The Allure of Dean Harper (The Allure #2)(55)
I blinked.
And blinked again.
I squeezed my hands into fists and sat frozen.
The camera zoomed in on my face so that everyone in the opera house got an up-close view of my wide eyes. I was stunned and there was no one to push me up out of my seat or kiss my cheek as I made my way to the stage.
I stood and slipped past the attendees in my row. A few of them clapped me on the shoulder, but no one offered actual words of encouragement. I walked up the stairs on the side of the stage and was met by a young man waiting to put the heavy silver medal around my neck. My hands shook and my brow beaded with sweat as the magnitude of the achievement set in. I was the youngest winner of the award. I am the youngest, most successful restaurateur in the United States. I swallowed down that lump of success. The award was everything I’d worked toward since leaving my family in Iowa. It was the pinnacle of success and as I bent down to let the young man slip the medal around my neck, I stared down at the black stage and focused on the one emotion overpowering all the others: regret.
I cleared my throat and spoke into the mic, squinting at the glare of the lights beaming down on me.
“This award is a recognition of culinary accomplishment, not speechmaking ability, so I’ll keep this short.”
The crowd laughed good-naturedly.
“I never thought I’d find great success in a market like New York City. I fought tooth and nail for the top chefs and the best people. In the end, I look back on those long nights and lost weekends and I can honestly say…”
I paused and looked down at my medal, glowing in the opera house lights, and I felt my voice start to quake. I tried to clear my throat again. “I can honestly say…”
It wasn’t worth it.
None of it was worth it.
I took a step back, met the crowd’s gaze, and left my sentence hanging. “Thank you.”
The crowd didn’t clap right away; they were waiting for the second half of my sentence, but it never came. Eventually, after a long pause, the orchestra started playing and the opera house welled with light, happy music. I turned and let the presenter usher me backstage. She was busy congratulating me and gushing about how excited I must feel. I wanted to shake off the grip she had on my shoulder. I wanted her to leave me be so I could have one second to realize that where I should have felt absolute happiness, I only felt sorrow. It felt like I’d been punched in the stomach and the feeling wasn’t fading.
The threat of tears forced me to the bathroom back stage. I played it off like I was overwhelmed with the award and no one bothered me. No one thought twice about the emotional man with his shiny-ass medal and his rapidly closing throat.
I propped my hands on the bathroom counter and the medal clanged against the granite. None of it made sense. The out-of-control feeling I’d had the last night I was with Lily was supposed to have disappeared the moment I pushed her out of my life. The idea was simple: I’d felt like I was in the driver's seat before her, so once I pushed her away and she was gone, I’d regain that control.
“Crazy feeling, isn’t it?”
I looked up to see an older man in a fitted tuxedo washing his hands in the sink beside me. He also wore a James Beard medal around his neck and I recognized him as the winner of the Outstanding Chef award.
“Yeah, crazy.”
He smiled.
“Family here tonight?” I asked.
His brow furrowed for a moment and then he met my gaze in the mirror. “No. They stayed behind in England when I moved to the States for work a few years ago.”
“Don’t you miss them?”
“I’m sure you understand better than anyone,” he replied. “The culinary world is not a field for those who want a picket fence and two and a half kids. We work nights and weekends and our days are spent dreaming up the next great idea. There’s not time for much else.”
He smiled as if he was proud of the man he was, the man who would leave his family to pursue his own selfish dreams. I’d thought I wanted to be a man like him, but my life wouldn’t be wasted in the back offices of a bustling restaurant.
Not any more.
When I walked out of the bathroom a few minutes later, I felt lighter than I had in years. I’d left the weight of the medal on the bathroom sink, and the weight of former dreams alongside it.
Chapter Forty-Six
Lily
I had too much pride to call Dean, but I loved him enough to con my way into his dumb awards ceremony. I leaned against the back wall, out of everyone’s way as the skinny bitch on stage read through the descriptions for the three nominees. I thought she smiled extra wide as she read off Dean’s accomplishments, but I was too far away to know for sure. With a flick of her wrist, she tore into the envelope and I held my breath. I wanted him to win. I hated him with every bone in my body, but I wanted him to win.
“Dean Harper! The youngest winner of the Outstanding Restaurateur award in history!”
He was so shocked and so handsome and so alone as he took that stage. My heart sank as he gripped the medal in his hand. He should have been elated, but his voice sounded flat over the mic? like he was reading off a farewell speech at a funeral. I nibbled on my bottom lip. I didn’t want to be right about what I’d told Dean—that he was alone, that no one would be there to congratulate him or hold his hand. I’d yelled that at him during a moment of fury, but now my words were coming true. Dean had no one to congratulate him. No one that mattered.