Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
“There they are!” someone calls, and a machine gun burst of flashbulbs goes off.
I freeze for a split second, but Dylan squeezes my hand, and I turn my eyes to him rather than the crowd. He seems completely at ease, like the continuing flashes aren’t even happening, and when he smiles at me, I relax enough that my legs move on their own accord even though I feel like I’m going to fall if he lets me go.
Sensing my returning comfort, he smirks and with a tug of my hand, spins me into his arms, kissing me. He even dips me back ever so slightly, and I lift a leg for balance, my red shoe peeking out at the hem of my gown. The press and the looky-loos react just as he anticipated. “Whoooooo!”
“Good work, Darling,” Dylan whispers when our lips part and he lifts me back up.
We keep going, and I keep moving through the motions although it’s all so surreal. We skip the press line as Dylan sees his friend Austin standing by the door, an amused look on his face. He offers his hand as we approach, and I shake his hand for the first time. “I hear you’re partly responsible for this?” I joke lightheartedly, although it doesn't come out as confidently as I wish it did with all the nerves gathered.
“You’re welcome,” Austin replies, and I can’t help but laugh at his deadpan delivery. “You’re going to be the talk of the city tomorrow morning.”
“What about the talk of the nation?” Dylan asks, wrapping his arm around my waist. Austin notes the move and laughs a little.
“Raven, I do hope you can keep your boy on a tight leash tonight. Don’t let him do anything stupid.” The advice is delivered with a friendly smile that Dylan returns.
Austin looks past us, his eyes going hard and cold in a blink. The change is uncanny, and it seems Dylan’s right. Austin is a bit rough around the edges, but if he’s earned Dylan’s trust, then he has mine too. “If you’ll excuse me, I see someone I need to speak with,” Austin says, his voice clipped.
Austin goes inside, and I give Dylan a look. “He seems nice.”
Dylan chuckles. “He would be offended to hear you say that, but he’s a good guy, a good friend.”
“I bet he’d say the same about you.” I nudge him slightly, looking up at him through my thick lashes.
Dylan beams. It’s a genuine smile, and it powers us through the night. The ball tonight is different from our first night together at the charity event, because I’m not trying to impress or curry favor with anyone here. And I’ve earned my seat in a number of ways. Maggie reminded me of how well I’m doing. She said that’s what the industry should be talking about. Hell, the scandalous pairing might be a match made in the heavenly slit of their wallets. So that’s what I keep in mind while we walk through the throngs of people.
And that’s powerful. It’s like everyone, from the local star quarterback to the governor’s wife herself, is drawn to us.
“Don’t you worry,” the governor’s wife says while we sip champagne together. Dylan’s across the room, talking with Austin and the governor while supposedly getting appetizers.
“Worry about?” I echo, my smile falling ever so slightly. My stomach drops as she’s the first to say anything aloud. I’ve been enjoying our polite conversation about a local street photographer who specializes in dog portraits, but this is it… the moment it goes off the rails and turns ugly, I think. She’s going to tell me not to worry what everyone thinks or what the gossip rags say while simultaneously looking at me hungrily for any tidbit she can have.
I peer at her, all my hackles on high alert, but she smiles easily.
“My husband’s going to try and rope Dylan into politics. He’d be good at it too, but I don’t think Dylan’s interested. He’s always been so singularly focused on his business, although that attention seems to branching out in lovely ways.” She gives me a look, but rather than judgment or snarkiness, she sounds… kind and genuine. “Congratulations to you two, by the way.”
“Oh, uhm… thank you.”
Reading my concern, she gently bumps my shoulder with hers. “What do they say about press? The only bad press is no press.” She shakes her head, laughing lightly.
“I’m not so sure I agree?” I whisper, my heart pounding.
When she sees my nervousness, she adds, “If I believed a quarter of what’s written about me, about my husband, or about us, I’d spend my days in a fetal position, bawling my eyes out. I’d like to think most people understand that. You just have to stand strong through the storm and show them who you are unapologetically and so loudly that they can’t help but hear you, see you, know you.”