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The instant I step out of the vehicle after Adam opens my door for me, still seeming to avoid my eyes, Jameson’s smile brightens even more.
“Wow,” he exhales as I approach, allowing him to pull me into his arms and feather a gentle kiss to my cheek. “You look, well…” He pulls back, drinking me in.
But unlike when Creed took his time, imprinting every single inch of me to memory, Jameson’s eyes on me do nothing. There’s no shiver of anticipation. No sensation of longing. No desperate need to feel him on every part of me.
“You look…” He shakes his head, grabbing my hand and spinning me around.
I can only imagine the high-fives the palace publicity team are giving each other right now, especially when the camera flashes become nearly blinding, everyone fighting to capture the best shot of him twirling me around before yanking me against his body.
“Yes?” I playfully bat my lashes.
“Like Lauren Bacall came back to life. Did I mention I had a thing for her when I was a teen?”
“I thought most teenage boys fantasized about whatever model was on the cover of Playboy. Surely, that’s better spank bank material.”
He throws his head back and laughs, both of us content to tune out the crowd. That’s the thing about Jameson. From the beginning, he’s made these sort of events easy. Shouldn’t that be enough?
I once thought it was.
“Hand to god. Lauren Bacall was it for me. That throaty voice. Those soulful eyes. And those pouty lips.” He traces his gaze over my face, focusing on my mouth. “And let’s not forget one of her most famous lines. Hell, one of the most famous lines of any movie in history.”
“And what would that be?” I flirt back, knowing all too well what it is. “It wouldn’t happen to be, ‘You know how to whistle, don’t you?’” I inch closer. “‘You just put your lips together and blow.’”
Groaning, he cups my face in his hands and presses his mouth against mine, camera flashes and cheers surrounding us. I doubt our PR team even cares Jameson is kissing me longer than they deem appropriate. Then again, he’s always done this. His subtle act of defiance. One I’d find enjoyment in if it didn’t make me feel like I were betraying Creed.
But I can’t exactly push Jameson away. If anything, I should be curving into him. Kissing him more enthusiastically. Leaving no question in anyone’s mind that Jameson is the only man for me.
But he’s not.
I fear he never will be.
Once he brings the kiss to an end, he treats me to the same dazzling smile he bestows on the public at large. With his hand to the small of my back, he steers me toward the gathering of reporters, photographers, and fans who came out to catch a glimpse of us or any of the other celebrities slated to be in attendance.
We greet a few people, engaging in polite conversation as much as possible, but do our best not to linger too long in one place.
“Hey, Gates! Over here!”
Normally, I don’t pay much attention to a single person calling either of our names. At events like this, everyone calls our names.
For some reason, this voice catches my attention.
I glance toward where it seemed to originate, Jameson also looking away from the conversation he’s currently having with a group of teenagers, the excitement on their faces similar to that of adolescent girls swooning over the hottest new boy band.
Further proof the palace PR team did their job.
Then again, Jameson Gates has always been a bit of a heartthrob. A European John F. Kennedy, Jr., without the mysterious family curse.
As Jameson follows my line of sight, his expression instantly drops, complexion paling briefly before he fixes a smile back on his face.
“Are you okay?” I ask in a hushed voice, pretending it’s business as usual as I continue shaking hands and posing for photos. “Do you know him?”
“He’s probably just another person who doesn’t think I’m good enough to date their princess.” He winks in an attempt to cut through the tension, but it doesn’t work. I can see the worry creasing his brow. Spend enough time with someone, you start to pick up on their tells.
It’s obvious Jameson is concerned.
And that he’s lying to me.
I’m about to press him when the same voice calls out over the crowd once more, this time louder.
