by Violet Blaze
Breathe, Della. You'll be alright. Everything will be okay.
The comments on my blog were overwhelmingly positive when I posted an early shot of my dress this morning, so I take those to heart and hold them close, using them as a shield against Walter's facial expression.
Soft jazz music leaks in the speakers as Walter stares at me, and I realize this is one of the few times we've ever actually been alone together.
“So,” I begin, trying to start a pleasant conversation. “I haven't been able to come up with a name for my dog. Any ideas?”
“It's a mutt,” Walter says, like that's an explanation for anything. “I prefer Pharaoh Hounds myself. Good breeding can make a big difference in a dog's temperament.” I stare at the man and try not to let my mouth hang open in shock. I … entertained marrying this guy? I mean, I know my reasons had little to do with the actual man and his likes and dislikes, but …
“Um. Purebreds usually have a lot more health problems. Mutts are well-rounded, healthier, and don't you think there's a social responsibility to provide homes for the animals in the shelters?”
Walter ignores me, literally just glazes over everything I just said and answers an incoming call. I want to reach across that car and snatch it from his hand. Instead, I lean back and stare out the window as skyscrapers flash by, leading us into downtown, back to the Plaza again and over to the Virgil Family Theater. Yep. The multimillion dollar renovation on the hundred year old building was paid for by the Virgil family, their name stamped on the front door in copper colored cursive.
Old money.
That's what the Virgils are: indestructible, powerful, wealthy.
And I'm going to turn all of that down for what?
I glance back at Walter, his cell pressed to his ear, his thin mouth in a long line, a far cry from Rhoden's full, ripe lips and strong jawline. We may not have spent all that much time talking, but at least when we were together he actually listened to me.
I breathe a small sigh of relief when the front of the massive stone building comes into sight, lit up from below with spotlights buried in the hedges. There's a massive crowd on either side of the red carpet leading from the street up the stairs. Cameras flash as players and their dates arrive, climbing out into the spotlight in sharp tuxes and shimmering dresses.
Walter has his driver take us around the back and through a pair of electronic gates into a private parking lot. There are a few paparazzi camping out here, just in case somebody famous tries to make a break for it, but most of them are content to watch the action out front. Personally, I'm glad that Walter's a private person. The last thing I want to do tonight is brave the crowd on Walt's arm, see my face splashed across the news again, right up next to that blurry dark shot of me and Rhoden.
I reach down and adjust my boobs, garnering a strange look from Walter. But he can stare all he wants because I'm carrying a heavy load here, and I need to make sure it's sitting right. Walking into that glittering party full of NFL players, models, singers, and actors with a lopsided rack won't do anybody any favors.
“Thank you,” I say when the driver opens the door and lets me out. I wait for Walter and let him hook his arm through mine to lead me inside, past the security guards and a man in a tuxedo with a guest list. He doesn't even ask us our names though; everyone here knows who Walter Virgil is.
“Make my rounds with me. I want to introduce you to some people.” I swallow hard, glancing down at my left hand and the massive engagement ring gleaming traitorously there. My reasons for waiting to break up with Walter make sense, but tonight, everyone here will see me with him, with this ring on. Is he going to introduce me to people as his fiancé? Crap. I feel like an idiot for just now thinking of this.
“Walter,” I start, pausing in the doorway to the lobby where the party's being held. Just inside these doors, the crowd gleams and shines, a rich palette of color and wealth and station, favors being exchanged, connections being made. Somewhere in there is Rhoden Richards, the first and only guy I've slept with in months. “About this,” I lift up my hand and point at the ring. “I was hoping to wait … for an official announcement. Maybe I should take this off? Just for tonight, of course.”
Walter gives me a long, calculating look and then nods briskly.
“You're right. I'd hate for our news to be ruined with rumors. I want to arrange for a proper announcement, possibly something that we can relate back to that breast cancer thing.” I purse my lips a little at his imperious tone, but I don't say anything, taking the ring off and slipping it into the zippered section of my clutch. If Walter's as disturbed as I am about carrying a zillion dollar ring around in my purse, he doesn't show it.
