Sacrifice Of Love

ChapteThree:

Chapter Three

Pamela's POV

A Glimmer of Hope

I'd gotten up that morning at some god-awful hour, literally bursting with excitement for what felt like the first time in forever. It was the night of the Johnson family charity gala, and it was my big break-my huge opportunity to prove my worth to anyone who happened to be someone. And as I recounted to him the plan, Grandpa shone with pride.

"I'm so proud of you, Pamela," he beamed, "You have worked so hard for this moment."

"Thanks, Grandpa, I just hope I won't mess it up," I replied in a shaking voice as the nerves took hold.

"Just be yourself," he ventured to put some courage into me. "You're going to do great."

His words of encouragement still ringing in my head, I stepped onto the ball. The mansion was deep in town and out of the way, our apartment an eternity away. Some sort of anxiety gripped me as I neared the entrance-that grand estate belittled all that I had ever lived for.

Inside, it glittered like a sample of family wealth. Crystal chandeliers hung from high ceilings to cast warm golden glows upon guests fashionably attired. The walls were lined with exquisite paintings; even the air was thick with expensive perfumes and food. I felt just like the proverbial fish out of water.

I swam through the sea of well-dressed guests, hors d'oeuvres poised on a tray held in each hand. I got the gist from time to time of fragments of their conversations, and their voices sounded so polished, something out of this world.

"Do you see the new collection from Paris?

"The charity auction going to its climax this evening, darling," chimes in the other one, her laughter tinkling like fine china.

I swallowed as my head focused on what was to come, grateful that at least now my food was going to be talking a hell of a lot more than my presence. A sea of gowns and tailored suits crowded my line of vision, my eyes struggling through them, their eyes heavy with curiosity.

Then, as if by magic, it did-my eyes met those of a man across the room. Dark-haired with piercing blue eyes, this man was good-looking indeed; his eyes merely sliced through the crowd. Something about him was just so magnetic. For one second in time, all that surrounded us fell into insignificance.

My heart started beating faster, and our eyes just clung to one another. It literally felt like the room disappeared, and only he and I were wrapped up in this ball of condensed consciousness. He was standing next to a large piano speaking to several highly attired individuals, but he never once broke his gaze from mine. And then suddenly-as if it should flip in an instant into the flash in our connection-it suddenly went light and terrifically terrifying.

I fiddled with the trays, trying to still my hands, but the nerves got the better of me. One swift motion-self-conscious-I had turned away. Suddenly, I was busy rearranging the hors d'oeuvres. His gaze scoured the back of my neck, and I could hardly concentrate on what my hands were trying to do; my mind scattered.

I looked up again, and he was working his way in my direction, surely. He knew precisely where he was going; struggling through the crowd with determination in every step. The closer he came in my direction, the heavier my heart seemed to pound out its rhythm. I pulled myself together, setting a polite but somewhat strained smile onto my face.

"Excuse me," he said in a voice of pure silk that sliced through the noise of the gala deep and sure. "I couldn't help but notice you. Are you new here?"

I nodded, feeling the flush go right up my cheeks. "Yes, I'm catering for tonight. My name is Pamela."

"Pamela," he said, his lips playing with the smile. "I'm Wilfred Johnson."

My heart went out. So, so familiar the surname-he was one of the hosts. I swallowed hard fighting not to choke, trying to keep an air of cool. "It's nice meeting you, Mr. Johnson. Hope you like the hors d'oeuvres.

Wilfred looked from the trays to me. His eyes lingered into mine. "They look great. May I try one?

"Yeah, of course," I said, holding some out. As he took a bite, our fingers touched in brief touch. It was passing, but it was enough to jolt through me, almost like a physical jolt of electricity, and I did shiver.

"Delicious," he said, smiling warmly. "You have a talent for this. Are you staying in town for a while?"

I stuttered, not knowing what words to say in return. "I do hope so, if all goes well. One day, I want to have my own restaurant."

His eyes only gleamed with interest. "That does sound ambitious. I'd love to hear about that. Perhaps we could discuss this over a drink?"

Before I could answer, the din of the ball seemed to shut over us. A tide of faces swept up and bore Wilfred with its crest under the incoming wave of arrivals. I saw him no more: elated and bewildered he was whirled away from me in the crowd.

I stood there, everything that was unfolding this evening weighing upon my chest. Longing tugged at my heart in an instant: What was happening? Really, was I getting through to one of the most influential people in town?

I made a conscious decision to bow my attention back to my duties, but insofar as Wilfred was concerned, in my mind, the gloves were off.

What if this was that chance to really change my life course? The possibilities titillated me; still, I needed a level head.

And it just kept on building in the pit of my stomach, with every passing night-the feeling that something huge was going to take place.

The scope-filled and glittery gala out of the blue turned into that one moment which would alter the course of my life.

And as I swam amidst faces, it kept on echoing in my head that this was only just the beginning.

I spun around, my gaze raking through the sea of guests for any sign of Wilfred, but he was gone. It was all a big jumble of a gala, really, and all I could do was try to envision what would take place over the course of the next few minutes.

It was the night, with all its promises and question marks that comforted me.

The meeting with Wilfred was probably a missing link and another chance meeting.