Page 53 of To Love the Stars too Fondly

We drove to a ritzy part of the city, the buildings a bit grander, constructed with more care. I shouldn’t have been surprised to be taken somewhere fancy, but when Alex parked and gave orders to the valet, I felt a shift as I stepped into a whole new world.

What a whirlwind it was.

“Alexandria Winthrop,” she said to the hostess, who did a double take between her and the reservation list. “I trust you got my instructions.”

“Absolutely, Ms. Winthrop.” To me, she spoke just as professionally. “And Ms. Stern, welcome to our establishment.”

My breath caught as we were escorted across a tile mosaic floor, exposed to the scrutiny of the wealthy folks watching us. I tucked my purse against my side, my self-worth withering at the sea of designer brands and purses with no brand at all.

I’d read, once, that the truly ultra-rich didn’t wear name brands. They wore stuff that couldn’t even be purchased in stores.

Now that I thought about it, I had no idea what Alex was wearing, not a single identifying tag from her shoes to her shirt.

We were taken away from the main floor, up to a more secluded balcony, then left with a wine menu, which Alex pushed aside. But she said nothing to the hostess, instead turning to me once she’d left. “Are you okay?”

“I just feel like the moment I open my mouth, they’ll know I don’t belong here.” I glanced down at my dollar store purse, hand-bedazzled by me. “They probably already know, huh.”

“They don’t give a shit where you’re from,” Alex replied. “They care that you’re here with me.”

I couldn’t argue, even empowered a bit by the thought, but on the table, Alex fidgeted with the napkin. “Are you okay?”

“Huh?” She snapped back to attention a touch too quickly. “Oh, I hate these kinds of people. But there’s a strict NDA regarding clientèle here. We won’t be in the tabloids.”

“I don’t care if we are, I promise,” I said, taking her hand.

Her smile came with no humor. “You say that now.”

Perhaps I was being insensitive, given the sensitive material I’d read last night. I wanted to ask; I needed to know. But…. “It’s worth it to be with you.”

It had to be.

Alex hardly looked reassured, but then the waiter appeared.

We were brought tiny appetizers and palate cleansers, the whole experience a culinary delight. When I couldn’t read anything on the main menu, Alex inadvertently romanced me in French—which I didn’t know I was weak to until that moment.

Turns out, reciting the names of various fish in a foreign language was a turn-on.

I excused myself to the restroom between courses, surprised to see actual cloth towels and an attendant in the room. My breath stalled when I caught of glimpse of my own figure, having only gotten half a decent look through Alex’s phone.

It was still my clearance-rack dress and bottle-dyed hair, but the way the necklace completed the picture with such unexpected class gave me pause. My imposter syndrome remained, but as I touched up my lipstick in the mirror, a passing woman’s gaze lingered on the gems around my neck.

Even if I looked like a clown, I was certainly a bombshell of a clown. Hell, I was the clown going home with Alexandria Winthrop, and no one was laughing about that.

As I finished my preening, I checked my phone, a rush of anxiety gripping my chest. Nothing from Cliff.

In most horror films, after the Final Girl defeated the monster, there was always a lull before its inevitable resurrection and return. But if Cliff did come to harass me again, I had Alex. Alex would save me, but who would save her?

My hands fell protectively around my side as I resisted the pull toward darkness.

Amid it all, a question irritated me, like a rock in my shoe. What had happened to Lily?

Behind my eyelids was a mire, and so I simply did not blink as I left the bathroom.

When I returned to the table, dessert had been placed on the table. Alex looked downright ill. Still, she asked, “Everything all right?”

“Yeah. Just thinking.” To help soothe her, I took Alex’s hand beneath the table, squeezing it as I took my first bite of cake, immediately taken aback at the flawless, silky smooth texture.

“About Cliff?”