Robyn
Choking on my own spit or a permanent loss of the entirety of the English language were my two guesses as to why I couldn't speak.
After a very long moment of staring, Christian put me out of my misery.
"Hi," he said simply.
"Hello."
"You look beautiful."
My heart pounded louder in my chest. It took every muscle in my body not to look at the floor again. Holding his gaze felt like the hardest yet easiest thing I ever had to do.
"Thank you, cuore mio. You look very nice too."
He didn't respond to my compliment, just stared and stared and stared at me. I could feel myself turning red. My mouth was parched and a light sweat started to accumulate on my neck and palms.
Around us, people began to move again but their eyes were still fixed on us as if we were the only two people in the room. At that moment, I wished we were.
I cleared my throat. "You should go talk to important people. They're all here for you."
"Why would I want to talk to anyone else when you are the most important person in the room?" He asked plainly, as if he were reading off a recipe.
My heart lurched as I tried to tame it. "Not by a long shot," I smiled, trying to bring my breathing under control. "I think Trevor Noah and Taylor Swift are somewhere in the crowd."
"Who?"
I rolled my eyes, laughing. Even though I was pretty sure it was a joke, it honestly wouldn't surprise me if Christian didn't know who they were. But then again, he lived with Bella, who sang You Belong With Me at the top of her lungs every day for a month straight when she and Francis were sleeping together but he was still flirting with some French girl to get under her skin.
"Seriously," I pushed his chest lightly, intending to be playful and internally cursed at the warmth of his chest on my fingertips. "Go mingle."
Again, he said nothing but grabbed my hand gently in his, running his fingers up the length of my arm and then brushed his hand across the freckles on my face.
"You blind me," he whispered. "You are the only thing I see."
It was a good thing an overeager photographer ran up to us like his ass was on fire and timidly excused himself for interrupting because I didn't even know what to say. While I turned to him, Christian didn't bother. His eyes were still fixed on me.
"Um, hi. Could I please get a photo?"
"Oh, of course," I nodded, and took a step back to let him take a photo of Christian, grateful to put some distance between the two of us.
To my surprise, he didn't let go of my hand, and hauled me into his hard chest. Dropping my hand, his arm snaked around my waist. He placed one hand in his pocket and looked at the photographer.
"Okay," the photographer said, clearly disappointed at not getting his solo shot of New York's finest. "Big smiles now!"
Christian tugged me in even closer and I stumbled a little, my hand falling right on his chest. Immediately, he flashed his teeth and I forced my gaze into the camera, putting on my best smile as well, not removing my hand. The clicks and flashes kept coming, making me partially blind and I consciously sucked in a breath, plastering an even wider smile on my face.
When the journalist was finally satisfied, I dropped my hand and tried to pull away once again to catch my breath, but Christian's hand tightened on my waist, not letting me move away. Instead, he just turned down to look at me and winked.
Within seconds, he was bombarded by smiling faces and more photographers, all of whom wanted everything to do with him and nothing to do with me. We spent what felt like days greeting every single person who came up to him, which was essentially the entire room. He shook hands and smiled, making small talk.
When people bothered to acknowledge me, I said my hello's and how are you's but Christian always always always introduced me as Robyn Hale, the artist. Never Robyn Hale, Damon Hale's sister or Anthony Hale's daughter. Just the artist.
Their eyes went wild when they realized who I was. You're the Robyn Hale that just sold a 20 million dollar painting? Yes. Yes I was.
His arm only let go of me when we were back at our table and he pulled my chair out for me to sit, smiling warmly. Then, he sat right next to me. I was almost afraid to look up at my friends and see their reactions.
"How kind of you to say hi to us, Christian," Ariadne remarked with her usual sass.
I looked up at her shyly and her face was split into the most enormous smile, staring directly at me while addressing her brother. Next to her, Damon smirked behind his pint of Guinness as he slid a $100 dollar bill to a very smug looking Francis. The bet they made was almost certainly about me.
I had just barely caught my breath when he turned to me and grabbed the side of my chair, pulling it so close to him I was practically attached to his side.
"What are you doing?" I breathed.
His hand fell on my thigh when he said, "You were entirely too far from me."
"I was two inches from you," I whispered, trying not to lose my mind under the heat of his palm on my bare skin.
