I stare after her, wishing I could take her out to celebrate. Drag her to the fanciest restaurant I can find, maybe invite her mother, give her an awesome memory to go along with the good news.
That’s out of reach, but maybe if I ask the right way, I can get someone close to me to give her something better, something longer lasting.
I take out my phone to call my dad.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
AVON
“You look beautiful,”Zane assures me, fluffing out the long, gossamer panels of my dress.
Yesterday, after asking if I had Thursday evening free, he’d been all smiles and no information, giving me winks and nose-taps instead of answers.
All. Day. Long.
Then I walked into his bedroom to find a dress and shoes waiting for me, along with a handwritten invitation to the launch of a new show at the foremost gallery in town.
The only thing more perfect would be if he could take me, but his dad, Paul, is a suitable second-best. Our hurried introduction on arrival left me anxious but Zane wouldn’t be in this good a mood if there were any chance his surprise could sour.
I mean, the man’s just a multi-billionaire taking an evening off work to squire around his son’s one-week-old-relationship girlfriend.
How could that be a worry?
“You’ll be fine,” he says again. “Dad eats competition for breakfast but he’s very personable when he wants to be.” He tugs me back against him, hands roaming into private places under the guise of straightening the dress. “And I’ve made it very clear tonight is one of those times.”
The reassurance soothes my mind and does nothing for my physical jitters. But a lot of that is due to excitement. I can’t believe this escalated from Zane taking a few photographs of my work to an invitation to meet and greet the big wigs of the local art world so quickly.
But everything with Zane feels like it’s coming at me at warp speed. Why should a celebration be an exception?
“I’ve got jewellery if you want some bling,” he offers, opening a drawer he must have prepared because there’s no way he just happened to have a pink gemstone choker lying around. “I’ve already had the lawyer add you to the insurance policy.”
And the excitement at its beauty immediately translates into another bundle of nerves.
“Thank you,” I say as firmly as my malfunctioning vocal cords will let me. “But if I have to worry about a necklace all night long—and you know I will—then I’d rather go without. I need to concentrate if I’m going to make a good impression.”
“Then just take it for a test drive here,” Zane amends, fastening the gorgeous piece around my neck, settling it flat against my skin, the cold metal and stones instantly warming. “I wish I could attend tonight. I swear, the moment this damn thing is off my ankle, I’m taking you somewhere, dripping with diamonds, and you can leave all the worrying to me.”
Once again, I get that slight pinch as my refusal takes away his pleasure, but I let it go. Whatever the reason, I know myself well enough to understand my worry would talk louder than anyone in the room if I change my mind.
“Thank you so much for organising this.”
“You’ve already thanked me a dozen times,” he murmurs, mouth fastening onto my earlobe and roaming it with his tongue, before releasing it. “When it’s really your work that got you here. But do you know what I like best about this surprise?”
“That it’s beyond my wildest dreams?”
“Something like that. It’s not a set of car keys. You can’t just hand it back at the end of the evening, no matter what your working-class guilt tells you.” He meets my gaze in the mirror, smirking as though he can read every one of my thoughts.
There’s a knock on the door and when Zane opens it, an older, darker-haired, world-weary version of him slouches against the frame.
“You look lovely,” he says to me, then arches an eyebrow at his son. “Are we doing this or are you going to keep her trapped in your room all evening?”
I remove the necklace while Paul shoots me a quizzical frown, then straightens, holding out his arm for me to grasp.
“Have her back by midnight,” Zane warns, and the role-reversal makes me laugh. I half expect him to trot out a, ‘don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,’ but to my eternal relief, he lets a kiss goodbye be his last word on the subject.
The car journey to the art gallery event is far too short to compose myself. As Zane’s father pulls into the car park around the rear of the venue, my stomach clenches into a fist, my skin clammy.
“Don’t worry about the strangeness,” Paul tells me as I clamber out, trying to arrange the long skirts of my fancy dress the same way Zane had them before we left. “You belong here as much as anyone else.”
