Crowning Moment

Ava.

"Seriously, Mom? That's what you're wearing?"

I glanced down at my outfit—dark jeans paired with a simple blue blouse—then back at my daughter, who was regarding me with the kind of withering judgment only a nine-year-old could deliver.

"What's wrong with this?" I asked, smoothing the blouse self-consciously.

Emilia rolled her eyes dramatically. "It's boring. You look like you're going to work, not dinner with Grandpa." She paused, then added with reluctant honesty, "And that guy."

"That guy," I repeated, biting back a smile. "You mean Alex?"

"Whatever." Emilia flopped onto my bed, watching as I rummaged through my closet. "Grandpa's going to think you don't even care."

I sighed, pulling out a burgundy wrap dress I hadn't worn in months. "Better?"

Emilia's nose scrunched up as she considered the dress. "I guess. But you should wear the green one. The one Grandpa says makes your eyes look pretty."

My heart squeezed at her concern for my father's opinion. Despite her occasional precociousness, she was still just a little girl who loved her grandpa and wanted to make him happy.

"The green one it is," I agreed, pulling out the emerald dress my father had complimented the last time I'd worn it. It was slightly more formal than I'd planned, but if it made both my father and daughter happy, it was worth it.

As I changed, Emilia continued her critique from the bed. "Are you going to wear makeup? Real makeup, not just that boring stuff you put on for work."

I paused, glancing at her in the mirror. "Since when are you the fashion police?"

She shrugged, suddenly interested in picking at a loose thread on my comforter. "I just want Grandpa to think you look nice, that's all."

But there was something in her voice, a note of vulnerability that made me suspect this wasn't just about pleasing my father. I sat beside her on the bed, gently lifting her chin to meet my gaze.

"Em, what's really going on? Are you worried about tonight?"

Her lower lip trembled slightly before she caught herself, straightening her shoulders in a gesture so like mine it was almost comical. "No. I just..." She hesitated, then blurted out, "I don't want him to think we're not good enough."

"Him?" I asked, though I knew exactly who she meant. "Alex?"

She nodded miserably. "He's so rich and fancy. And his car is super expensive. And he probably thinks we're just... normal."

I bit back my first response—that Alex's opinion didn't matter, that we didn't need his approval. Because clearly, for reasons I couldn't quite understand, Emilia did care what he thought. Despite her declared dislike of him, some part of her wanted his approval.

"First of all," I said carefully, "we are pretty amazing, exactly as we are. And second, Alex isn't coming to evaluate us or judge us. He's coming because..." I paused, the lie sticking in my throat.

"Because you're pretending to marry him," Emilia finished, her directness both refreshing and uncomfortable.

"Yes," I admitted. "But even though it's not a real engagement, we do need to seem like we care about each other. So tonight is about getting to know each other better, including meeting each other's families."

Emilia considered this, her small brow furrowed in concentration. "Does that mean I have to pretend to like him too?"

I smoothed her hair back, love for this fierce, complicated child overwhelming me. "No, sweetheart. You never have to pretend about your feelings. But I do need you to be polite. Can you do that? For me?"

She nodded reluctantly. "I guess. But I'm not calling him Dad or anything."

"No one's asking you to," I assured her quickly. "He's just... Alex. That's all."

Emilia seemed satisfied with this, sliding off the bed. "I'm going to check if Rosa needs help with my dress," she announced, then paused at the door. "You should wear the sparkly earrings. They make you look like a princess."

After she left, I sat on the bed for a moment, collecting myself. Tonight was going to be challenging enough without navigating Emilia's complex feelings about Alex. I'd expected her to remain hostile, to continue rejecting him outright. This shift toward seeking his approval, however reluctantly, was unexpected and unsettling.

I finished getting ready, taking more care than usual with my makeup and hair. The green dress did bring out my eyes, I had to admit, and the "sparkly earrings" Emilia had suggested—pearl drops with tiny diamonds that James had given me for our first anniversary—added an elegant touch.

As I fastened the second earring, I caught my reflection in the mirror and froze. I looked... good. Better than good. The kind of good that came from effort, from wanting to impress.

But who was I trying to impress? My father? He'd seen me in everything from princess costumes to hospital gowns. Alex? The thought was absurd. This was a business arrangement, nothing more.

Still, I couldn't deny the flutter of anticipation in my stomach as the clock ticked closer to seven. Nerves about the evening ahead, I told myself. Not excitement at the prospect of seeing Alex again.