17. Chapter 16
Chapter 16
Layne
“Holy cow,” I mumbled, staring at my reflection in the mirror of Keaton’s entry hall. Maybe I shouldn’t have let Blake sew a dress for me after all. But the offer had been too good to pass up. Instead of having to muster energy to go to a store and try on ten different dresses, Blake had used the measurements I had texted her and sewed a gown from scratch.
And boy, she was a master of her craft. Made of cherry sandwashed silk satin that highlighted my bronze skin, the dress had a V-neckline ending in a fitted band around the waist. From there, it flowed past my hips and down to my ankles. The long slit up to mid-thigh on the left side allowed me to move freely. It felt incredibly soft and smooth against my skin, fitting me to a tee.
That was the problem, though. Despite all the flowing fabric, it was still too . . . daring. At least for me. Couldn’t I just wear a T-shirt and jeans?
A whistle from behind made me flinch and whip around. Keaton leaned in the door, hands buried in the pockets of his pants and his blue eyes drinking me in. I’d been so lost in my thoughts that I hadn’t heard him come home.
Not smart, considering someone was after us. At least that’s the conclusion I had come to after that brick had miraculously flown through the living room window. Keaton didn’t seem to be alarmed in the least. He’d had the window replaced and not breathed a word of it since. Apparently, he didn’t deem it necessary to bring me into the loop about what had been written on that paper.
“No one will be talking smack about you this time,” he said, his expression bordering on smug. As usual, he wore a tailored suit, his wavy black hair slightly messy.
Suppressing the urge to cover my cleavage, I turned back to the mirror. Not sure I was on the same page as him. Bet his parents would find a flaw. Especially Regina.
“Ready?” he asked.
I wanted to say “let’s get this over with,” but didn’t know how he’d take it, so I snatched the silver clutch and heels Blake had sent me with the dress, and plodded across the hardwood floor to the door. I would put them on in the Aston Martin.
“Regina might make an announcement or something,” Keaton said, once we hit the road.
“Okay.” I almost rubbed my clammy hands on the dress, then remembered Blake’s warning not to mark the delicate silk fabric. The last thing I needed were handprints in places that made it look like I’d devoured a greasy snack en route to the gala.
Or worse, like Keaton had devoured me .
A mixture of nervousness and euphoria pulsed through my veins. That’s how I used to feel every time before going to a nightclub with Jasmin. Nervous because I didn’t fit into the world of the rich. Euphoric because it was new ground that wanted to be explored. For whatever reason, diving into a party crowd gave me a kick.
Fifteen minutes later, Keaton pulled into the packed parking lot of Lincoln Grady Distillery and found a free space in front of the glass building. My heart was in my throat when he got out and came around to open the door for me. That’s something he always did—opening doors for others, for me, like a true gentleman.
I awkwardly slid out of the seat, letting him pull me to my feet and into the balmy evening air. “Thank you,” I mumbled.
The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting shades of red across the sky and windows of the skyscrapers towering around us. This would make the perfect scene for a drawing or painting. While pencil drawing was my favorite technique, something with color—like oil or acrylic—would be more fitting here.
“Don’t forget to breathe.”
I looked up at Keaton. Unlike me, he seemed totally cool.
All I could manage was a forced smile. Trying.
He hooked his arm through mine, probably for show, but I was grateful that I could use him as a crutch. I couldn’t have walked two yards on those heels without breaking my neck. Stupid things. I wanted to kick them into the bushes lining the building and walk barefoot. How was I supposed to run around on them for forty-five minutes? Hopefully this venue offered seating.
It did, right?
A tendril of panic coiled around my chest. Putting this dress on and getting ready had already drained my energy. I’d never last forty-five minutes on my feet. Not only because of the high heels, but because I didn’t have the strength.
Oh Lord, please let there be somewhere to sit.
Keaton didn’t seem to notice the turmoil raging inside of me. Obviously not. My problems weren’t something healthy people wasted thoughts on. He walked at a brisk pace, and I could barely keep up with his long strides.
