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“What’s going on with you two?” Liam’s eyes are sharp as he stares at me, even though his face is the picture of disinterest. He glances away from me, staring after Jazz.
I shrug. “You know,” I reply, hoping my noncommittal answer will satisfy him.
He laughs, and we start walking back to the gala. I think he might change the subject, but Birchal says something that makes my stomach fist. “You fucked her yet? Because if not, you’re missing out.”
My throat tightens. The urge to commit unspeakable acts of violence gets stronger. Is this how he talks about all women? Is that how I used to talk about women? “No,” I croak. “When did you…”
“A while ago. Few years,” he answers, grinning. He knows he has the upper hand. It’s probably written all over my face how much this is bothering me. The image of Liam Birchal with his hands on her…his lips…his…
I’m definitely going to throw up.
“She didn’t seem too happy to see you,” I manage to say.
“I’m sure I could change her mind.” Birchal lets out a braying laugh, nudging my elbow just as we enter the main gala space.
From across the room, Jazz meets my gaze. She sees Birchal laughing with me, notices the way he leans in, shoves his elbow against my ribs. Her lips turn down, and I think I see tears forming in her eyes. I’m too far away to tell. All I know is within seconds, she’s slipped through the crowd and disappeared from the room.
Gone.
Suddenly, it’s hard to breathe. My collar is tight and my whole body feels clammy. I…I need to see her. I need to make sure she doesn’t think I’m like him. That she doesn’t think I’m his friend. I start toward her, heart thumping. I need to make sure… I don’t even know! That she’ll still look at me the way she did on that bench. That she still wants…
Fuck.
I can’t see her anywhere. I hear Birchal call out behind me, but I don’t stop. I keep wading through the crowd, pushing people off me and ignoring the protests and stares. I’m making a scene—but isn’t that what I’m good at? Isn’t that why photographers follow me around? For the chance at some juicy headline?
I don’t want a headline right now. I just want Jazz. I want to tell her I’m not like Birchal. I don’t think of her as a piece of ass. Being so close to kissing her…it feels different, this need. Deeper.
She’s there, just in front of me. I catch a glimpse of wine-red velvet. Black hair. My heart’s in my throat as I speed up, opening my mouth to call out her name.
Prince Damon looms in front of me, a big, friendly smile on his face. “There you are. We’ve been looking for you. You’re late for your speech.”
“Not now,” I say, peering over his shoulder. I duck around him and start jogging, then sprinting. I run through the marble hallways and out the big double doors leading outside.
A car door slams closed, red velvet disappearing behind it. “Jazz!” I call out, jogging down the steps. My heart is beating so hard I can hardly breathe. I want her to stay. I need her to stay.
But the car drives off, leaving me in a cloud of exhaust fumes. My shoulders drop, arms hanging limply. I stare at the back of the car, wondering if she’s turning to watch me through the rear windscreen. Scrubbing my hands over my face, I let out a groan.
Dejected, I head inside to see Liam Birchal staring at me over the rim of a champagne flute. There’s a cruel smirk on his face and a teasing arch in his brow, but I don’t have the energy to face him. My whole body feels on edge, like I need an electric shock to the heart just to calm me down.
She’s not here—so why would I stay?
Fuck the speech. Fuck this stupid gala. The only reason I came here was to see Jazz.
Spinning on my heels, I ignore Prince Damon calling my name and head for the valet to ask for my jacket. I’m gone within minutes.
15
Jazz
My hands are still shaking when I get back to my hotel room. I lean against the closed door and let out a long sigh, squeezing my eyes shut. I’m a grown woman. My teenage crush shouldn’t be knocking me off-balance.
I haven’t seen Liam in years, not since I left the Birchal estate to go to college. I thought I was over everything that happened. I thought I’d moved on.
Guess I was wrong.
It feels a bit pathetic to be so worked up over something that happened when I was a teen. I was barely seventeen when Liam broke my heart, but seeing him there…it still felt like it happened yesterday. It’s not like I’d want to be with him or feel any sort of attraction to him—it’s the shame.
Seeing him tonight reminded me of all the ways he ruined my reputation. How he turned the townspeople against me and made them look at me as some sort of morally depraved, sex-addicted harlot. How he isolated me with his lies and pretended like nothing had ever existed between us. He lied.
