My fingers fiddle in the folds of my pink gown. It’s a Jenny Peckham creation and the personal shopper at Harrods confirmed that a Royal Duchess wore many of this designer’s creations. I think I look good to claim my husband’s attention. I grin to myself, looking out of the car window once again.

I thought the gala would be hosted at a hotel; instead my eyes widen as we approach a huge and beautifully lit up mansion in Surrey. Built in all white stone, the entrance looks like a Greek temple with four white columns supporting a triangular pediment on top, beyond which is the actual house—three storied with several windows. The car makes its way inside the tree-lined driveway and we wait behind several other cars to approach the porch.

“This place is amazing. What is it?” I ask Gabe while squinting outside the window to survey the property, which has acres of gardens surrounding the house.

“This, my dear, is the London residence of the Duke of Kittridge,” he informs me as the car comes to a standstill in front of the entrance doors.

I turn to him, my mouth agape.

“What?” I manage to squeak out of my throat.

He exits the car and comes around to help me out. Ascending the wide staircase, we make our way inside the foyer. A huge gold and crystal chandelier elegantly lights the way, its twinkling lights gleaming on the polished black marble beneath my feet. Uniformed staff is waiting to collect our wraps and coats before guiding us deeper inside the house and into the ballroom. I spot Damien’s bodyguard at the entrance, vetting everyone entering. He gives us a quick glance while he speaks into his headphone. Like him, there are several men in suits stationed everywhere. I try to take in everything without looking like I’m overwhelmed with all this opulence and show of wealth.

Gabe acknowledges many of the guests. We don’t have time to converse privately, but I’m glad he’s by my side. Men in bespoke tuxedoes and women in jewel toned, couture gowns walk past us.  I now understand why Gabe had specifically instructed me to go shopping. Thanks to him, I fit right in.

My blush pink strappy gown with its fitted bodice and cowl neck flatters my shape. It’s cinched at the waist and then it flows in soft folds till my feet. The gown is studded with randomly spaced lines of matching blush pink sequins and crystals, making the whole outfit shimmer as I walk.

My makeup is light, subtle and my hair is done up in a messy twist at my nape, a few loose strands flowing over my face. My eyes search for Damien as we head towards the ballroom.