AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Did you know about this?” I ask her.
Evie follows my gaze, her eyes widening. “Hell no!” she says. Whirling on me, she demands, “How do I look?”
“Like I could fuck you for a week and still not get tired,” I reply.
“No, seriously,” she says. She pulls down the vanity mirror, fingers her makeup, her hair. “I was not prepared for cameras!”
“I was being serious,” I say. When she doesn’t respond, I gently turn her shoulders toward me. “Evie,” I say. “Look at me.”
She does, her eyes reluctantly leaving the mirror.
“You’re perfect,” I say. I kiss her lightly on the forehead. “Don’t worry. Remember. I’m right here.”
Evie nods slowly and I see some of the anxiety lift from her face. I take her hand and squeeze it and before long our five minutes are up. The limo stops and the door opens, spilling bright light over us that pops and sparks with the flash of cameras.
We hadn’t talked about how we’d present to the world, neither of us thinking that a decision had to be made so soon. In lieu of a conclusion, I just do what feels right: I keep holding her hand. And as we walk down the carpet, her iron grip relaxes steadily until her hand is soft in mine.
I’ve done plenty of red carpets before. I find them boring and irritating, as I find most superfluous things. I’m able to stand this one though with Evie by my side.
I don’t recognize most of the people fawning to the cameras. They’re mostly in their mid-twenties, probably social media personalities I’ve never heard of. Evie and I are out of place in this world; the photographers take our picture but I see multiple people look at us in confusion, trying to place us.
At the very least we look the part. Evie is wearing a black club dress with a plunging neckline. It hugs her curves in all the right ways, leaving little to the imagination. It’s set off by smoky eyes and diamond accents — dangling earrings and a necklace I’d bought her earlier that make her blue eyes sparkle even brighter. She walks confidently in four-inch Louboutins, flashing the red sole with every step.
I’m wearing a slim-fitting black suit with a slim silver pinstripe and no tie. A black shirt is unbuttoned at the top, my thick silver Patek Philippe watch on my wrist.
We’re classic, elegant. Old-money suave. Tall and mature in a sea of youths. But most importantly we look like we know how to have a good time.
And this is the place to do so.
The site of Kara’s concert is magnificent. Even a skeptic like myself is impressed with the venue. The building is ancient, marble and stone and huge. The ceiling stretches four stories above an open floor crammed with people. Most of them are coming through another entrance; ours seems to be reserved for the VIPs. At the head of the room, music is already playing, an opener hyping up the crowd before Kara comes on at eleven.
The music isn’t my type — the same kind of electric dance beat that had been blasted on the plane — but everyone around us seems to be having an awesome time.
“Where are we supposed to go?” Evie asks me. I’m wondering the same thing but then an attendant approaches us with VIP passes and indicates a stairwell tucked out of sight. We follow it up two stories and come out on a balcony that wraps around three-quarters of the space.
Predictably, this is where Kara and Krew are. It isn’t hard to find them. The VIP section of the VIP section is at the far back of the room with a view across the entire sea of people, flashing lights and spotlights cutting the smoky air.
Kara is reclining on a couch like Cleopatra, Dax beside her, his hand running through her hair. A few other familiar faces are dotted on the couches around them, including, of course, Brent and Cheryl.
The music changes as we approach. I swipe two glasses off a nearby tray and pass one to Evie. I catch a glimpse of us in a mirror as we make our approach. We look very European, like we just rolled out of a Bugatti. Nobody around us is better in style, and the crowd parts around us as if instinctively sensing we’re important.
Carl, Kara’s bodyguard, steps aside as we approach and we strut into the VIP section, fashionably late and fucking gorgeous.
I don’t normally care about this kind of shit, but the look on everyone’s faces is pretty damn satisfying.
Neither Evie nor I acknowledge anyone other than Kara, and we stand before her like we’re paying tribute to the queen.
“I’m impressed,” I say nonchalantly, taking a sip of my drink. “This is exactly the vibe I want for the Seafarer.”
Kara looks us up and down, her eyes lingering on our held hands before traveling up to my face. “You’re not the only one, Mr. Madison,” she says. “I like your suit.”
“Call me Nick,” I say. “This isn’t a business meeting.”
A smile creeps across Kara’s face. “It’s not,” she agrees. “And that’s why we’re doing shots.”
I don’t blink. “You read my mind.”
Kara literally snaps a finger and an attendant comes over with a tray of glasses and a bottle of vodka.