“Hey, bud, can we slow down?” I asked. “Unless you’re willing to swap shoes.” Bet he wouldn’t be running if we did.
He looked down at me. Smirked. “Or I could just carry you.”
When he stopped to swoop me up, I jerked back. “No! You’ll ruin the dress.”
His low chuckle made my skin tingle. Then he sobered, his gaze wandering over it from beneath lowered lids. “That’d be a shame.”
We’d almost reached the entrance when a woman in her sixties with a complicated updo and a beige dress intercepted us. “Keaton!”
“Betsy.” He greeted her with a kiss on the cheek, then looked her over. “You look fabulous.” He gave her one of his toothpaste commercial smiles, and the lady practically melted. Of course his charm worked on women of all ages.
Suck-up.
Her gaze snapped to me, her eyes practically devouring me. “Who is the mystery lady at your side?”
Lord, help me.
“That’s my wife, Layne.”
Wife. What a strange sounding word.
“No!” Betsy threw her hands in the air. “So it’s true, you got married.” She reached up and pinched Keaton’s cheek. “My boy is finally growing up.”
Pressing my lips together, I turned my head. Don’t laugh, Layne. That’s impolite. But the disturbed look on Keaton’s face was priceless.
I remembered my manners and extended a hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Betsy shook it vigorously. “You too, young lady.”
When she launched into a monologue about one of her cats throwing up on her Persian rug, Keaton politely interrupted her and guided me to the entrance. An older gentleman in a penguin suit greeted everyone who entered.
“Mr. and Mrs. Grady.” He pulled open the glass door and bowed.
Keaton slapped his shoulder. “Good to see you, Roger.”
I managed a “good evening, sir” before Keaton pulled me into the building.
The bustling lobby we landed in nearly knocked me off my heels. The chic crowd—a hundred people at least—were chatting at bar tables or the buffets offering appetizers and drinks. Long glass lamps hung like icicles from the high ceiling, the white marble floors and window fronts all around evoking a modern and elegant architectural style. Everything looked so . . . expensive.
“Relax,” Keaton whispered in my ear. Since he had to bend down to do so, it probably looked like a gesture of endearment. Like we were a happy couple in love.
We weren’t, but my treacherous stomach squeezed at his nearness and the smell of his aftershave anyway.
“I . . .” No idea what I wanted to say, but some encouragement would’ve been nice. Maybe he was used to this, but I wasn’t. I didn’t belong in the world of the wealthy and beautiful. In his world.
“Don’t forget to smile.”
I forced the corners of my mouth upward, probably looking like I was trying to hold back a bout of diarrhea. Were people actually staring at us or was my paranoia once again getting the better of me?
No, they were definitely rubbernecking. And whispering, too.
“Do they stare like that every time you bring a new girlfriend along?”
It was meant as a joke, but when Keaton looked down at me, his lips were flattened in a thin line. Oops, guess we didn’t share the same sense of humor. At least my grin was genuine now.
As we made our way to one of the buffets, we were stopped over and over. Keaton moved in this sphere as if he’d done nothing else his entire life. Which he probably hadn’t. Authority oozed from his every pore coupled with a laid-back attitude that made an impression on more than just me. People loved him.
While Keaton did most of the talking, I smiled and answered the few questions tossed my way. Fine with me. I couldn’t focus on the conversations anyway. We’d only been here fifteen minutes, and I was more than ready to go back to bed. My body was starting to send the first signals. My limbs felt more leaden by the minute, but as feared, there was no place to sit. Every time Keaton masterfully shut down a conversation, another person came up. The chats mostly revolved around business, now and then more personal topics came up but stayed superficial. Even when we were at the buffet he was being chatted up. At least I now had a sparkling water and something in my stomach, although I had no idea what that wobbly thing I’d eaten had been.
“Ready to go downstairs?” Keaton asked after a while.
“Downstairs?”
“The real party is happening down there. This is just the prelude.”
I blinked. “How many people are down there?”
“Three hundred, maybe.” He shrugged.
My stomach turned. What if Regina decided to make that announcement in front of all those people? What if I passed out or something, because my body failed me?
Oh Lord, please give me strength.