Chapter 21 #2
It’s an uncomfortable feeling to go from having a relationship with someone where you never leave the bedroom to being thrust into the limelight in front of friends, family, and, let’s face it, the rest of the world.
The entire first hour, I’m on the red carpet with Gareth in a flurry of photos, handshakes, and interviews.
His brothers disperse, answering their own questions to the press, but they eventually make their way inside with their sister.
Gareth, on the other hand, is moving at a much slower pace through the crowd, giving generous time to all the media outlets that are in attendance for him this evening.
Despite being the man of the hour, he is determined to pull me into every conversation.
I do my best to be polite, but I can’t help but fidget when he continually introduces me as an up-and-coming designer.
This isn’t something I was prepared for this evening, and the questions directed my way are not things I’ve considered yet.
Gareth gracefully dodges questions about the status of our personal relationship and pretty much anything pertaining to his father. He’s so damn charming, offering only a wink and a smile, they let him get away with it.
Above all, it’s an enlightening hour for Gareth Harris history.
With every reporter’s question, it’s like hitting another Google search on the man whom I know intimately but not publicly.
He’s being honoured tonight for his outstanding season and the work he’s done with his charity, Kid Kickers.
He speaks so passionately about soccer, but when he mentions the children he gets to help because of his career, I have to admit to tearing up on more than one occasion.
It’s Gareth’s turn to get emotional when the press discuss the World Cup team potential with him. At one point, when he talks about playing alongside all of his brothers again, he presses his fist to his mouth to fight back the reaction that caught him off guard.
This man is so much more than I ever let myself see before.
When we finally make our way inside, the event coordinator ushers Sloan and me over to a large round table where my sister, my brothers, and Hobo and Brandi are seated. Their eyes are locked on the two of us holding hands, like we’re some sort of foreign objects they’ve never seen before.
Let them fucking look.
I’m done with the games. I’m done with the arrangement.
The bullshit. The back and forth ghosting.
I know part of me could be angry at the fact that Sloan went silent on me for an entire week, but she’s here now.
Her hand is squeezing mine in a death grip, and a woman’s touch has never felt more right to me.
“Are these two seats taken?” I ask with a teasing waggle of my brows when we reach our extravagantly decorated dining table.
My family and friends groan and roll their eyes at my daft question as I hold Sloan’s seat out before sitting down beside her.
I unbutton my suit jacket and place my hand on the back of her chair.
“Most of you know Sloan, but allow me to formally introduce you all. This is Sloan Montgomery. Sloan, this is everyone.”
I gesture across the table and point out Camden, Tanner, and Booker. Then I introduce Vi, who’s shamelessly shooting daggers at my Treacle. No surprise there. She’s in protective, fearsome mother mode, full stop, and I know there’s not a bloody thing I can do about it.
Sloan finally turns her attention to Brandi and Hobo, who are sitting on the other side of her. Her shoulders relax at the sight of a couple of familiar faces.
“Jaysus, this is a fancy soirée,” Hobo states, counting the number of forks on the table as several servers begin placing starters in front of us. “All for the likes of you, Harris? Don’t they know you’re rubbish on the pitch without me?”
I raise my brows at Hobo. “I’m sorry, is this coming from the midfielder who’s played for no less than nine teams in ten years?”
My brothers erupt with laughter and Hobo mock stabs himself through the heart. “You cut me deep, Harris.”
“Just ignore our moody older brother,” Camden interjects around a laugh. “He’s feeling the burn in those knees, I can tell.”
I pin him with a warning look. “I’m pretty sure I stopped a couple of your attempts this season already.”
Cam scoffs. “I let you block my shots. I have the utmost respect for the elderly.”
Sloan giggles beside me, and I turn to watch her cheeks flush with humour. I lean in close to her and slip my hand under the table to squeeze her knee. “Something funny?” She nearly chokes on her champagne when my hand moves higher.
Licking her lips, she looks at me from the corner of her eye and replies, “Just enjoying someone getting a rise out of you for a change.”
I blink at her surprising response because no one has ever gotten under my skin more than the woman I’m staring at right now. Moving in to whisper in her ear, I let my lips tickle her earlobe when I reply, “I’m pretty sure you’ve gotten a rise out of me on several occasions.”
