing deep inside her.

It had been Ashe, she thought. She would never have mistaken anyone else for him, not in a million years. The dark hair, blue eyes, the stubble that darkened his jaw and that tall frame.

Ashe Hunter had been walking toward her apartment.

But when she finally arrived in front of her apartment building, prompting an alarmed Frank to come out and make sure she was okay, Ashe was nowhere to be seen. Riley wanted to cry, feeling stupid for thinking that Ashe would seek her out. She must have dreamt him up, wishful thinking working overtime, making her see things she wanted to see even if they weren't there. After all, it had been four days since she left him that voicemail and he still hadn't called her back, not even a text message.

"Best get inside, Miss Eames, before you catch a cold in that," Frank cautioned, and Riley realized she'd left her coat in the town car.

"I'll be right there, Frank," she said as Frank returned to the lobby to help elderly Miss Primm make her way to the elevator.

Riley sighed and folded her arms across her body. She felt so out of place on the sidewalk in her thousand-dollar gown.

Unbalanced. Wasn't that the word that Tessa had used?

Well, she'd gone ahead and finally done what she wanted to do for a change—followed her heart and ran out of the car to chase after a man. But what good had it done her? Shit like that only worked in the movies. And she sure as heck wasn't in a movie, was she? She was standing in the middle of the sidewalk on the Upper West Side looking ridiculous.

Was that why she was feeling so unbalanced and foolish now?

So much for Anahata, Riley thought, looking down at her shoes and groaning out loud. She had stepped on a piece of gum, and now her right shoe was now stuck to the pavement.

"Crap," she muttered. There went her Louboutins, she thought, as she attempted to scrape the gum off the bottom of her shoe the best way she could without leaning too far forward and falling flat on her face.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," said a voice in front of her and as Riley looked up, she saw his blue eyes first, a shade that reminded her of the sky after the rain. And suddenly, the shoes—and spilling boobs—were the last things on her mind.