Chapter 10 Ten

Julian stretches out a hand, standing outside the car. We're parked with the line of cars just outside the red carpet, with bright flashes from paparazzi cameras going off.

My palm is sweaty, and I'm starting to lose the tiny courage that brought me all the way. I hesitate, glancing over his shoulder at the people walking the carpet.

Rich. Filthy wealthy. They look it. Not playing a part-like me in a dress I could never afford, even if I worked nonstop for a year and saved every last cent.

"You're not chickening out, are you?" Julian murmurs.

I turn to him, my lashes fluttering quickly as I try to hide the truth.

He looks back and sighs dramatically, shaking his head. Then he leans closer, his voice dropping. "If you think you don't belong, then you're wrong, Alina. I promise you, all these people care about is bragging about how much they have and how much they can get away with." He dips his head, so much closer that I can smell his cologne.

It's something expensive, a smoky oud scent guaranteed to turn heads. But I know he'd get attention even if he smelled like raw beef.

He shakes his palm. "Come on, Alina. Don't you want to live a little? Drink expensive champagne and eat overpriced caviar? I'm sure you've thought about it before-watching rich people make a fool of themselves while you enjoy the food they refuse to eat because they're pretending to be healthy?"

He winks at me. "I'll give you all the inside gossip if you say yes."

A reluctant smile tugs at my lips. He grins. "There you go. Come-I'll offer you my arm. It's time you have the spotlight."

I place my fingers in his palm, slipping a leg out and then the other, with sparkly designer shoes on my feet. Julian offers the crook of his arm. I take it, and we walk together.

The response is immediate.

It starts with a hush. Someone points at Julian, drawing some attention. Then I see the brief frown as their eyes land on me. The unspoken, "Who is she?" Another turns and soon enough, there's a swarm of paparazzi trying to take our pictures.

"Give them your best smile. You're going to be plastered all over social media tomorrow," Julian whispers.

I manage to hide my shock, plastering a smile on my face as I try to look through the glaring flashes. Julian waves a bit, smiling like a man who knows he's desirable, before ushering us into the building.

My jaw drops.

The interior is...beyond words. No expense was spared in the design, from the hanging chandeliers twinkling softly overhead to the large drapes flowing like water and the ice crystal display in the middle of the ballroom. I glimpse the bar over at the east, like something carved out of glass, floating higher than the rest of the room. Light, in different colors, pours out with transparent fog from behind the counter.

"That-" Julian points, a smile in his voice, "-was my idea."

I turn, my brows squeezed. "Yours?"

He nods. "Yup. I told you Adrian gave me the bar I'd been asking for to watch over you. But I do more than that. I handle the social and entertainment aspect of Hawthorne Industries. I have a few other bars and clubs, so it was easy for the host to ask for my services."

I nod slowly, exhaling in awe. "It's amazing."

"Julian Hawthorne."

A blonde woman, with a shimmering black dress and a dark shade of red on her lips, saunters over to us. She spares me a brief glance-her gaze tightening-before turning to him. Her red shines as she pouts, touching his arm. "You promised you'd call. I've been waiting for a week."

The tips of his ears turn red as he glances at me, and he laughs sheepishly. "Sorry," he mutters.

I shake my head, disengaging my hand. "Nope. It's fine. I didn't think you were going to chaperone me all night. I can take care of myself."

"Are you sure?"

No. But the blonde is giving me the stink eye, and I have a feeling if I don't leave, I'm going to be hearing a lot about Julian's sex life. "Eugh," I mutter under my breath, already dreading it.

I slap a smile across my face as I flick my wrist. "Go. Go on. Even if you decide to play chaperone, I don't want to be an unwilling third wheel."

Relief washes over his face. He leans in suddenly, kissing my cheek. "I want you to have fun, okay? Try the Boulevardier. And for heaven's sake, don't let the thought of my brother stop you from flirting with a stranger. You're not married to him."

My lips part, but nothing comes out. What was I going to say to that anyway? Julian slides an arm around the blonde's waist, leading her away. I roll my eyes as he leans into her, whispering something in her ear that makes her giggle.

The bile returns to my throat.

I need a drink.

I walk over to the bar, taking the small crowd of people. The wealthiest of New York, in well-tailored suits, shiny dresses, statement pieces, and designer clothes. My stepfather would've given an arm to be here.

It was part of the things he rambled on about when he was drunk and couldn't understand how dirt poor we were. His grand idea-having a house featured in Architectural Digest, dining with the wealthy, and making everybody who looked down on him pay for their insolence.

He had lofty dreams.

I never had any delusions about who I was. I wanted to graduate college, get a job, rent a small, nice apartment, and earn a decent living. Maybe I thought about traveling once or twice, but it was never a dream I held close.

"Boulevardier," I tell the bartender as I sit.

"Oh," he stops pouring into a glass, his lips pursing, "that's something."

"Why?"

He shakes his head as he resumes, handing a man beside me a glass of vodka, topped with a lime wedge. "It's nothing. The only people who have ordered it tonight are trust-fund men who haven't worked a day in their lives. "His gaze slides over my face, as if studying it. "I figured you'd choose something more interesting."

My "Oh" is quieter. Trust Julian to recommend something like that to me. "What would you suggest, then?" I ask.

"A mocktail."

I spin as I hear the voice behind, my pulse picking up. I already know it is-the last person I want to see and yet the same person that has been on my mind for hours.

Adrian is standing behind me, dressed in a midnight, tailored black suit with a white silk shirt inside. He looks handsome. He is handsome.

He stares at me, expressionless.

"You should make your choices carefully, Miss Wilson. You don't want a replay of the wedding incident, do you?"