“Who are you talking about, Mave?” I ask, then quickly pull my phone away from my ear and put it on speaker.
“The Bloody Prince,” Mave’s voice filters through the phone. “He’s here tonight, and so is his crew. I need to know where you are so that I can come get you.”
Dorran arches a brow, and a look of amusement takes over his features.
“How do you know they’re here?” I ask, even though I already know my uncle has informed every security personnel about the crew’s presence.
There’s a pause on the other side, and the speaker’s audio cracks against the loud music.
“One of the hotel’s external guards saw him and let me know about it,” Mave answers. “Just…just tell me where you are, Nettie. I’m–”
“I’ll be there in a few, I promise,” I tell him, then disconnect the call and throw my phone back into my clutch.
I grab a lapel of Dorran’s jacket and pull him in for a kiss. “I should go before Mave starts looking for me,” I say against his lips. “But I’ll text you as soon as I’ve got Rizwana.”
He smirks and kisses me back – hard enough that it makes me a little dizzy. “Show me what you’ve got, Little Swan.”
30.
The ballroom is just as suffocating as it was over two hours ago. If anything, the crowd in here has somehow multiplied, making things way more congested than before.
It doesn’t help that I had to spend all of 35 minutes listening to a 60-year-old Michelin-star chef talk about how he marinates his chicken, all the while giving me looks that clearly suggested what it is exactly that he wanted tomarinate.
Disgusting fool.
Mave has been calling me nonstop, but I’ve had to ignore him. And, whenever I see him glancing around the ballroom from his place at the bar, I blend in with any available group of chatting elites that’s close to me.
I have to continue avoiding him, because if he finds me, he won’t let me out of his sight, and that’ll fuck everything up for Dorran. I can’t have that.
I wipe the sweat off my neck and chest as I search the thick crowd for Rizwana, and as I do, Mave swivels in his seat – drink in hand – and starts looking around again.
“Fuck,” I mutter, then turn so that I can find a spot to cover myself, but stop when I see Mom and Waleed in conversation with a few elites.
Fucking great. Just what I needed.
I clear my throat and beeline over to them – anything to prevent from getting spotted by Mave.
“Mom!” I all but chirp, startling her.
She whips her head at me with rage on her face, but when I give her a knowing smirk, all color vanishes from her face, and she neutralizes her expression before giving me a wobbly smile.
“Daughter,” she addresses me with an icy tone.
I lean in and press a soft kiss on her cheek, then take advantage of our close proximity to whisper in her ear, “Relax, Mommy. Fear isn’t exactly a good look on you. Think of the spectators and media in the room. What will they say if they see you like this?” I move back and give her a plastic smile, then quickly greet the elites in front of me before glancing at Waleed.
“I hope my mom’s keeping you busy tonight,” I tell him.
He winks at me. “In more ways than one.”
I laugh, but internally, I go,ewww.
I know he’s a good guy, but like…still,ewww.
“The new winter collection looks absolutely amazing,” one of the elites praises.
“Indeed,” I say, even though I have no fucking idea what it looks like.
I take half a step back and chance a glance at Mave, and find that he’s turned his back to me and is now doing something on his phone.
