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“I’m going to regret it tomorrow,” I groan.
“You won’t,” he assures me. “I’ll make you my classic hangover remedy.”
“If it involves a raw egg…” I shudder with disgust.
He tugs me roughly against him outside Millie’s door. Tall hedges surround us and inside the party rages on.
“I have a surprise for you,” Xavier says. My strappy and incredibly uncomfortable sandals are looped in my fingers, but I still have trouble standing upright when Xavier clumsily pulls me closer. “You’ll like it,” he promises, alcohol thick on his breath.
“Whoa, bud.” I give him a gentle shove, and giggle. “You drank more than your fair share.”
His laugh is a little loud as he turns me and corrals me to the walkway. Then he stops suddenly and spins around, eyes wide. “Wait! Hold out your arms.”
“Why?”
“Do it, baby. I have something for you.” He grins that million-watt smile and I stop walking, hold out my arms, and wait.
“Close your eyes,” he says.
“Why?”
“Do it.”
I do it. Just to appease him.
He positions my arms and then lays his tuxedo jacket in the crook, but it’s heavier than I expect and whatever’s inside it feels as if it’s slipping free of the material.
“Hold it safe like it’s an infant,” he says as we start walking again.
“Xavier, what—”
“No looking!” His shout startles me and I jerk. “We’re changing your life today.”
He pulls away and grins before calling for the valet. A young guy with blond hair pokes his head around the hedges, offers a “Yes, sir” and waits for instruction, his hands behind his back.
Xavier sweeps me close and kisses me—drunkenly. I regain my footing and he promises to fetch our car (complete with driver, thank God), and reminds me not to peek.
Whatever. I’ll look when I’m sure he’s gone. He’ll forgive me. I take one step, then two, juggling my sandals, cradling Xavier’s awkwardly heavy jacket, when a pair of photographers peek around the corner and snap photo after photo. I remember to smile—not too big—and narrow my eyes sexily so I don’t come off like a deer in headlights. I’m human and startled by their sudden presence, but I’ve honed the skill of pretending not to be. Like it’s totally normal for people to spring out of the bushes and take unsolicited photos of you.
My life is weird.
I turn to the side for Michael’s sake so that they can catch the back of his fabulous gown, when I catch a flash of gold peeking out from the tuxedo jacket.
Time slows. I know exactly what that flash of gold is and there’s no need to turn over the base to check for Millie’s name or her Best Actress engraving. Millie showed me to her sitting room where the three trophies stood on a mantel. She didn’t invite me to touch one but Xavier asked, and she swatted him and refused in that sweet, charming way she has.
And then, apparently, he’d stolen one.
I’m unable to hide my stunned reaction as I tuck the Oscar under the jacket between shutter clicks, but the damage is done. If that peek of gold caught my eye, it wasn’t invisible to the paps, either. They pelt me with questions that confirm my assumption.
“Where did you get the Oscar, Nina?”
“Did Millie let you borrow it?”
“Nina!”
“Let’s see it!”
My mind blanks and the world goes fuzzy. Xavier races back to retrieve me but too late. His well-trained face melts into an expression of mortification when he sees the photographers and his eyes go to the jacket.