I let him take my hand and lead me into the room, past the hulking forms of Adders, past Coach Odell Hollis who gives me a small wave, and over to a circle of men that I don't know very well. I've seen them a time or two in my father's—now Walter's—skybox I think. Walter introduces me as Rueben's daughter which is fine, but he keeps our arms linked, trapping me in the humdrum dull business talk they delve into.
I stand there as calmly as I can, trying not to fidget, pretending not to notice the way the men look at me, like I'm a show dog trotting around the ring for their viewing pleasure. If they got out score sheets and started to grade me, I wouldn't be surprised.
After a few minutes, we move on … to yet another group of businessmen. Meanwhile, I check out the fresco ceiling, painted with golds and creams. It looms above our heads, taking up the multi-story room with its grace and presence. From here, it's hard to tell exactly what it is, but I can definitely see the archangel Michael, brandishing his sword in battle.
“Can I steal you for a minute?”
I feel a small hand grip my arm and turn to find Hal watching me with raised brows. Walter smiles at her with tight lips, like he's annoyed at being interrupted, but at least he lets me go, allowing Hal to drag me through the thick of the crowd and towards the refreshments.
She parks a glass of wine in my hand and stands back and grins at me.
“I was totally pissed at you for skipping out on our shopping trip aaaand then for ignoring my phone calls, but wow, Della. You look amazing!” I smile and do a little twirl, noticing as I do that I get some snooty looks from some of the wafer thin women around me. They look at me like I don't belong here, like my too-small nose and my slightly different shaped eyebrows are grounds for immediate dismissal.
I do my best to ignore them and check out Hal's outfit. Since my stepmom's here tonight, she's dressed like an extra on Little House on the Prairie, in a floor length blue dress with cap sleeves and a cream floral print. Her hair is coiffed tight on top of her head and her makeup is minimal; she must be miserable. Hal's kind of like Rhoden, a bit of a showboater.
“Thanks. I tried,” I say with a shrug, although I can't help smiling a little. “My readers seemed to like it, so …” I shrug and tuck some hair behind an ear, pretending that I'm not searching the crowd for Rhoden.
“Looking for somebody?” Hal asks with a raised brow, moving over to stand next to me and lacing our arms together. “Reagan and Emery are making their single guy rounds, trying to pick up a suitor that's half as rich as yours.”
“Yeah, well, they're welcome to him,” I blurt before I can stop myself. Hal gives me a look, but doesn't comment, dragging me over to the food table and grabbing a plate. She makes me hold it while she loads up expensive little desserts, all in miniature. My sister has the best metabolism known to man; I kind of hate her a little for it.
“You want anything?” she asks, but I shake my head, trying my best to balance the plate and my wine glass at the same time. “Because I am taking serious advantage of some mom-free eating time.” Hal stacks the plate into a heaping mountain, garnering us looks from the nearby partygoers. Some of them look at me like I'm a serious fat ass, but I feel too good tonight to care.
“Let's go find a place to sit,” she tells me in her usual bossy way, grabbing a se
cond and third glass of wine and tucking them in her tiny hands. I follow Hal through the crowd toward one of the few sitting areas in the room, pausing as I hear a small roar from outside.
Somebody special must've just arrived.
I let my sister secure us a seat while I stop for a moment to see who it is that's coming in the front doors.
When they open and let in Rhoden Richards, I feel my heart start to palpate.
Holy. Crap.
He's dressed in a black suit jacket over a black button-up and a white shirt. The fabric clings to the tightness of his belly and the jacket sits propped up on those wide shoulders like a mantle. When he saunters into the room with that casual, easy swagger, I feel weak in the knees.
Black denim clings to his muscular legs, emphasizing the rolling gait of his hips as he steps inside with a cocksure half-smile and a gorgeous woman on his left arm.
My heart crashes into my stomach and I almost drop the plate of food.