He chuckled, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. "Too far, Robyn."
Tonight's event was focused on cancer, something I knew was very personal to Ariadne and Christian. They were raising Mt. Sinai, the hospital Ariadne was a pediatrician at.
When it was time for speeches, Christian stood tall and buttoned his tuxedo.
"I know you don't need it, but good luck, cuore mio," I said softly, looking up at him through my lashes.
He simply smiled down at me, tucked my hair behind my ear, and winked.
When Christian took the podium, the room erupted into cheers. He adjusted the microphone before raising a hand to silence everyone. He paused for a moment, looking down at his hands on the dark wood before he looked back up at Ariadne, whose hands were clasped together by her mouth and her eyes gleamed with pride and unshed tears.
"Life has a funny way of working things out. As many of you know, my mother died when I was eight years old," Christian said and the room fell even quieter. "Catherine Ryder was an oncologist at Mt. Sinai. The very sickness that she treated every single day was what took her life in the end. Mom was a vision. She was so beautiful, kind, loving, and cared for every single person with so much heart, I had no idea how she kept any for herself. She loved early mornings. Banana bread. Coffee. Central Park. Most of all, she loved my sister, me, and Anthony Hale with every fiber of her being. With more heart than her body could bear."
He looked at my dad, whose jaw was so tight I was afraid it would snap. Mom took his hand in hers and rested her chin on his shoulder. Dad loved Catherine Ryder with more words than he could ever hope to express.
"Mom always kissed me good night, even when I got older and fought her about it. She'd sneak into my room and whisper When you wake up tomorrow, be a person the world can't let go of, Christian. I ask myself if I'm doing that all the time. I ask myself if my existence is worthy of being her son. And I'm still looking for the reason why the world was able to let her go even though I will never find it. Because Mom was an angel on Earth. She was my everything. Mom watched so many families get their miracles, lose their loved ones, and struggle with their treatment every single day and never ever gave up on her patients. So, for Catherine Ryder, I'd like to make more miracles come true tonight."
Christian looked up at the sky, placing a hand over his heart.
"I love you, Mom. I hope I'm making you proud. Thank you for this life."
The gut-wrenching speech received a standing ovation that Christian paid no attention to as he made his way off the stage and walked directly to where Ariadne stood. Her head was in her hands, sobbing.
Christian pulled her hands away, smiled, and wiped the tears from her face.
"She would be so proud of you," she whispered to him.
"She would be so proud of you," he said back.
"You are too good for this world. And too good of a brother to me," she chuckled.
He kissed the top of her head and pulled her into a hug, closing his eyes.
I only realized I was crying when salty tears touched my lips and I brushed them away with the back of my hand. There wasn't a dry eye in the house. Women dabbed the corners of their heavily mascara'd eyelashes with napkins and the men grunted and shifted in their seats, sniffling. Christian shook more hands, accepted condolences, and nodded in idle conversation.
I was young when Catherine died and I only knew her briefly. Ariadne and Christian didn't like to talk about her much, but I knew they kept her memory alive between the two of them.
Shortly after, the lights dimmed ever so slightly and the room took on a much more alluring vibe. Bella, the official organizer of the event, took Francis' arm as they strode to the middle of the room and danced. They were, objectively, the most stunning couple in the room. He looked at her like the entire room didn't exist and she grinned like she just won the lottery.
Soon, couples started filling the floor, Damon and Ariadne, Mom and Dad, Jackson and Claudia, and more.
I sat quietly, watching everyone sway to the jazzy tunes.
"Dance with me," Christian said from somewhere behind me, making his way to the front.
My heart fluttered in my chest. I was going to have serious heart problems at the end of this night.
"Like homecoming?"
"Like homecoming," he smirked. "Although, I'm not homecoming king anymore. Am I still good enough for you?"
"Please," I huffed, suppressing a laugh. "You're the king of every room you walk into."
"Well, I have no interest in being king unless I have you by my side," he said easily.
My heart skipped its next beat. "Do you get lessons on how to be so charming in the Royal family?"
"Only with beautiful girls like you."
Maybe I was a glutton for pain because I whispered, "Are you saying I'm special?"
"I'm saying you are everything."
Dio mio.
Christian smiled again, as he was doing so much tonight. "Will you dance with me?"
He asked this time, so I answered.
"Of course."