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Eyebrow cocked, I search through the names and arrows, until I pause at the top.
Billionaires' Row.
THIRTY
JULIANA
I haven't seen Warren Kingston since my brother's graduation six years ago.
In preparation for today, I looked him up online, thinking it might soften the blow. I found the usual stuff. CEO and founder of Kingston Entertainment. Fifty-nine years old. Two sons, Elias and Hayden Kingston, from his first marriage to Sylvia Kingston—now Sylvia Van Doren. Since his divorce, over a decade ago, Warren has remarried several times. Four, maybe five times—I don't remember. As of last year, his new wife's name is Clara, who has a six-year-old son of her own, although I didn't care to dig much deeper than that.
But... even with all my research, the escalator ride up to the fourth floor feels like an eternity. My heart palpitates in anticipation. Nothing like rekindling with your mom's ex-lover, who's also your fake boyfriend's dad, to put your mind at ease.
Just riveting.
As we step off the escalator, Hayden casually intertwines his fingers with mine. I'm about to question it until I remember. Oh right, now we really gotta act the part.
We round a corner, and my anxiety picks back up. Sensing my worry, Hayden brushes a thumb along the backside of my hand. Butterflies swarm within me at the touch, especially when I realize this is the first time we've held hands—only for embarrassment to quickly follow.
Getting jittery over some boy holding my hand. What am I, twelve years old?
"It's going to be fine," he says.
I whip my head, finding his expression strained. Why does he sound like he's reassuring himself? But there's no time to question it as we turn another corner and behold an astonishing view.
"Woah," I breathe out, as we descend a short block of steps, entering onto a secluded balcony overlooking the track. "I didn't know we were this high up. You can see everything."
Hayden hums beside me, pointing. "There's the starting gate, where they'll load in the horses." He motions to the right, toward a giant white pole in the center of the near-side track. "And there's the finish line... and the winner's circle over there..."
He trails on, until a man wearing a uniform approaches us. "May I take your coat, sir?"
"No, I'll keep it for now, thank you."
He nods respectfully, before disappearing down the balcony, hugging the railing. I raise an eyebrow, watching him go as he enters a small, secluded area, partially obscured from our view at this angle. Rows of occupied seats populate the space that's noticeably less cramped than the bleachers below, with servers gracefully balancing trays of cocktails and hors d'oeuvres on their white-gloved fingertips.
My palms grow clammy.
Billionaires' Row.
Hayden tugs me along, and slowly but surely, our vantage point expands, revealing more filled seats farther down, near the railing. As we descend a flight of stairs, passing row after row, we earn smiles and even a few waves, all of which Hayden returns. My confidence surges.
Maybe Warren won't recognize me, I think. It's been so many years, he probably forgot about my existence. Then I can say my name's... Emily or... Becka—yeah, definitely Becka. He'll go for that, right? And Hayden can just play along.
Hayden stops us at the bottommost step, before the row in front of the railing. Seated right by the stairs, clad in a striped, finely pressed suit with a full head of peppery gray hair, is Warren, who I recognize immediately.
Fear slithers its way into my headspace, but I squash it dead, plastering on a pleasant expression, while the following two seconds wane on like hours. Warren turns his head casually, meeting my knees at his eye-level, before a scowl marks his lips, his thoughts plain as day.
Don't bring one of your whores around the family...
I check my temper as his gaze travels higher up my body, and that frown grows more grotesque. That is, until he reaches my face. Upon seeing my lips, his own part on a silent gasp, and when his eyes meet mine, they burn with surprise, as if I'm a ghost who's revealed herself after slapping him on the cheek.
For a moment, he just stares, pupils blown wide.
It's scary, really, how much they all look alike. Hayden. Elias. And Warren here. Blue eyes. Strong features. With unmistakable bravado. Aged, yet so similar, except he doesn't radiate an ounce of Hayden's infectious charisma—until all that disgust slicks off him like rain, replaced by a warm smile.
"Juliana." He stands, rising to his impressive height, about two inches shy of Hayden's. "What a surprise. Hayden didn't tell me you were coming. It's so lovely to see you."
Wow. A breath escapes me. I don't know what kind of reaction I was expecting, but it wasn't a welcoming one. Feeling a sense of comfort, I return his smile. "And you too, Mr. Kingston."
