12
At six o’clock, half of the women left to get ready for the evening’s entertainment. They took the children with them.
After watching them depart, Quentin turned to Marcus. “Do you know what they’ve got planned for us?”
Marcus grinned. “I have no idea. Samara’s been pretty hush-hush.”
Quentin chuckled. “So has Lexi.”
“So has Taylor,” Manning said, joining the conversation.
“Reese, too,” Michael added.
“Same with Maya and Zora,” Navarro and Zachary chimed in.
The six men traded speculative grins.
“Guess we’ll see what’s up soon enough,” Marcus drawled.
Forty minutes later, two uniformed servants appeared to escort everyone outside, where a huge deluxe tent had been erected on the back lawn of the château. Night had settled over the surrounding landscape, which consisted of scenic rolling hills and the lush vineyards that produced Asha’s world-class wines.
Inside the tent, an elevated stage and runway were flanked by rows of chairs draped with white linen. A massive crystal chandelier hung from the center of the tent while strings of fairy lights shimmered like diamonds caught in sunlight.
As soon as Marcus saw the runway, he was struck by a feeling of déjà vu.
Nearly a decade ago, he’d met Samara while attending one of her mother’s fashion shows with an old friend. He’d had to be dragged kicking and screaming to the spring premiere, and he’d grumbled all the way up to the moment Samara made her dramatic appearance on the runway. Crowned with a jeweled tiara and carried on the shoulders of two male models, she was so damn beautiful she’d taken Marcus’s breath away.
Since marrying her, he’d attended more celebrity-studded fashion shows than he cared to recall. It came with the territory when your wife was the daughter of an iconic fashion mogul. He’d been to Fashion Week in New York, Paris, London and Milan (where his youngest was conceived, hence her name). Seated in the coveted front row with Samara and Sterling, he’d watched as stick-thin models paraded up and down the runway in Asha’s latest designer collections. He’d smiled for the paparazzi and posed for selfies with every celebrity from Rihanna to Kim Kardashian.
The first chance he and his father got, they would sneak away to grab a cold beer and catch sports highlights on any TV they could find.
Attending fashion shows would never be Marcus’s favorite pastime. But if he hadn’t been at Asha’s premiere that fateful night, he never would have met Samara. And that was downright unthinkable.
A uniformed attendant ushered him to the front row. Michael and Magnum flanked him while the others filled up the row. Mason sat behind them, still booed up with the pretty nanny. The older couples were seated on the other side of the runway with Mama Wolf, who’d been smiling at Marcus even more than usual. As if she were privy to some secret.
Catching his great-grandmother’s eye, Marcus grinned and winked.
Mama Wolf patted her heart, smiling tenderly when he returned the gesture.
More people were arriving, filling up the tent. Asha’s household servants had brought their families. She’d also invited some friends from Paris, as well as her wealthy neighbors from the nearby châteaus and castles that dotted the French countryside.
Once everyone was seated, the tent suddenly went dark. An excited hush fell over the audience.
Out of the darkness, a woman began singing a hauntingly beautiful rendition of “O Holy Night.” A spotlight clicked on, drawing all eyes to a dais located to the right of the stage. The soloist stood on the raised platform, her voice a rich soprano that sent chills down Marcus’s spine. She was accompanied by Taylor playing the violin and Montana playing the saxophone. The harmonious blending of vocals and instrumental notes sent a burst of applause through the crowd.
Manning was beaming with pride as he stared at Taylor, who looked beautiful in a frothy white evening gown. She traded smiles with Montana, who’d changed into a tuxedo at some point.
The soloist began singing “O Come All Ye Faithful” as the spotlight swung to the stage. The curtain slid open to reveal an elaborate Nativity scene. What looked like a shaft of white moonlight beamed down on a man and woman gazing at a swaddled infant in the manger. They were dressed in golden biblical-era costumes, and their hair and skin were painted gold.
The figures were so perfectly still, they looked like gilded statues. So when they suddenly lifted their heads to smile at each other, a ripple of surprised laughter swept over the audience.
As the soloist’s melodic voice faded, the lights dimmed and thick clouds of vapor filled the stage, obscuring the Nativity scene. Two spotlights shone down on opposite ends of the stage.
A siren wailed, heightening the thrill of anticipation in the air.
Then out strutted Asha and Samara.
A roar of applause went up from the crowd.
