That's How it Happens

28. Dancing Around the Truth

The Lemonade Ball was more than just the event of the season – it was the event of the year. The only one Victoria hosted that Ainsley could genuinely stand behind. Not because of the gowns or the guest list, but because it was for a good cause.

For over 150 years, the Drakes had thrown this holiday affair. Her great-great-grandmother had started it with a simple idea: instead of buying your way into a donor party, you brought a lemon and a gift for someone who needed it more than you did. Not just any gift, either. You had to do research for the child or person in need of some holiday magic. Each present came labeled with the name and address of its intended recipient, and the lemons were collected in a massive crystal bin, later pressed into the Drakes' signature lemon wine: Lemon Kiss. A sip of sunshine for a sweeter tomorrow. Bottles were gifted the following year, a quiet reminder that generosity aged well. It was the only time the wine was available, as it was locked in their wine cellar until this very event.

It was formal. It was grand. And technically, it was supposed to be Ainsley's to plan one day. But with her life rooted in New York and no intention of moving back, the honor – and the chaos – would likely fall to Liv. The thought both terrified and amused her.

Tonight, Ainsley wore a floor-length gown in soft champagne lace, delicate and deceptively simple. The bodice hugged her just enough to make her mother proud, and the skirt floated when she walked, catching the twinkle of the lights Leo had strung earlier beneath the pergola. He'd spent hours up on ladders, adjusting angles, checking bulbs, making sure the dance floor below shimmered like something out of a fairy tale.

It was beautiful.

She sipped her wine, surveying the crowd. She'd forgotten how good it tasted.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Peter and Leo stood on opposite sides of the lawn, both glancing her way. Peter, polished in a dark suit that made his blue eyes pop. Leo, rumpled and radiant, looking far too good for someone who'd spent the day hauling crates. Although anytime Dorothea looked his way or came close to him, he'd pale.

She had that effect on people. Ainsley didn't mind that Leo was one of them.

Peter glanced at Leo – smiled faintly – and headed toward her.

Ainsley drained her wine, placed the glass on a passing tray, and smoothed her dress. She plastered on a smile she hoped looked genuine. She wasn't ready for Peter – not for the memories he stirred or the questions he never quite asked.

"You look – " he began, kissing both of her cheeks. "Beautiful."

Ainsley smiled. "Thanks, Peter. You too." Her eyes widened, and he laughed. "I mean, you look..." Her gaze snapped to Leo, who was moving. "Great. You look great."

What was wrong with her?

"Dorothea seems to be enjoying herself," Peter said, handing her another glass of wine.

She glanced toward her grandmother, who had cornered Leo. He looked like a man being interrogated by a duchess – uncomfortable.

Ainsley cleared her throat. "She seems to be."

Leo and Dorothea turned toward her. Dread curled in her stomach. What now?

Dorothea took Leo's arm and led him toward them. Ainsley braced herself.

"Peter, darling! How lovely to see you," Dorothea exclaimed. "I wasn't aware you were invited with your parents."

Ainsley choked on her wine.

Leo stepped in, voice syrupy. "Now, Dorothea, we should welcome the senator-to-be. After all, he made a very generous donation to charity. And let's not forget – he brought the required gift and lemon. Right, ole pal?" He smacked Peter's shoulder hard enough to make Ainsley wince.