She pulls her lower lip into her mouth and turns to face me so our eyes are inches apart. “Am I getting a rise out of you now?”
I lift a brow and purse my lips, willing myself to ignore the demanding thump of my cock in my trousers. She’s giving me those eyes again. Those powerful, magnetic, knee-drop-worthy eyes that I want to worship at the altar of.
With a chuckle, I remove my hand from her thigh and back to my food. “You wind me up like no one ever has, Treacle.”
She laughs happily at my familiar term of endearment, and the banter around the table continues as the main courses are served.
Over dessert, Sloan looks at my sister and says “Vi, I love your dress. Where did you get it?”
Vi’s brows rise as she dabs at the corner of her mouth with her cloth napkin. “I’m a bit of a Harrods lover I’m afraid.”
Sloan nods knowingly. “We do a lot of Harrods merchandising for our clients. That’s a Nicholas design, right?”
Vi nods. “Yes, I love his stuff.”
“It suits you beautifully,” Sloan replies.
Brandi chimes in next. “Sloan styled me tonight, too. I’m certainly more comfortable in football gear, but I have to admit that I feel quite brilliant. Next time I want a Sloan original, though.”
“Original?” Vi asks, turning her eyes to me and Sloan in question.
Brandi confirms that the suit I’m wearing was made by Sloan, and I can’t help but smile at my family for praising her work.
It’s sometimes difficult for them to talk about anything other than football, but they are making a great effort with Sloan that I more than appreciate. Sloan is talented after all.
On the red carpet tonight, I looked every bit as stylish as everyone wearing well-known designers, and I’m glad she was here to see it for herself.
I’ve always had the feeling that Sloan isn’t happy in her line of work.
Since the second I met her, I knew she wasn’t fulfilled in her career.
Tonight I can see her mood changing, though.
I can see the light in her eyes as she accepts all the questions at the table and volleys back her answers.
She’s stunning when she’s in her element and speaking passionately about something she truly loves.
It makes it bloody impossible to wipe the smile off my face.
Something important has happened to Sloan this evening.
She’s no longer nervous and unsure of herself.
She’s not twitching uncomfortably like she did on the red carpet.
She’s not holding back her answers. She’s tucked herself under my arm and leaned on me in a way that I’ve never experienced from her.
It’s not just the physical act of her movements, but the emotional as well.
We are connected. United.
She’s embracing me completely and it feels fucking fantastic. It makes me want her in ways I’ve never wanted a woman in my life. I feel protective of her. Possessive. Proud.
The longer the night drags on, the more I realise what exactly it is I need from her.
I need to claim her.
I excuse myself from the table to hit the bathroom before the awards portion of the night begins.
I need a minute to collect my thoughts. To breathe.
To pinch myself and make sure that tonight is really happening.
That Gareth Harris is real and I’ve not slipped into some alternate universe.
It isn’t until I step out of a ladies room stall that I finally get a dose of reality.
“Hello there,” a voice states, zapping my pulse with just a simple greeting.
My eyes shoot up to see Vi propped against the bathroom counter, arms crossed over her chest, staring at me like some sort of Jessica Rabbit spy who’s getting ready to interrogate me.
“Um…hey,” I reply stupidly as I make my way over to the nearby sink.
“I just wanted to take a moment to chat privately while we have the time,” she states, watching me out of the corner of her eye. She chuckles softly and adds, “Up until tonight, all I really knew about you was that you were Sloan—the stylist who’s been jerking my brother around for some time now.”
My blood runs cold at the tone in her voice. It’s as ice cold as the water coming out of the faucet. I look at Vi’s reflection in the mirror and reply, “It’s more complicated than that.”
She nods knowingly and eyes herself in the mirror, gently fluffing her long blonde curls. “I can respect complicated. Lord knows I’ve had my fair share of complications with my fiancé, Hayden.” She stops primping and stares at my reflection when she adds, “What I can’t respect are lies.”
Instantly, my eyes drop down to focus on the soap I’m pumping into my hand, willing the act to calm my nerves. “I’m not sure I know what you’re referring to.”
She exhales and leans herself on the counter to face me. “I’m told you’re a mother.” My face falls further when she adds with a wink, “No secrets in the Harris family.”