Page 112 of Ruled By Rivalry

Must’ve been. The color was almost identical to Daphne’s, and the design too similar to an earlier draft in my sketchbook we didn’t go with because it wasn’t spectacular enough.

“Adeline Ashwood?” she asked for confirmation, and I recognized the smile on her face. Paula wore it whenever she told me about projects, knowing she’d found something to dig into. “Say, could that have—”

It was probably a stupid idea, bringing up his name. But it felt wrong not to. “Elliot Ashwood.”

Her brows flew up. Most likely because she’d been about to bring him, us, that People cover up and couldn’t believe she’d been lucky enough that I mentioned it first.

One glance at the man beside us, and I knew. The way he wasn’t just ignoring his brother now, but listening to me. Intently.

“I designed it. Elliot had it made.” I think.

My uncertainty didn’t matter to them. Daphne gasped just as loudly as the interviewer. “Girl,” she spluttered. “So can we assume that confirms People’s—”

Elliot was leaving. His strides were smooth, his expression schooled, almost eerily calm as he walked away from his interview, through our frame, and into the building.

“I’m so sorry.” I tried to show I really meant it, but that was tough when I was already halfway gone, chasing Elliot down.

Chapter 44

I caught up quickly. Among the most influential people in the world—celebrities, politicians, and millionaires rich enough to buy a ticket—I only had eyes for him.

“Thank you,” I blurted out. Screeched to a halt, inches away from running into his back when he stopped at the first sound of my voice. I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t hear much over the roaring in my ears and the pounding of my pulse. I didn’t even think about the story-hungry journalists and photographers around us.

Elliot did, though. He turned, furrow between his brows, mouth opening and closing again, clearly unsure of what to say. How to feel. His eyes flickered through the crowd, and we were already starting to draw curious glances.

To be fair, we were standing in the middle of the hall.

Finally, he shook his head. Quickly. Incredulously. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I—” don’t know.

Elliot huffed, then made an impulsive decision that altered the course of the entire night. His hand curled around my wrist, and he pulled me down a side corridor, past a security guard he had to flash his all-access badge to, and into a room.

A library.

I’d be more impressed with the high shelves, filled to the brim with beautiful spines in all kinds of colors, if I weren’t so focused on him.

Alone, at last. His proximity was a little overwhelming.

Incredulously, he continued. “We don’t see each other for a week, and suddenly you mention me in interviews, run after me, and thank me, of all things?”

“Elliot—”

“No, sorry. I’m just wondering, was it the dress that finally made you think I was worth talking to again?”

I took a step back; it seemed like he needed it, but the door pressed into my back a second later, and I couldn’t possibly give him more space. He’d have to do that himself, and he wasn’t moving.

My eyes narrowed at the accusation. “Did you not want me to wear it?”

“Of course I did!” Elliot raised his voice, and I knew he hadn’t meant to when his hands washed over his face, through his perfectly-styled-but-not hair.

The put-together version of him we’d seen on the carpet was gone, and it had taken less than thirty seconds in a room with me.

“Since I left it on your door, all I’ve wanted was to see you in it.” The look in his eyes softened, but only for a second. His perfect facade hadn’t just cracked; it was crumbling. Desperation peeked through it, anger and embarrassment that he didn’t know what to do with. “It’s been hanging there for three whole days. You’d have known that if you’d bothered to come home.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me.”

“I always want to see you, Maeve. That’s half the problem.”