I can do this.
And I love everything about it.
The glamour of it all is soNew York. So sophisticated and in-your-face. Everything screamswe are the best at everything it’s possible to be the best at. The architecture is so grand, the fashion is excitingly new and the general ambiance assures you that you’re in the absolute center of where everything that matters is happening first, spearheading culture as we know it.
Inside, there are actual waterfalls cascading down the marble walls. White fairy lights and larger pendant lights hang in snazzy, well-thought-out designs from the high ceiling, filling the space with a honey-warm glow. Chairs have been arranged in rows that flank a long runway that disappears into a lit archway at the far end. The air smells expensive and clean. Low, architectural music wafts from hidden speakers, so different to New Orleans music it could have originated on a distant, modern planet that’s never heard of jazz, saxophones or clarinets.
Dallas leads me to the front row, where there are two empty seats among full ones. People clock him the way people always clock him—the recognition, the careful not-staring that couldn’t be more obvious. I’m learning to walk through it the way he does, noticing but not entirely acknowledging it.
I can see other famous people whose names I can’t immediately recall. A supermodel. An actress. That older lady with the sunglasses who always sits in the front row at fashion shows.
The guy to the right of our empty seats sees us approaching and stands. “Dallas,” he says, but his eyes are on me and the way Dallas’s arm is wrapped tightly around me. He’s around Dallas’s height, which puts him several inches above six feet, with dark hair and the kind of easy confidence of the super-wealthy. He’s good-looking in a much different way to Dallas—less intense, more open, the warmth coming off him like a steady heat source. He offers Dallas his hand.
“Colton.” Dallas shakes it. “Good to see you.”
“You too, man. It’s been … since the Morgan event? September?”
“October. You owe me a dinner.”
“I owe you several.” His attention turns to me and he checks me out with curiosity. He extends his hand with the ease of someone who has never once had an awkward introduction in his life. “Colton Maddox.”
“Amelie Thibodeaux.”
“Where are you from, Amelie? Do I detect New Orleans?”
“You nailed it,” I laugh. “Am I that obvious?”
“You really are. And that is the sweetest accent.” Colton grins at Dallas, giving his arm a light, playful punch. “Best city in America, hands down.” He says it with sincerity, and I like him immediately.
“Colton’s wife is Lila Bailey,” Dallas explains.
“Oh. Wow. I love her clothes.” I glance down at my dress. “I mean, I’ve only seen one of her designs so far but I’m obsessed. I’m excited to see more.”
Two couples on either side of us join the conversation. “Dallas, youhaveto introduce us to your mystery guest,” says a stunning woman in a red dress, with warm brown skin and a Texas twang, which I forgive her for because she radiates friendliness like it’s the only emotion she knows how to feel. “As soon as Colton announced Dallas was bringing a plus one, we’ve all beendyingto meet you. Hi, I’m Dusty.”
“Amelie.”
I suppose her comment suggests that it’s completely out of character for Dallas to bring a plus one. That he’s brought a date is shocking and intriguing to them. I remember the things Dallas told me, about never connecting with another person before—in the shower, when he held me up against the Italian tile and made hot love to me, after I told him about the pill-taking fiasco (which we still need to deal with). I glance up at him, feeling a tiny kernel of … faith in him.He wasn’t lying. He was telling the truth.Not that I didn’t believe him, but still. I’ve believed a lot of lies in my life and it’s more comforting than I know what to do with, that he’s capable of being true to his word.
“This is my husband Cash, Colton’s brother,” Dusty says.
“Since when am I introduced as ‘Colton’s brother’?” Cash says it good-naturedly, and the banter obviously comes easily in their family. He’s a little burlier than Colton, a little more seasoned, but they definitely look like brothers.
“Since mywifehappens to be the star of the show and the reason we’re here,” Colton explains with exaggerated patience and with obvious pride at the mention of his wife.
There’s another couple too—another Maddox brother, clearly. He’s an inch or so taller, his hair is a shade closer to black and his expression carries a little more gravity. He has his arm around a petite woman with long dark hair, perfect posture and an extraordinary face.
“Alexander,” Dallas says, and they shake hands the way people do when they respect the hell out of each other. “Ivy, nice to see you again. This is Amelie. Amelie, Alexander Maddox and his wife Ivy. Alex and I met at Harvard. A long time ago now.”
Ivy kisses Dallas’s cheek. Then she kisses mine. “We’resohappy to meet you. We’ve all been telling Dallas forever that he works too much. We’resoglad you finally convinced him to take some time off.”
I smile and feel a light heat warm my face. I’m sure it’s more than obvious to everyone what he spent his time offdoing. News travels fast, and Dallas Wilder’s new status is clearly the talk of the town. I find myself … not hating it. That he’s willing to share me and our connection with his friends feels like it carries a certain amount of weight.
“Noah’s not here tonight?” Dallas asks them.
“He and Lucky are in Ireland,” Colton says. To me, he clarifies, “Our fourth and final brother and his wife are building a house in County Cork. Lucky wanted Noah to meet the builders, who happen to be some of her cousins. Apparently she has thousands of them.”
The lights blink and we take our seats. Dallas’s arm is around me. He leans close and whispers in my ear. “Okay, Amelie Thibodeaux?” Checking in. Making sure I’m good, like he so often does.