The woman he's with is absolutely stunning, just as tall as he is in the fabulous pair of gold heels she's wearing. I think they're Manolos, but I'm not sure. I can't stare at them long enough to tell, my gaze drawn up the shapely golden calves of her legs to the glittering micro-dress she's wearing. It wraps her thin frame like a glove, showing off the points of her narrow hip bones and emphasizing the concave nature of her chest and the swanlike length of her neck. Her mouth is full and ripe, her dark eyes wide and shining as she flips some smooth chocolate hair over one shoulder.
Vaguely, I realize that I recognize her from somewhere, but my brain's too scrambled to think of where. Instead, I stand there in the middle of the walkway while other people step back and give Rhoden and his date room to move.
When they first come in, Rhoden's looking over at her and grinning, so he doesn't see me until the two of them just about bowl me over.
“Holy fuck,” he snaps, coming to a halt so quick that his date stumbles in her sky high heels. When Rhoden makes eye contact with me, his brows raise up to his hairline. “Della.”
There's a long, tense moment there where we just stare at each other. I'm not sure what he's thinking, but I know what's going through my head. I can still feel you pressed against me, can still remember your warmth, your smell. I blink away the thoughts as Rhoden readjusts his gaze and takes me in from head to toe, just like his date is doing now. Unlike her, though, he isn't scowling. No, he tries to hide it, but when he looks me over like that, something sparks in his eyes—and his pants.
I pretend not to notice.
“Do you two know each other?” the woman asks, pointing between me and Rhoden and then looking at my towering plate of desserts like it's radioactive. When she lifts her gaze back up to my face, there's a judgment and a cool dismissal there.
“Uh,” Rhoden starts, blinking at me and running his fingers through his dark hair like he's suddenly frustrated. “Della Garland, this is Jasmine Spears.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say with a smile, trying to pretend this situation doesn't suck some serious popsicle. “I'd shake your hand, but my little sister stuck me with snack duty.” I lift the plate up with a small laugh, but Jasmine barely smiles with those Botox thick lips of hers.
“How do you two know each other?” She asks with a possessive edge, curling her fingers around Rhoden's sleeve. He doesn't seem to notice, still staring at me with that unreadable expression of his. When I look between the two of them, my mind conjures up images of them sweaty and tangled together in a mess of sheets and I start feeling sick again.
“Della's the daughter of Rueben Garland, the CEO of Garland Enterprises.” Jasmine just stares blankly at me like she has no idea what he's talking about. “The man who just sold the team today, at the press conference.”
“Ah.”
“How do you two know each other?” I ask suddenly, the question popping out before I can stop it. Jasmine smirks at me while Rhoden runs his tongue along his lower lip, examining my dress with a careful eye before smiling.
“Kierstin, huh?” he asks and I raise both my brows.
“How did you know?” I ask, unable to hold back a small smile.
“Rhoden and I met at a magazine shoot for Sports Illustrated a few weeks ago,” Jasmine blurts out, curling her long, thin body even closer to his. “And we just hit it off.”
I glance at her, but it's hard to hold her gaze when Rhoden's looking at me like that.
“We should probably go, introduce ourselves to Walter in an official capacity,” Rhoden says, and he doesn't sound at all happy about that. But that's basically the reason I'm here tonight, so I jump in before Jasmine can drag him away.
“Let me give this stuff to my sister and I'll take you. Wait right here.” I move over to Hal as fast as I can in my heels and slide her plate on the glass coffee table by her feet. She's already deep in conversation with Deshaun Green, the tight end for the Adders, batting her lashes and checking over her shoulder for stepmom sightings every few minutes.
I leave her to her flirting and practically skip back over to Rhoden who's having a fierce whispering contest with his date. When I approach them, they stop and look over at me. With their good looks and perfect hair, full lips, symmetrical faces, they look like the perfect fairy-tale couple.
My stomach does a nervous flip-flop.
“Right this way,” I say, trying to play the gracious hostess. I just want to make sure that everything is okay with Walter and Rhoden before I bow out of this engagement. I don't know why I care so much. I tell myself it's just because I want to win the Super Bowl this year, but … it might be something else, too, something that I don't care to admit.
Like maybe I have a little crush on Rhoden Richards?
“Walter,” I say as I step up beside him and take his arm, drawing his attention toward Rhoden and Jasmine. When I make eye contact with Rhoden again, he's got a slight frown tracing his full lips.
