He points up ahead. “That’s the club, so we’ll be getting out in a minute.”
There are cars on the street, likely from other guests, so our driver has to wait to turn. “We shouldn’t have brought a limo,” I tell him. “It’s too big, the city’s too busy.”
Hunter shrugs, not all that concerned with taking up more space than he needs to.
As traffic moves a little bit, our limo turns onto the street where the entrance to the building is. I can see it up ahead, a big building with ivory columns and wrought iron gates. It’s a building from another time, meant only for a certain class of people.
I don’t belong in a place like this.
My awe begins to fade, replaced by the inky grime of intimidation.
If Hunter’s dad belongs in a place like this, what if he realizes right away I’m not the caliber of person he’d want to be with his son?
At home, it’s easy to forget who Hunter is. Sure, he has money, but there isn’t a huge disparity in our lifestyles. He’s perfectly comfortable coming over to my two bedroom house to have dinner with my working class family. There’s no sense that he’s better than us just because he has more than we do.
This building… this building was constructed to let common people know the people inside are better than them.
Looking over at Hunter, I ask what might be a ridiculous question. “Is your dad nice?”
“What?”
My heart starts to pound as the driver puts the car in park right in front of the entrance. It’s a manned entrance with gates that have been opened since there’s an event here tonight, but it looks anything but welcoming.
“I just… we’ve talked about him a little, but I’ve obviously never met him. Your mom said he can be a bit intense and volcanic, but you seem to like him. I’m just not sure what to expect.”
“Nah, that’s nothing you have to worry about. This is an important event, so he’ll have his public face on tonight. But he’s a good guy, and he knows I’m bringing you. He’s looking forward to meeting you.”
“What if he takes one look at me and thinks I’m trash?”
Hunter rolls his eyes like I’m being absurd. “He won’t think that.”
“But what if he does?”
“Then fuck him,” Hunter says simply, like it doesn’t matter. Squeezing my thigh, he meets my gaze and says seriously, “You’re my family, Riley. Anyone who doesn’t approve of you can fuck right off.”
The limo door opens. I look up at the driver. I’m closest to the door, but Hunter climbs out first.
Once he’s out on the snow dusted sidewalk, he extends his hand, reaching in for me.
Shoving down my nerves, I gather the soft hem of my dress and take his hand as I climb out of the car.
There’s a chill in the air even though I’m wearing an expensive fur coat. I mostly feel it on my legs, especially my left one since the slit opens when I walk.
Self-consciously clutching the coat closer to my body, I gaze up at the imposing building and take Hunter’s arm.
My heels click against the ground as we make our way to the entrance. I’m not used to wearing heels, but Hunter took me out for lunch and shopping when we first got into the city today. He offered to buy me a pair of black Louboutins for a classic look, but I didn’t think the red soles would look right with my blue dress.
I found a designer who suited me much better and grabbed a pair of black suede slingbacks that had the added advantage of being on sale. The heel is much lower so I can walk in them more comfortably, but suede maybe wasn’t the best choice for winter.
Thankfully, the sidewalk is clear but for the few snowflakes that have fallen. On the drive over, it began to snow, but they’re light, pretty snowflakes, so most of them don’t even stick to the ground.
I breathe in the fresh scent of the falling snow and a smile touches my lips. I love snow.
Hunter tugs on my arm, keeping me on track as we walk past the security guards and under the covered walkway into the building. We move at a leisurely pace since people are up ahead of us.
“I like the fountain,” I tell Hunter, pointing to what appears to be a courtyard.
He looks over and nods. “That’s the carriage entrance.”
My eyes widen and I look up at him. “It is not.”
His eyes gleam with amusement. “Cross my heart.”
“There’s a carriage entrance?” I demand, lightly smacking his muscular arm.
“What kind of royal ball doesn’t have a carriage entrance?” he teases.
With a forlorn sigh, I look back at it. “You should’ve warned me so I could take my phone out. I would’ve taken a picture for my mom. She’ll never believe me.”
“We can always take one on the way out. It’s not used for that anymore, but yeah. Back in the day, all the big deals in New York would come by horse and carriage. It’s a very old building,” he remarks, glancing up at it.
“I see that,” I murmur, looking ahead.
As we’re ushered inside, I’m hit by a welcome blast of warmth. I’ve barely taken two steps in, and already my surroundings leave me a little breathless.
The building’s interior is gorgeous—white marble opulence with gold ceilings. Everything about this main hall is too much—a fireplace taller than I am, ceilings so high I can’t help but feel small.
I wonder if this is how Cinderella felt when she first entered the palace.
I look over at Hunter as he escorts me to the coat check line. He seems much more at ease in a place like this than I am. He doesn’t look small, he certainly doesn’t seem to feel it.
Maybe I’m biased, though. Hunter could never look small to me.
My personal Prince Charming looks incredibly handsome in his debonair tux. Since I wore blue, he did, too. His is a darker shade—midnight blue with black lapels and black pants.
In a sea of mostly black tuxes, he stands out a bit, but I think it’s impossible for Hunter not to stand out.
He looks over at me as we walk away from the coat check, “Want to get a drink?”
“Are we allowed? We’re not in Europe, you know,” I tease.
He wraps an arm around me, grabbing my waist and pulling me closer as we head for the bar. “This isn’t the kind of function where many attendees are underage. Those that are won’t be treated like they are.”
“Not the kind of place where you get carded, huh?”
Hunter smiles faintly and shakes his head. “We’re all adults here.” He starts to lead me toward the bar, but on the way we realize there are waiters circulating, carrying gold trays full of drinks so no one has to wait in line.
We stop by an enormous Christmas tree and Hunter grabs two drinks from the white-gloved server.
“Thank you,” I murmur, since Hunter didn’t think to.
The server—who reminds me so much of Jeeves from the show Mom and I watch, I’m tempted to try to get a sneaky picture—gives me a tepid, close-lipped smile.
“I wish I could’ve brought my mom to this,” I tell Hunter as I take a sip of my champagne.
“Maybe next year I can get a couple of extra invitations.”
Next year.
He says it so naturally, like it’s a given that I’ll come to this with him every year for the rest of our lives.