"Thanks! It has pockets," Hattie says, failing to clock her tone.
"Of course it does." The woman rolls her eyes, her disdain obvious before she looks at me again. "Are you her brother or something?"
Hattie shrinks in on herself before my eyes, her smile slipping, her shoulders curving. She tries to slip her hand from mine, but I hold it firm, refusing to let go.
I glower at the woman who made her shrink, my patience wearing thin. This chick knows damn well that I'm not Hattie's brother. She's just being catty.
"Move," I snap. "Right now."
"Excuse me?"
"I didn't stutter," I growl, slipping my arm around Hattie's waist. "My date and I want through, and you're in our way.Move."
"Your date?" She gapes like I'm speaking a foreign language.
"Yeah, date. As in, the only woman on the planet I'd ever let touch me," I snarl, stepping around her. "Come on, Hattie baby. Our box is up ahead."
Hattie hurries along at my side, not speaking. But every time we pass someone who even looks in our direction, she grows smaller.
I don't fucking like it. At all.
By the time we make it to my family's private box, I'm ready to strangle anyone who even breathes in her direction. Instead, I practically drag Hattie inside before slamming the door closed.
"Look at me, butterfly," I growl.
She avoids my gaze for a long moment before reluctantly peeking up at me.
"Do other women normally treat you that way?"
"I…"
"Don't lie to me."
"Yes," she whispers, swallowing hard.
Fucking hell.
"But it's okay, Sidney," she hurries to say. "I know I don't…fit."
"That's a damn lie." I stalk her across the box, not stopping until I'm in her space and she has nowhere else to go. The pulse in her throat flutters wildly. "You know why they treat you like that?"
"Because I'm—"
"Perfect," I growl before she can say anything else. "They treat you like that because you're perfect, and they can't fucking handle standing in the presence of perfection, knowing they won't ever hope to measure up." I hook my finger beneath her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze. "They look at you like that because when they see you, they see light, baby. They see joy. They see what they'll never even hope to be."
I've met a thousand women just like the one in the hallway. My sister is a ballerina, and women like that are everywhere in herworld. They tear other women down and use claws and venom because claws and venom are all they have to offer.
Hattie, though? She's different. And women like the one in the hall know it. Theyhateit because they'll never measure up. They are now and will always be pale imitations, living in the shadows of women like Hattie.
Why the fuck would I waste time with one of them? They'll never even come close to matching the pretty little goddess who'd rather eat tacos, read smut at a football game, and outlaw Spanx than rub elbows with celebrities.
"You don't have to do that," she whispers. "I know I'm not beautiful."
"Who the fuck told you that?"
"A lot of people." Her throat works. "My mom."
"Let me see your hand."
