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She grins back at me, cheeks pinkening. I don’t know why she acts as though she’s unaware of just how gorgeous she is, like she doesn’t own a damn mirror. She’s in a tight golden dress, a dark burnished color that makes her skin glow, with her hair pulled back in a tight bun. A large bow hangs down her back, and her smooth arms are bare, the front covering her breasts and legs entirely but draped in such a way that it makes her look like the dress is made from liquid. The effect is magical, a classical beauty, and I stare at her with a pounding heart, barely able to keep my hands to myself.
“I’m glad you like it,” she says softly, almost shyly, but how can a woman like that be shy? She looks like a goddess.
I put down my drink and offer my arm. “Shall we?”
She takes it, and together we descend the stairs. Nico’s waiting out front in the Range Rover and he grins when we get into the back. “I’m your driver for this evening,” he says, bowing dramatically.
“I refused a bodyguard and Nico insisted.” I grunt at him and wave away his fake attempts at helping me into the back. Olivia smiles at him and seems to appreciate his levity, and soon we’re rolling toward downtown and the venue.
I steal glances at my wife. Last night, she fell asleep in my arms, but I couldn’t manage to drift off. I was intoxicated by her, by the smell and touch of her, by the ease with which I moved to her side of the bed and held her against my body. It felt natural to hug her close, it felt good to be with her the way a husband’s supposed to, and I can’t decide if that scares me or sends a jolt of excitement into my core. It helps that her ass was pressed up against my cock and I was half-hard for hours afterwards thinking about fucking her mindless.
Even better, I woke with her still there, the smell of her permeating everything, and I remained in bed longer than I would have otherwise enjoying her presence. Only when it became obvious I had to move did I manage to extract myself without waking her.
The ballroom at the base of the Regency Hotel is dripping with old money and new transplants from other cities come to this place to follow their dreams and build their own empires and fortunes. The tech-set meets the old guard, oil barons and the current algorithm bros. Phoenix courted Silicon Valley-types with their VC money and internet startups about ten years back, offering generous tax breaks and easy tax filing and a bunch of other incentives, and now the most successful of that crop have inserted themselves deeply into the social fabric of elite Phoenix society, much to the chagrin of the families that have been in this city all their lives: the drillers, the diggers, the so-called lords and ladies. The old and new circle each other like slobbering wolves. It’s the same everywhere.
Nico trails after us, looking like a security guard. If he had his way, my entourage would be massive. But I’m not here to draw attention. I place my hand on the small of Olivia’s back and draw her close so I can whisper in her ear. “See that old man over there in the bolo tie and cowboy hat? That’s Bernardo Blessing, his family’s been ruining Phoenix since white people first came out here and started killing all the natives. And that guy there is Julian Abel, silver spoon so far up his ass he’s spitting coins. And that’s Edwin Hickmott, another rich old guy, I forget what he does. And over there is Donnie Oscar, invented some kind of fancy internet money, sort of like Bitcoin but worse.” I explain all this and more, the different factions, the various groups, as we get drinks and circle the room, shaking hands, making introductions and small talk.
“Casso Bruno, you haven’t been to one of these in too long,” Hedley Pibroch croons and tugs over her husband, a white-haired man with hearing aids and medals pinned to his overly large tuxedo that I’m pretty sure are fake. “Darling, it’s Casso Bruno, you know the Bruno family? They own all those restaurants and drinking establishments?” Her smile is bolted on.
“Yes, why yes, liked your father,” the old man drones. Speaking too loudly. Probably can’t hear himself.
“He was fond of you as well,” I say, playing it up. We chat briefly about how the city’s falling apart, as always.
I leave them with smiles and well wishes and move on. “Is everyone like this?” Olivia asks, grinning at me. “Do you have to kiss all their asses?”
“Pretty much,” I say, not smiling back. “At least I have to be polite. These people don’t have power over me exactly, but they can make my life a living hell, and I am in business with a good chunk of them. It pays to be liked.”
