I can do this.
We can do this.
I can do this.
Placing my palm in his, he helps me out, and I’m careful to remain modest in the dress. The second my heeled foot touches the ground, the flashes go off. Shouts and questions are yelled from almost every direction.
“Mr. King, who’s the mystery woman?”
“Mr. King, have you finally found the one?”
“Miss, how long have you been seeing each other?”
“Miss, who are you wearing tonight?”
I don’t have a chance to answer any of the questions because Baz is already leading me down the black carpet, his face back to that blank mask. As the cameras’ flashes blind us, I realize this is the face he gives the media. The one he gives everyone else. It’s like a switch has flipped from the warm gazes he’s been giving me to this flat, hard expression.
As I’m feeling completely overwhelmed by the chaos, it takes me a while to get ahold of myself and actually pay attention to my surroundings. Women, couples, they’re all dressed to the nines, and as I glance down at myself, I’m so fucking relieved Baz went all out for me the way he did.
My hand is clammy in his, and every time I try to wriggle free to wipe the sweat somewhere on my dress, his grip tightens. I heave a sigh. There’s no point.
On the way inside the Beverly Hilton, we stop for conversations with a handful of people. Sometimes Baz introduces me; other times, he doesn’t. I try not to let it bother me.
Keeping the amazement off my face is an impossible feat as I take in the ballroom. It’s beautifully decorated and prestigious looking with hordes of impeccably dressed people milling about. There’s a stage with a glass podium, and children of all ages and ethnicities sit at the tables nearest to it.
I mean, sure, I’ve done stuff like this with Kat and Vera but never on this scale. It’s always been party events, not galas or anything remotely similar.
“Wow,” I breathe, and I hear Baz’s low chuckle.
“I take it this is your first?”
“Gala? Uh, yeah. Back in New York, I don’t really do much of this. That’s more of my friends’ MO. They were raised in this life, so it’s what they’re used to.”
“And you?”
I tear my eyes away from the tables with the children and look up at him. “I had a normal childhood. Some might even consider it a sad one, but it was nothing like this.”
“What part of New York did you grow up in?”
I clear my throat, using my free hand to run over the length of my dress. “Actually, I grew up in California. Moved out East for college and decided to stay there.”
Baz’s brows raise, and I can see the questions in his eyes. The obvious being “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“And what about now? You ever see yourself coming back?”
I pause. My mouth opens, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to say hell no, but honestly, I don’t know anymore. Being here, near the place I grew up, has made me realize I miss it. The air. The weather. It’s nothing like New York. I think that’s why I love and hate it.
“I don’t know. I thought I’d never step foot in California again, but here I am anyway.”
“Why wouldn’t you want to come bac—”
“Sebastian!”
The sound of the voice rains nails down my back. I clutch onto Baz’s hand more tightly, and I work to control my breathing. Vincent Hawthorne—dressed in a tux just like Baz, though he doesn’t look half as good—strides toward us, a wide grin consuming his whole face. My stomach churns and twists with rage as I look up at Baz, watching the emotions play out on his face. He grins. It’s a boyish one, one I haven’t been privy to yet. He lets go of my hand, and they pull each other into a brotherly hug with pats on the back.
When was the last time they saw each other?
Or does this happen every time they hang out?
“How you doin’, man? I see you brought a date—” Vincent pauses when he glances at me. There’s no recognition in his dark eyes, but his brows do draw in together, and he frowns. “Wait, do I know you?”
“Vincent, this is Mack—”
I thrust my hand out toward Vincent, my heart banging violently against my chest as bile rises up my throat at the thought of his skin touching mine. “Scarlett.”
I feel Baz’s gaze on the side of my head. He’s probably wondering why I didn’t use my real name, but just because he hasn’t remembered me yet doesn’t mean the rest of them won’t. All it might take to spark a memory is my name, and all hell would certainly break loose.
Scarlett was the first name I gave them, after all.
Vincent takes my hand, and I try to suppress the shiver that runs through my body. It’s not a good one. His gaze trails up and down my body, and I can taste the acidic bile now. If he doesn’t stop looking at me like that, I won’t be able to hold in the vomit as it spews from my lips. Thankfully, he lets my hand go and shifts his gaze back toward Baz.
“I’ll see you both later, Seb. I just spotted Dick Epstein come in with his wife, and I need to have words with him.”
Before leaving, he turns to me. “It was a pleasure, Scarlett.”
The way he says my name has the hair at the nape of my neck standing at attention.
He couldn’t.
No, he couldn’t have figured it out.
Vincent was the dumbest of the group. There’s just no way.
I swallow the sudden lump in my throat and glance back at him. He’s still watching me with narrowed eyes. His dark scruff casts shadows across his angular face, making it impossible for me to read him. When he disappears in the crowd, I lose sight of him.
This was a mistake.
I’m in way over my head. This will never work. I’m always going to be too familiar to them.
“C’mon, let’s go find our table.”
I nod and follow Baz as he expertly weaves through the people with his hand re-secured with mine. Along the way, he picks up a flute of champagne for me, and I take it with eager fingers, downing almost all of it in one go.
I realize where our table is, and my gaze darts to Baz. “Wow, I didn’t realize they’d have people sitting so close.”
“Only the top donors do. It’s easier for the speakers to give them an extra pat on the back if they’re closer, and quite frankly, they do it to show off.”
I start to process his words, and my eyes widen as he pulls out my chair for me.
“That would mean you would’ve had to donate a lot.” I lower myself into the seat, my eyes still glued to him.
“The kids need it more than I do.”
My heart does something strange at that moment. I can’t tell if it’s a lasting impression from our run-in with Vincent, but I swear, my heart skips a beat. I’m sure I probably look ridiculous, staring up at Baz with hearts and stars in my eyes. It makes me feel cheap. It makes me feel like what I’m doing is wrong. I know it’s wrong, but I’ve made excuses for my decisions and my deception where Baz is concerned, but as I look at him now, I wonder if I’m going about this the wrong way. What if he really is a good guy?
I glance to my left at the table filled with kids and find a cute little girl watching me with wide eyes.