The Sun and the Moon [Wattys 2015 winner]

Chapter 16: Stuck in the Middle with You

Fifteen minutes later, we left the suite to rejoin the charity dinner downstairs. We were both a little flushed, me more than Ryan, but we looked mostly put back together. I certainly felt better. Ryan held my hand lightly.

The Bacara resort is seaside in Santa Barbara, with Moorish style architecture and beautiful grounds. There are a lot of open-air areas that are comfortable, year round. We walked to the room where they were having the reception and checked in at the table outside the room, receiving our table assignments: Mr. Fielding and Ms. Crowley, Table 1. Of course we were at the first table in the front of the room, in the middle. The table of honor.

I don't know how many people were there. Hundreds? A lot. Everyone was dressed up and holding elegant drink glasses, chatting, listening to music, and bidding on a silent auction. Apparently we had not missed the event entirely with our interlude.

We made our way through the crowd to get to the assigned table so I could set down my purse and I realized that we were seated with the key note speaker, a prominent oncologist, and the President of the Fielding Pharmaceuticals Foundation, along with their families.

Ryan held my seat out for me as I took it, and he pushed it in for me. Now I knew why he had such elegant manners.

"Would you like a drink?" he asked.

I nodded. "White wine."

"Okay," he said, "I'll be back."

He headed to the bar, through the crowd. Although there were people milling around everywhere, because, as I now knew, he was a local celebrity, the crowd parted and people stared at him everywhere he went. The reaction of the crowd was not just because of his height, his masculine beauty, and the grace of his lean, muscular body. He had a presence. Yes, he was tall and handsome, but he had a magnetism that made people want to look at him. But they also got out of his way.

A few people stopped him on his way to the bar and shook his hand and he was genial and friendly. I watched him as he went and waited in line for our drinks.

I looked at the program for the dinner. I almost gasped when I learned that this was a $2,500 a plate dinner.

Yes. I was out of my league.

I turned around and looked at who was around me. There were lots of people, mostly older, chatting and enjoying themselves. Right behind me at the adjacent table was a group of four women, all stunning, supermodel types, who were talking loudly among themselves and eying people cattily. They were all wearing barely-there dresses, with major jewelry and designer heels, sipping wine. Since it was California, they could be uniformly described as blonde, tan, leggy, and identical. Ugh. Save me from the Botox, people. I wondered about their dates and whether they had escaped just in time.

Then I heard one of them mention Ryan's name.

"He called me a few weeks ago," Blonde Number One said. "I didn't call him back. I probably should have, but I didn't want to be too available for him."

Blonde Number Two, without lowering her voice, said, "I can't believe Ryan brought that fat woman as his date. I wonder if he has any standards anymore?"

I reddened. This was not happening. This was not happening. Bitches. I did not understand the need for women—especially genetically gifted women—to bring other women down.

Just ignore them, I told myself.

Their opinion doesn't matter.

No one can make you feel inferior without your opinion. Yeah, I was resorting to Eleanor Roosevelt.