Crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, casting a warm glow over five hundred of Chicago’s elite.

I wore a simple black gown, my hair pinned back, trying to ignore the nervous flutter in my stomach.

Margaret Hale stood beside me near the ice sculpture, holding a glass of sparkling water.

“The mayor is very pleased with your draft designs, Claire,” Margaret said, her voice quiet but firm.

“Thank you, Margaret,” I said. “We still have a long way to go before we pour the first concrete.”

“The foundation stands behind you,” she said. “No matter what noise comes out of Boston.”

Julian joined us, holding two glasses of champagne.

“Our guest of honor has arrived,” Julian whispered, nodding toward the arched entryway.

I turned my head.

Adrian stood under the stone archway, looking out over the crowd.

His tuxedo was expensive, but his collar was slightly crooked, and his eyes darted nervously around the room.

He looked like a man who hadn’t slept in days.

He spotted me and began walking across the polished marble floor, his strides long and erratic.