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Butterflies flutter in my stomach when reaches over and gives my leg a gentle squeeze.
“Sit back, relax and enjoy the ride.”
That is easier said than done.
***
The world outside the limo is a kaleidoscope of lights—flashing bulbs that outline the grandeur of the building. Paparazzi are everywhere, flooding every inch of the sidewalk. I knew Jackson’s family was well-known, but this is another level.
There are actors, professional athletes, and politicians posing for photographers who call their names. A long, red carpet leads to the front door, which is heavily guarded by very burly men.
My door opens, and I see Kennedy.
Thank goodness for a familiar face.
As we approach the chaos, I see lines of limos and expensive SUVs behind us. Each person stepping out looks like a movie star. I gulp, an unexpected wave of nerves crashing over me.
I scrutinize my attire—does it hold up to the opulence of this event? Can I pull off being part of this crowd?
Please don’t trip. Please don’t trip.
Jackson joins me on the sidewalk, and I take his arm, trying to act natural. I’m momentarily blinded when cameras start flashing from every direction.
Those pictures aren’t going to be good.
I feel like I’ve stepped onto the red carpet at the Oscars. My heart pounds heavily in my chest as I take in the grandeur surrounding us. Why does anyone wantmypicture?
Then I remember. I am Jackson Reed’s fiancée. His family is one of the most famous names on the West Coast.
I glance at Jackson. He extends his hand to me, a silent invitation to step farther into the whirlwind. With a deep breath, I accept, placing my hand in his as we navigate the dazzling entrance together. The flashes intensify, creating a disjointed collage of bright lights and shadowy silhouettes.
As we enter the building, I’m acutely aware of the scrutiny we're under. Whispers and hushed conversations ripple through the crowd. I try to maintain a façade of composure, keeping my eyes fixed ahead and my steps measured.
"Are you nervous?" he asks.
I swallow. "Yes, very."
He places his hand on the small of my back again. A strange warmth runs through me. His touch releases some tension.
"Mr. Reed, over here! Smile, please! Jackson, this way!"
Flash!
It’s so loud in here. I inch closer to Jackson, and he puts an arm around my waist, pulling me closer. This is getting too real, too fast.
Kennedy’s voice breaks through the madness. “Jackson, Brinn, follow me.”
Gladly.
He guides us past the photographers who’re held off at the front by ropes. I’m so grateful they can’t follow us everywhere tonight.
Kennedy kisses the top of my hand. "You look spectacular, Miss Parker. That dress really suits you."
"Thank you so much." I can see why Kennedy is important to Jackson. He brings calm to every situation.
Kennedy leans in closer to whisper, "One word of advice, Miss Parker. Keep your head held high tonight. Act as if you belong because you do.”
We follow Kennedy through the crowd. I do my best to hide how awe-struck I am being surrounded by celebrities on every side. Jackson’s family is connected to so many famous people.
