Page 35 of Painted Truths

“You look stunning, Liv.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Gaffer!”

My ongoing nickname causes the three of us to laugh, breaking the tense undercurrent of the moment before Alex leads me to the waiting car.

He produces a bottle of champagne and two flutes as I send Samuel a small smile, settling myself into the back seat. Quickly popping the cork with efficiency and handing me a glass, I sit back and gratefully sip. We make some small talk on the way, shortly reaching the Landmark London, the hotel where the Gala is being hosted.

“Oh my God. Paparazzi? I didn’t realise there would be celebrities in attendance!”

Alex chokes out a laugh. “They’re here for Enri… I mean, Henry. The life of an extremely reclusive CEO, eh? They’re well aware he’s no option but to be here and as one of Britain’s most eligible singletons under thirty…” He raises a shoulder, knowing he’s made his point.

I’d forgotten he would even be here in my stupid preoccupation, and I’m so utterly unprepared to come face to face with him after all this time.

Cop on, Olivia!

This is two years ago we’re talking about here. Henry definitely does not remember me. I don’t want him to remember me.

I don’t need him to either!

So why does that thought make my heart sink and my stomach sick?

Once we enter the Grand Ballroom, Alex grabs us another flute each, but it’s not even been a full minute before he’s being called off to some little chinwag or other that the bigwigs from DeMarco simply must have him be a part of.

As he’s being pulled away through the crowd, he scrunches his face up in distaste as he mouths, “I’ll be back.”

I smile at him, allowing my dimples to pop, letting him know it’s okay. That I’m fine and within minutes I’ve found my people. Freya gathers me close, like a clucky mother hen, telling me all the who’s who of the party, and it’s not long before Henry makes his debut.

Walking into the ballroom as though he owns the place, his black tux and crisp white shirt fit his body like they’ve been made for him.

His strides are long, even, and so cock fucking sure of himself; I don’t know if it makes me even sicker or turns me on.

Sadist!

The butterflies that only seem to appear for him flutter in my stomach.

And other places.

The rest of my gang take turns dancing with each other and continue to drink like fishes, along with the rest of the party, but I limit myself to sipping, very, very slowly. I don’t dance so as not to draw attention to myself, but I have a blast all the same.

Alex returns twice and is pulled away again within minutes of his reappearance, so we’ve not spent any proper time together, but I’m still having a brilliant evening.

I’m just exiting the little girls’ room, when I round a corner and run straight into a wall of rock-hard muscle, my clutch flying from my hand, scattering the contents all over the hallway.

“Oh, I am so sorry.”

Crouching down to retrieve my belongings, I look up to come face to face with spectacular, unique green eyes.

Unforgettable green eyes that have haunted my dreams for the past two years. My breathing becomes laboured, and I feel my cheeks flush under his focused attention.

My eyes meet his and entirely unconsciously, I find mine begging him, pleading with him, to remember me. To remember our moment.

His eyes flicker across my face, and there’s zero sign of recognition to be found as hopelessness settles in the pit of my stomach like a lead weight.

Gathering my purse, I force myself to stand tall under his indifference, so squaring my shoulders, I slip past him.

“Excuse me.”

I can’t help the disappointment that runs through my body at the confirmation that he doesn’t remember me.