Chapter 9 Nine

"Hey."

I jump out of my skin, staggering backwards and losing my balance at the same time. Julian reaches out, his fingers coolly slipping around my wrist and breaking my fall. "Woah," he says, "what happened in there to make you so jumpy?"

I roll my eyes at him before I can stop myself, but I don't feel any remorse seeing the twitchy smile on his lips. "You did that on purpose."

"Me?" He points at his chest, feigning ignorance with widened eyes. "Why would I do that? My brother would have my head if I stopped your heart."

"Yeah, right," I mutter under my breath, pushing my bag higher. I stare ahead, glancing around for the car. I didn't think I would miss the bodyguards, but at least they didn't talk my ear off or tease me for personal entertainment.

"Hey!" I hear Julian calling after me. "Wait up! I didn't mean it, I promise."

I know he's lying.

Julian Hawthorne might not be as cold, demanding, or thick-headed as his oldest brother, but he's definitely a walking red flag I plan on staying clear of. I didn't figure out the night at the auction, but now I know that he sees people as playthings. He enjoyed the look on Shane's face when he made him leave and the attention he got before he left the classroom.

A walking attention magnet.

"Alina?"

I can see the car now, parked in one of the restricted parking lots used by tenured professors. I walk faster, gripping my bag so it doesn't slip. The two men are standing close by, and I raise my hand, giving a small wave.

Open the door. Open the–

I see the moment they realize Julian is still following me. They bow instantly, heads facing the ground. I hear Julian's chuckle. "Please," he says. "Let's do without the formality, shall we?"

He throws an arm over my shoulders, and I cringe on the inside, shutting my eyes for a moment. "I'll be taking Miss Wilson here for a little shopping trip. You can head back to my brother. He's been informed," he adds when one of them frowns, his lips puckered tight. "You can call him if you don't believe me."

Neither of them attempts to. Either out of fear or respect for Julian...or because they trust him, I don't know. I have a sneaky feeling it's the former, though. Julian might be the youngest brother, but he's still a Hawthorne.

And I doubt Adrian would choose them over his brother.

I tilt my head his way, arching a brow. "Why would I go shopping? I have clothes." More than enough, actually. And it's not like I'll be attending parties or dining with the one percent of New York City. I might live with Adrian, but I haven't forgotten what I am to him.

Julian leans in with a cheeky smile. "You see, there's a party happening tonight. My brother doesn't think you should attend, but I think you're part of the family now. Somebody is bound to find out that you live with him and..." he waves a hand around. "You know how rumors go around."

He rubs his hands together. "So, before they come to their conclusion, I think it's best to set our story straight."

"What? That I didn't get auctioned off? That your family didn't buy me for a dollar?" I bite, scoffing under my breath. I sigh, feeling a little guilty. It wasn't Julian who held the paddle. "They'll ask questions. I'm not rich, like you. And I don't want to go against your brother."

Justin shakes his head. "The thing about Adrian is that sometimes he doesn't know what's good for him. And about looking the part?" He taps his nose. "Well, that's why you have me. I'm something of a fashion connoisseur. You'd fit right in; nobody would think to ask you any questions."

"Except for where you got your dress," he adds smugly. "So? What do you say?"

I've been to parties before. Birthday parties, with a few slices of cake to go around. I once crashed a wedding because they held it in the gazebo of a conservatory. I didn't know the punch was spiked, and I ended up doing a dance number for the bridesmaids.

A fancy party with New York's richest.

I glance down at my clothes-at my plain shirt and jeans. "I guess I could–"

Julian grabs my arm, not waiting for me to finish. "Let's go. You'll love it, I promise." He drags me over to where a Bentley convertible is parked, with a bunch of younger college students taking pictures with it. They scatter when it beeps, staring with dropped jaws as Julian opens the door for me.

He sweeps a hand out, doing a little bow. "In you go, my lady."

"You don't have to do that," I mutter through clenched teeth. "They're going to think we're dating. It's enough that you made a scene in my class. I don't want some girl ambushing me because she thinks I'm not good enough for you."

Julian raises his head. The corner of his lips lifts, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Then maybe I should warn them that my brother doesn't tread light with what belongs to him."

I swallow my retort of, "I'm not property," as I slip into the car. I ignore the slight shiver in my chest and the way my breath catches softly as I replay Julian's words in my head.

What belongs to him.

In other words, property. It should make me angry, but the tingling in my chest says otherwise.

"Ready to go?"

I nod curtly as Julian sits behind the wheel. He points to my seatbelt. "You might want to use that, because it gets a little fast." I buckle up quickly, clinging to the belt as a lifeline. If I know Julian Hawthorne, "little fast" means he's about to beat every traffic sign and drive us over a cliff, if possible.

He laughs when he sees my death grip. "Don't worry, I won't get us into an accident. I wasn't joking when I said Adrian would have my head if something happened to you." The tingling comes again. I ignore it, focusing on the cars as Julian speeds past them.

He's only trying to make me feel better, I tell myself. I can't be worth that much to him, not even if my stepfather promised to sell his soul. Or my soul.

I go through every dress in the designer fashion house. At least that's how it feels after three hours of stepping into the dressing room, tugging all kinds of fabric over my body, then having to watch Julian shake his head.

"No."

"Too plain."

"Too flashy."

"Why is that sold here?" This one was to the manager, after she heard we were in the store and came to offer assistance. At least I got a glass of champagne from it.

"Would you wear this?" He said it to one of the salespersons. "Maybe you would, but it's not good enough for her."

"Maybe I shouldn't go." I'd said at some point. He simply shook his head, a strange gleam in his eye. "You have to be there."

Finally, we were ushered to a showroom with dresses and designs that hadn't been released to the public. I fall in love with the first one I see. A soft yellow dress with a dramatic V-neckline at the front and a decolletage sweeping downward into a mermaid-style skirt, with short cap sleeves and a plunging back.

I finger the soft material, and it feels like a murmured, smoky whisper against my skin.

"You'd look perfect in it," the manager gushes. "With your body figure..." she gestures, "it might have well been made for you."

My body.

I've never thought too much about my body. I didn't think it was the best, but I knew I couldn't change it either. I didn't have the luxury of weight loss dieting or the money for tucks here and there. Julian walks over, holding an open box. "These would pair nicely."

My breath catches audibly in my chest as I stare at the most gorgeous pair of silver earrings. "I–"

"Yup," he nods. "I told you. You just had to trust me. I can't wait to see the look on Adrian's face when he sees you."

Adrian?

I frown a little, but the thought of him slides in, uninvited, his face vivid in my head. A delicate shiver runs down my spine as my fingers sink into my dress, settling as a flutter in my stomach.

He wouldn't care. He doesn't want me there in the first place.

I tell myself that, but when the gown slips down my body, framing the curves I always thought were average, I can't help but wonder what Adrian Hawthorne would think.