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“He has your eyes,” she calls as I move away.
“That’s impossible,” I snap back. “He’s not mine.”
I don’t miss the whispers and comments as I move through the crowd searching for Fiona, the others trailing behind me. Usually, I get off on being recognized, but tonight I want no part of it. Seeing Emelia makes me hate my life—always in the spotlight, looking for the next bit of fun. It was great to have such a recognizable model as part of my admirers—until it wasn’t.
How will Fiona deal with women like Emelia? Because, after everything I tried— the settlement even though I’m not the father—she’s not going to go away.
What have I done to Fiona? How could I have brought her into this world?
With a whoop, Grayson sees Bexley and cuts across the dance floor. The girls have empty glasses in hand, jumping up and down as they dance to an old Green Day song.
Fiona isn’t with them.
“Oh, my god, you sent us to see strippers!” Rachel shouts as soon as she sees me.
“I think the term is exotic dancers,” I correct, easy smile falling into place even as I scan the group for signs of Fiona. “As long as they keep their pants on.”
“What they were wearing cannot be called pants.” Shae laughs.
Emmett hugs her. “Don’t get too excited there, Pink.”
“You can move like them, can’t you Emmett?”
Grayson laughs harder than Emmett at the question.
“Where’s Fiona?” I ask Bexley.
She glances around. “She went to find a washroom with Demi.”
“Is she okay?”
“She’s fine,” Bexley says quickly. I frown, knowing there’s more. Is it another panic attack? Is the crowd too much? Is it me? “We met Emelia on our way in,” she finally admits.
Jesus bloody flippin’ Christ— “Did she—of course she did. I’ve got to find her.”
“Mase,” Bexley calls, but I ignore her, rudely shouldering my way through the dancers. I should have known better than to let Fiona out of my sight with Emelia and the others in town. What did she say to her? The woman can’t keep her claws out of my life.
As I search for the ladies’ room, I quickly become sick of my name as it’s called out repeatedly. Women think they can hug me, kiss me, even when I barely know them. And even when I don’t.
The little voice in my head reminds me I’ve always liked that part of my life.
I ignore the little voice as well as the questions bubbling in my head.
A long line snaking against the wall signals the washroom and I search for Fiona. She’s not here.
But there are many other women, and the squeals suggest I’ve been recognized. “Hey, I’m just looking for a friend of mine,” I say as I try to disentangle from a woman who’s had too much to drink and assumes I want to hold her up. “Reddish blonde hair—”
“I have blonde hair,” her friend giggles.
The door to the washroom opens and a burst of relief hits me, almost as powerful as the wave of perfume wafting out as I see Demi.
Fiona is right behind her, dressed in black like a sexy cat burglar who’s stolen my heart.
Fiona is there, and I’ve got two women hanging off me. My heart sinks because the look on her face tells me she’s had enough. She’s had enough of me and—
She walks up to me. “Do you mind?” she demands in an icy voice, and my heart sinks even lower because I never imagined sweet Fiona could sound so cold.
But then, she takes my hand and pulls me away from the woman, and all is right with the world. “Hi,” she says with a bright-eyed smile.
