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They all kiss my cheek and tell me how much I’ve grown, how beautiful I look, what an amazing young woman I’ve become. Then they ask who I’m wearing—out of duty. Then they ask about Noah—the real reason they’ve come over.
“This is my boyfriend, Noah,” I say sweetly. “He lives in Dorefield, a small town near Spearcrest.”
They all exchange looks, communicating without speaking. Their envoy, a woman I grew up seeing at events and who goes by the name Marsha, turns to Noah with a sweet smile and the cold dead eyes of a viper about to strike.
“And what do you do, Noah?”
Noah shrugs. “Um, a couple of things at the moment. Some gardening work and some deliveries. Sometimes, some kitchen work.”
I look at Noah and my heart swells in my chest, an almost painful sensation. I never had to instruct Noah to tell the truth about his jobs because it would never have occurred to him to lie about them. It would never have occurred to him to be ashamed of what he does for a living.
“Right,” Marsha says with the restrained delight of someone finding out their enemy is dead but not wishing to appear callous. “How interesting!”
With an insincere smile, I excuse myself, pulling Noah away by his arm. We immediately get intercepted by another couple, then a group of older women who are probably each other’s best friends and enemies simultaneously, then some people my age, then some of my father’s business partners.
It’s almost an hour later when we manage to escape and catch our breath in a quiet corner of the gallery, half-hidden by a massive pillar of pink marble. We stare at each other. Noah’s cheeks puff with air, and then he lets out an exhausted breath.
“Fuck me,” he says. “Is it going to be like this all night? Police interrogation every time we bump into someone?”
I slump back against the marble pillar. “Uh-huh.”
“Bloody hell.” Noah tugs on the collar of his shirt with a finger. “Is it just me, or is this place also making you feel claustrophobic? I’m pissing sweat.”
I laugh and shake my head. “It's not the place that’s making you claustrophobic. It’s the people.”
“Right—well.” Noah runs his hand through his choppy dark hair. “We’ve been here for a while now, right? How long until we get to leave?”
“Oh god, I wish. We’re barely halfway through cocktail hour.”
He raises his eyebrows. “What’s after cocktail hour?”
“There’ll be a dinner, some talks, then entertainment—knowing my dad, that’ll be an up-and-coming young singer in a tight dress—and then there’ll be an after-party.”
Noah nods and takes a deep breath, puffing his cheeks with air before releasing it slowly. “Right. Shit, I think I’d rather spend an hour in the ring taking punches from Tyson Fury.”
“Please don’t say that out loud. If my father hears you, he might try to make it happen.”
Noah looks genuinely impressed. “Your dad knows Tyson Fury?”
“He knows everyone.” I shake my head. “Probably because he’s Satan himself.”
“Oh.” Noah draws closer and cups my cheek. “Do you not get on with your dad?”
I lick my lips, suddenly nervous. “Not really, no.”
“Do you want… is he going to be here tonight?”
“Yes.”
He nods as if I’ve just said something very serious and important. “Well, look, don’t worry, princess.” He points at my drink. “Down your drink—I’ll do the same. Then we’ll get more drinks. We’ll greet all the nosy fuckers, get a buzz on, avoid your dad, get through the dinner, and the moment you want to go, you give me the signal, and I’ll whisk you out of here. We’ll go to a bar, or dancing, or back to your hotel room—whatever cheers you up. Okay?”
Why is he so kind? If he wasn’t so kind—if he wasn’t such a good person—then I could’ve done this.
But I can’t. The pain inside my chest tells me I can’t. My heart is wailing at me to tell him the truth, to save him, tochoosehim.
“That sounds amazing,” I whisper. “It sounds amazing, Noah, but… look. There’s something I’ve got to tell you.”
“What is it?” He frowns, tilting my face gently up to his. “Hey—are you alright?”
