30. Braxton
CHAPTER 30
Braxton
S he hasn’t come back since she took off with her mother, and I’ve been left standing with Kylie, explaining that I’ve met Hope before but not going into detail about it because that’s none of her business.
This tangible, living thing between me and Hope is ours; it’s not for anyone else. Even if her mother can clearly see there’s something going on. I wonder how adamantly Hope will deny any form of association with me. I suppose I’ll know in due time if someone tries to take me out. I should be more cautious about antagonizing her family. It’s only a matter of time before one of them comes for me, but I really don’t give a shit. Let them come.
“Wow, okay. Well, as long as there’s nothing happening between you two, that’s fine,” Kylie says dismissively as if she has any say in the matter.
If she really wanted to dig further, she would only need to ask her brother, Lucas. My partner is partially the reason why I’m here. He’s been asking me for months to go on a date with his sister. Kylie is successful and attractive, dedicating herself to her work, and now considering settling down. I’m nowhere near ready for that. The thought of it revolts me, most likely because my thoughts are preoccupied with a certain redheaded sculptor.
For my partner’s sake, to get his sister to stop hounding him, two months ago, I agreed to come to this show. I’m a man of my word, so here I am on a date with a woman I’ve met a handful of times. But like an asshole, it’s not her I was excited to see. It became a bonus when I found out Hope was going to be here. I was wondering how the silent treatment might be triggering her. Epically, I’d say, considering the first thing she did was intentionally spill a drink on me. My lips twitch in amusement. What a handful she is.
Kylie’s talking about the inspiration behind her work and practically pitching herself as a potential wife candidate. I’m listening politely but watching the direction that Hope and her mother went in as we order at the bar. I can tell there is jealousy there on Kylie’s side, and to be honest, I don’t blame her. Hope is very successful, and she’s done it all by herself, contrary to some people’s beliefs.
“I know why she’s so successful now; it’s because of her mother,” Kylie says spitefully in Hope’s direction. Great, another bitter person.
“You think?” I ask. She tosses her hair over her shoulder as she nods, as if it’s so obvious.
“Yes. Imagine being the daughter of someone so famous and influential,” she says, her tone dripping with envy. I wonder how Kylie would react to knowing the power Hope’s father holds and why. I wonder if she’d be so loose with her tongue. “It explains so much. Like how she got access to all these shows, how she’s able to wear dresses that cost up to six figures and carry bags that most women dream of. All of it basically handed to her.”
“So you don’t think there’s any skill in her craftsmanship? You think she’s put in fewer hours than you because her parents are rich?” I clarify.
Kylie’s mouth opens and then shuts. “Well, she has some talent, but that’s not all you need to get a big break.” I zone out the rest of what she says. The reality is Kylie hasn’t made it as far in her career because she’s been too busy watching others, envying them.
Hope and her mother are greeted by a woman I recognize as Candice, Hope’s agent. She’s ushering them over to a photographer, and I can see the way Hope dies inside. It’s interesting to see her up close this way, in the environment she thrives in—or not so much, I suppose. She clearly hates these events, but she smiles as she has her photo taken.
She’s perfect. Inside and out.
I wonder if everyone in this room would still think that if they knew what her twisted idea of a muse is. Then again, it’s probably why she feels so trapped.
I’m not a good man. I’ll exploit those weaknesses to create space for a confession.
Hope’s gaze drifts over to me, but she’s quick to look away. Me being here is more than enough to rattle her.
As long as I’m still under her skin, then I know everything I’m doing to piss her off is working.
I smirk. Good. Because the wilder she is, the more likely she’s going to make a mistake.