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“Ah,” I said. “Got it.” It wasn’t uncommon for people to brand us spoiled, superior, and out of touch with reality … as if we grew up in a bubble where we weren’t exposed to the harshness of the world.
“Those people annoy me so much,” Alicia grumbled.
“Samesies.” Removing my sunglasses, I rubbed my aching temple. “But most do change their tune once they get to know us. Whether Leonie will bother getting to know us, I don’t know.”
I winced in sympathy as one of the people on the metal stairways stumbled, sending popcorn flying everywhere. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d slipped due to a soda spill—there was plenty of them. The steps were also littered with bits of food, wrappers, and receipt stubs.
“Whoa,” began Alicia, “isn’t that Trace Lacroix?”
Following her gaze, I noticed that the famous actor was indeed stood in the neighboring VIP suite. He wasn’t alone. His wife, Briar, and the other male in their triad, Kaleb, was with him.
Alicia stroked at her neck. “She is a lucky, lucky girl having two such fine specimens as husbands.”
Absolutely, but … “I don’t know if I personally could deal with two, though. One is enough.”
“Glad to hear it,” said Dax.
I almost jumped at the sound of his voice. Tipping my head back to find him stood directly behind me, I cast him a frown. “Stop sneaking up on me.”
“I didn’t sneak,” he calmly objected. “You just didn’t hear me.”
“Too busy ogling an actor,” Caelan teased from beside him.
I shot the tattooist aDon’t stir the potlook that only make him grin.
Walking onto the balcony with her husband, Kensey subtly peeked at Trace. “He is a treat to look at.”
Blake gave her a hard stare. “I’m right here.”
She widened her eyes in innocence. “It was a clinical observation.”
Blake snorted. “Sure.”
Just then, Trace glanced our way. His gaze zeroed in on Dax, and Trace then offered him a quick nod before going back to his conversation with his wife.
Again, I tilted my head to meet Dax’s gaze. “You know him personally?”
“To an extent.” His eyes zipped to my baby sister. “Do you have any experience at training cats, Harri?”
Twisting her head to look up at him, she blinked, seeming surprised by the question. “A little. Cats can be tricky creatures, but they’re not very difficult to train.”
“Even if they’re psychopathic?” he asked.
I shot him a glare. “Hey! Gypsy is not a psychopath. She needs some love and understanding.”
“She needs a therapist,” he countered.
“No, she—why are you nodding your head, Alicia?” I asked my sister.
She froze. “Uh, no reason.”
I would have branded her a liar, but my nose chose that moment to tickle again. Another sneeze—this one much less delicate than the last—fairly erupted out of me. Again, I gratefully accepted a napkin from Harri.
Skirting around the row of seats to stand in front of me, Dax studied my face carefully. “Are you all right?”
“Perfectly fine,” I replied, gently wiping my nose.
He squinted. “You’re pale, your eyes are watery, and your nose is red.”