“Mr. Virgin,” he says, and I almost snort. Seriously, Rhoden?! Is he trying to get in trouble with his new boss on day one? “It's nice to see you again.”
“It's Virgil,” Walter says, clearly not amused, his gaze taking in Jasmine much the same way I did, only his is tinted with a flush of satisfaction and a slight quirk to his lips. It's annoying, but I guess I can't blame him. She's gorgeous and perfect and skinny, and I'm … just a cheater who's planning to break up with the guy on Monday. “I take it you're enjoying the party?” The way he says that, it sounds more like he's asking if Rhoden's enjoying Jasmine.
I feel myself stiffen up considerably. Rhoden notices, watching me carefully for a long moment before answering.
“I just got here,” he says, forcing a smile onto his face as he towers over Walter with his sheer force of presence. “But now that I'm here, I thought I might take some time with Della to brainstorm ideas for our date. It's going to get a lot of media coverage, so I want to get it right, put some spit polish on my image so to speak.”
“That wouldn't be a bad idea,” Walter says, his chin lifted, his face telling me he's clearly bored with the situation. Good. If he can't sense anything between Rhoden and me, then I have nothing to worry about. Walter pulls me close and turns me with a hand on my arm, drawing me forward for a kiss that makes my skin crawl.
He presses his mouth tightly against mine, tasting my bottom lip with his tongue. It's a quick, possessive kiss that makes me a little queasy. When he pulls back, I try to smile.
“Once you've got an idea, run it past me. I'll get my PR guy to set up something special, like a giant check to present to the foundation or something—in Della's name, of course. Now, if you'll excuse me.” Walter pulls away and moves into the crowd, leaving me behind to deal with Jasmine and her narrowed eyes and pursed lips. If I was actually planning on staying with the guy, I'd be offended.
“How's Little Dick?” Rhoden asks with a smirk, drawing Jasmine's attention flying over to his face with a frown on her painted lips.
“I can't get him to stop pulling o
n his leash. Oh, and he crapped on my favorite slippers yesterday. Other than that, he's great.” Rhoden chuckles, that warm, velvety sound that soothes the nervous cramp in my tummy. “How's Billy the Kid?”
“Who the hell is Billy?” Jasmine asks, like she's starting to get really pissed about being left out.
“My dog,” Rhoden says as he draws his arm away from her. “Do you mind if Della and I have a moment alone to discuss our date?”
“Sure. Kick your girlfriend out to talk about a date with another woman,” Jasmine says, trying to pretend she's joking, but sounding like a raging bitch anyway. “If it wasn't for charity,” she says with a false laugh as she saunters away, her gold dress riding up her thighs and threatening to show her ass. We both watch her go before Rhoden turns to me and leans back, tucking his fingers in his front pockets.
“She's cute,” I say. What I want to say is I fucking hate her. She's awful. I've known her for all of three seconds and I can already tell she's a shitty human being. “So you guys are dating?”
Rhoden shrugs, the movement loose and easy as he rustles the suit jacket in a stupid non-answer.
“How's Walter? I see you're not wearing your engagement ring.”
“Yeah, well,” I say, but there's nothing I really care to elaborate on right now. I don't want to tell Rhoden I'm breaking up with Walter after he just paraded his model Barbie girlfriend in front of me. “About the charity date, I think I'm going to have to pass on that.”
“That's a load of crap, Della,” Rhoden says, drawing his hands from his pockets and crossing them over his broad chest. He stares at me with his whisky-honey eyes, and I find myself unable to look away. “Is this because of the beach?”
“Because of … I just don't think it's that great of an idea for us to go out on a date, okay?” There's a long pause as Rhoden glances over his shoulder, drawing my attention along with him. Jasmine is standing in a cluster of women near the doors to the main part of the lobby, tossing her shiny hair around and laughing with a sound like tinkling chimes. Every so often, she glances our way. “You bailed on me,” I say without meaning to. “You took off like I was nuclear. I know we're not a couple or anything, but that was a shitty thing to do.”
