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He looks stunning in that perfectly tailored black suit. I’m desperate for the reassurance of his touch but he remains eight feet away.
‘We’d better get going,’ he mutters.
We don’t take the little sports car he drove this morning. This time we’re in a luxury sedan and there’s a chauffeur to drive us.
In the back seat I can’t help stealing glances at Dain. It’s like the night at the gondola—he’s simply breathtaking in formal attire.
He catches my eye and his own gaze ignites. He half groans, half growls. ‘Come here.’
Yes.
I press against the restraint of my seat belt and kiss him desperately.
‘I don’t want to ruin your hair—’
I don’t care and he runs his hands through it anyway. There’s such urgency in my need for him. I’ll never get enough. I realise this now.
‘Talia?’
I just kiss him. I just want to be close to him and pretend this perfection is real. Right now it is real.
He kisses me back but he’s gentle and tender and I want to provoke him to more because for me this need is unbearable.
‘Talia.’ He breathes hard.
His soft words ignite me.
We’re so close. I don’t care that there’s a driver. I don’t care that people can see into the car. I just want him. I need him.
But he grabs my wrists and pulls away. ‘We have to stop.’ He looks at me ruefully. ‘Or I could send a message saying we’ve both got food poisoning and turn the car round right now...’
I laugh, but honestly I’d love him to do just that. I don’t want to face anyone else today. My wariness rises. Insecurity completely has its claws in me. I want us to stay in our own world. Alone and intense. Because while I can put on an almost-designer dress and fancy shoes, they’re only wrappings. I know I really belong on the service side of the coffee machine, not centre stage in the society he’s the star of.
I struggle to catch my breath and stare out of the window as I try. The setting sun glints against the glass-fronted high-rises of the city. I’ve never left New Zealand before. I had no idea Brisbane is such a big city. But I can’t wholly appreciate its beauty. I’m suddenly scared. And for the first time since arriving in Brisbane, I’m cold.
The pre-theatre party is at a champagne and oyster bar. The gilt-tipped forest-green ropes discreetly inform the public that entrance to the venue is reserved for invited guests only, but there are other bars either side and they’re full and noisy. The customers ensconced in them stare as the car pulls up right in front.
Dain exits first and slides his hand into mine once I’ve got out of the car. The contact strengthens me, stirs me, my pulse regulates to match his—albeit a touch faster than normal for us both. He pulls me closer against his side.
‘Is it true you’re a father, Dain?’ someone calls.
Startled, I glance up. I spot a camera. Then another. Someone else calls his name. I look, but I’m aware Dain doesn’t. He knows not to.
I’m shocked. I realise how galling this must be for him—he’s so intensely private but his secret—Lukas—is known. And he’s being forced to be seen with me. To present me in public. My pulse skitters but he keeps us both moving until we’re inside. I desperately try to slow my breathing but it’s impossible because there are people...so many beautiful people.
I blink. Swallow. Straighten.
The bar is sophisticated. Its decor features that luxurious green with discreet gold trim in sumptuous curves and heavy marble countertops. A gleaming display showcases some of the oyster, lobster and caviar they serve. Bottles of champagne line the back wall. There’s ice everywhere—the diamond kind as well as frozen water providing a bed for the ocean’s delicacies. I freeze on the inside. I thought I was used to billionaire bashes from my time waitressing at exclusive Queenstown venues but this is next level. While it’s intimate, there’s a raft of people present, each one obviously very important, very sophisticated. They’re the sleek elite. But they all revere Dain. They watch him, listen close, their bodies angle towards him—seeking his attention. I see it and understand it. Mine does the same.
And he’s just swept in—effortlessly stalking past the press, effortlessly commanding the entire place.
We’re offered champagne in fine crystal flutes. Dain introduces me but their names and faces are a blur in less than a second. Some are politicians. Some are society mavens. Some are models—at least they look it.
The noise of chatter renders words inaudible as I surreptitiously try to take it all in and note how they’re all staring not so surreptitiously at me. I feel like a lamb who’s been led into a wolves’ den. But that’s wrong, right? I’m just overwhelmed. Surely these people are nice and I’m being silly.
He doesn’t relinquish my hand and, full disclosure, I can’t help clinging onto him. But I don’t want to rely on Dain for my confidence. Surely I can handle this myself.
Only I’m in awe of everyone’s elegance. They’re exquisitely vivacious, effervescent yet refined. They glitter gracefully and it comes so naturally to them. My stomach sinks. Dain’s privileged and powerful and he should have a partner who doesn’t only hold her own but is an asset to him. I’ve an awful feeling I’m a liability. Any of the stunning women here would be a better partner for him than me. They’re all used to this scene and they don’t just handle it, they shine.
