Not physically tired, but tired in a deeper way, as though he had spent years carrying responsibilities he had never been allowed to put down.
Victoria spoke animatedly to the hotel director, smiling for the photographers whenever she noticed a camera pointed in her direction.
Adrian remained quiet.
When a young server approached with a champagne tray, Victoria took a glass without looking at her.
"Honestly," she murmured, "you would think they could hire people who knew how to stand properly."
The server's smile faltered.
Adrian glanced at Victoria.
"What?"
"Nothing, darling."
She slipped her arm through his.
"Let's go inside. Everyone is waiting for us."
Adrian looked toward the ballroom.
His gaze passed over the guests, the musicians, the glittering decorations, and the staff moving between tables.
Then, for one brief moment, his eyes met Eleanor's.
She immediately lowered hers.
She had no reason to imagine that he would remember her face.
People like Adrian Blackwood did not remember people like Eleanor Hayes.
At least, that was what she had always believed.
The evening continued.
Eleanor carried drinks, replaced napkins, cleared empty plates, and answered requests from guests who rarely bothered to learn her name.
At table twelve, an elderly woman thanked her for refilling her water glass.
At table seven, a businessman snapped his fingers at her because his steak had arrived two minutes later than expected.
At table three, a little girl asked whether Eleanor's star pendant was magical.
Eleanor smiled.
"It helps me remember something important."
"What?"
"That even when the sky is dark, the stars are still there."
The girl considered this seriously.
Then she whispered, "I think my mommy is a star."
Eleanor's smile softened.
"Then I think she must be a very bright one."
The little girl hugged her mother, and Eleanor moved on before anyone could notice the sudden ache in her chest.
At eight thirty, the gala's principal speeches began.
Adrian Blackwood was scheduled to announce a new charitable initiative funded by his company. The initiative would provide long-term financial assistance to families whose children required expensive medical treatment.
Eleanor had heard rumors about the program.
The hospital treating her father was among those that might eventually receive support.
She tried not to think about it.
Hope was dangerous when it had no foundation.
Still, when Adrian stepped onto the stage, she paused beside a service table to listen.
He stood beneath the chandeliers, one hand resting lightly on the podium.
"My father used to say that success is measured by the number of people who depend on you," he began.
His voice was calm, deep, and unexpectedly warm.
"I believed him when I was a child. Then I grew older and discovered how easily success becomes a number on a screen, a figure in a report, or a headline in a newspaper."
The room became quiet.
"We celebrate profits. We celebrate expansion. We celebrate the ability to acquire things that other people cannot afford."
He looked across the audience.
"But there are families who must choose between paying rent and buying medicine. Parents who sell their homes to keep their children alive. Children who learn to recognize the sound of a hospital monitor before they learn the names of the stars."
Eleanor felt her fingers tighten around the edge of the table.
Adrian continued.
"No child should lose a future because their family has run out of money. No parent should have to calculate the value of a life against the balance in a bank account."
He announced the creation of the Blackwood Family Medical Fund.
The audience applauded.
Cameras flashed.
Victoria rose beside her table and clapped enthusiastically, ensuring that everyone could see her.
Eleanor remained motionless.
For one dangerous second, she imagined what it might mean if the fund could help her father.
Then she forced herself to look away.
Promises made beneath chandeliers were easy.
Keeping them was another matter.
By nine o'clock, the ballroom had grown louder.
Guests moved between tables, waiters hurried through narrow spaces, and the quartet began playing music that encouraged couples to dance.
Victoria had become increasingly irritated.
She disliked being surrounded by people who wanted to speak to Adrian. She disliked the attention he received whenever someone recognized him. Most of all, she disliked that he seemed more interested in the charity announcement than in her.
She had spent weeks preparing for this evening.
Her dress had been custom-made in Paris. Her jewelry had been borrowed from a private collection. Her hairdresser had arrived at her penthouse before sunrise.
She had expected Adrian to introduce her as his future wife, praise her charitable contributions, and spend the evening demonstrating that she was the most important woman in his life.
Instead, he had spoken for twenty minutes about sick children.
And when the speech ended, he had walked away to discuss the medical fund with a hospital administrator.
Victoria watched him from across the room.
A woman approached her and complimented the evening.
Victoria smiled.
"Thank you. Adrian insisted on making it larger this year."
"How generous of him."
"He's always been generous."
The woman glanced toward the service corridor.
"Although I imagine organizing something like this must be difficult. So many staff members to manage."
Victoria followed her gaze.
Eleanor was carrying a tray of glasses.
"Yes," Victoria said, her smile tightening. "The staff can be rather unpredictable."
She turned away.
A few minutes later, she decided she wanted fresh air.
She crossed the ballroom, stepped into the courtyard, and paused beneath the illuminated trees.
The night was cold, and a fine mist had begun to settle over the stone pavement.
A black limousine waited near the entrance.
Victoria's driver stood beside it.
She looked down at her shoes and noticed a faint mark near the heel.
Her expression changed.
"Unbelievable."
She called for a hotel attendant, but no one appeared immediately.
Then she spotted Eleanor near the steps, kneeling beside a small service cart.
A bottle had broken during the rush, and Eleanor was carefully gathering the pieces of glass into a container so no one would step on them.
"Hey, you."
Eleanor looked up.
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Come here."
Eleanor set down the container and hurried over.
"Can I help you with something?"
Victoria extended one foot.
"There's a stain on my shoe. Clean it."
Eleanor blinked.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. I can ask the housekeeping staff to—"
"I didn't ask you to find someone else. I asked you to clean it."
"Of course. I'll get a cloth."
Eleanor turned toward the service cart.
Victoria caught her by the arm.
"Where are you going?"
"To get a cloth, ma'am."
"Use what you have."
Eleanor looked down at the small cleaning towel tucked into her apron.
It had been used to wipe trays throughout the evening.
She hesitated.
Victoria noticed.
"What is it?"
"Nothing, ma'am. I just don't want to damage your shoes."
"My shoes cost more than you make in a month."
Eleanor felt heat rise into her cheeks.
"Yes, ma'am."
She knelt on the cold pavement.
The stone was damp beneath her knees.
As she reached toward Victoria's shoe, the blonde woman shifted her weight impatiently.
"Careful. Do you people ever learn how to do anything properly?"
Eleanor swallowed.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
Eleanor looked up.