AllFreeNovel
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For billionaires and their families, The Kentucky Derby is like a short jaunt to a local lake.
A little getaway that's not too far of a drive, but instead of packing up a minivan or Tahoe and hitting the road, assistants and flight crews warm up their private jets. Then poof, in a short couple of hours, they're touching down at Bowman Field and strolling into Churchill Downs within minutes.
At least, that's been my experience so far.
A day of unprecedented firsts for me, and I feel they're just beginning.
My first time flying private, which is... very weird, to put it simply. Glamorous. But weird. Not only did we skip TSA, bag check, and the long lines you'd experience at a normal airport, our chauffeur drove onto the track and right up to the plane. A Gulfstream G700, Hayden called it, nicknamed his Passion Pegasus. Putting that eye-roll-worthy name aside, it's his jet. As in, his alone, like the Kingston family wouldn't be caught dead sharing a single plane.
Then there were the amenities. Most notably, the crew of flight attendants who served us—the only two passengers on board—full-blown, hot breakfast. I'm talkin' sausage, hash browns, pancakes, orange juice in champagne flutes, eggs, the whole shebang. Guess billionaires are too good for that crackers and trail mix crap they serve while flying commercial.
And then... Hmmmmm...
I swear, there was something else—
Oh, yeah. How could I forget?
About this boulder on my head.
I groan, scratching my scalp beneath my humongous hat. Pink, feathery, with an excessively broad brim, it looks like a flamingo landed on my head.
"Quit fidgeting." Hayden tugs on my arm, leading us through a crowded hallway inside the historic racing complex. "It's not gonna fall off."
I know that, I don't say. How could it? What, with the twenty bobby pins digging into my scalp, securing the frilly monstrosity into place.
Instead, I just nod.
This morning, I devised a plan to survive today—speak to my fake boyfriend, only when necessary. I'm still cross with him, obviously, for reasons that shouldn't even matter. Nonetheless, here I am, on the arm of perhaps the most eligible bachelor in Churchill Downs, pursing my lips in stubborn silence.
"Still not talking, huh?"
Hayden weaves us around a flock of boldly dressed women, who each crane their necks at him, their eyes sparkling with appreciation beneath those giant hats, before flickering down to me. And burn with jealousy.
Not that I blame them, of course. I'm sure they can smell his trust fund oozing from the seams of his all-white suit. And even I know, in the throes of my resentment, that Hayden's disgustingly attractive, more so than usual. Like, painful to look at, when the sun hits him just right, which makes this whole silence thing that much harder.
"Okaaayyy." He opens a door to another hallway, holding it for me. "After you," he hums, close enough to my ear that butterflies flutter deep in my belly.
Dammit, does he have to be such a gentleman? I make the mistake of meeting his gaze, only to be struck with another barrage of feelings I can't ignore, before passing through the doorway. "Thank y—"
I suck in a breath, but it's too late.
His laugh bellows behind me, the deep baritone warming my cheeks. "So, flattery is your soft spot, huh?" He offers me his arm, which I'm obliged to take. When I do, he tugs me closer than necessary and whispers in my ear. "Shall I attend to your every need, then, Jules?"
I grit my teeth as a shudder ripples through me.
"Ensure you don't have to worry about a thing? Handle any inconveniences or change of plans. Pull back your chair. Fetch you drinks. Flaunt you around on my arm—oh, would you look at that? Guess that's just natural."
He swings a left, entering a corridor with an old-fashioned ambiance, and I swear the crowd naturally parts for us—for him. As we move through them, their eyes seem to drift onto us, like flowers pointing to light, while he murmurs, "And shower you in compliments...?"
Oh, no. Stay strong, Juliana, stay strong.
"Like how breathtaking you are in this dress?"
My lips roll between my teeth as I feel the weight of his stare. He rubs his chin with his free hand, as if he's mentally digging into some gentleman's arsenal, a playbook of sorts.
"That you're the epitome of grace and style?"
I whip my gaze onto him, my eyes narrowing. Is he...?
