8. Nora
CHAPTER 8
NORA
I watch West’s tall, retreating form through the masses. This ought to be interesting. The woman in front of me is about my height, and probably around my age too.
She smiles widely. “Nora, was it?”
“Yes, that’s right. Amber?”
“The very one.” She steps past me to the low stone wall that runs along the edge of the terrace. She puts a hand on the stone, considers, and then jumps up to sit on it.
In her luxurious silk dress.
Amber crosses her long legs, her heels high, and pats the spot next to her. “Come join me?”
I like her immediately.
I look back at Sam. He’s watching, glancing from Amber down to the dark garden below. He doesn’t like this. But maybe that doesn’t matter.
I jump up beside her and raise my glass to hers. “You have a beautiful home.”
She touches her coupe to mine. “I’d say thank you, but I didn’t build it and I didn’t decorate it.”
I chuckle. “Yeah. I can imagine. It’s been in the family for a while?”
“Over a century,” she says. “Are you really dating my brother?”
I take a sip of champagne to hide my surprise at her bluntness. Is she someone we need to pretend in front of? Or is that limited to his mother? “We’ve been seeing each other, yes,” I say cautiously. “But it’s… new.”
Her eyes sparkle. “New, is it? I thought you lived with your brother in Europe.”
“I grew up mostly in France, yeah, and I earned my degree in London. Our mother is American, though. We spent a lot of summers here.” I clear my throat. “I just moved to New York for work.”
Her eyebrows lift. “But you’re not one of the women Mom loves to chuck at West. You’re different.”
“I… what makes you say that?”
“Well, first of all, you’re sitting out here with me in a designer dress on this lovely stone hedge, drinking champagne, instead of clinging to his side like a lost puppy.”
I think of my issues with intimacy, my dislike of men on dates who want to touch me all the time, and smile into my champagne. “Well, I’m not the clinging type.”
“No, I can see that. But you’re still dating West.” She lifts an eyebrow. “Tell me, what’s your favorite thing about him?”
“Well,” I begin, and lean back with my hand on the stone hedge, “that’s a great question. I really like his… work ethic.”
“Oh. Interesting,” she says. “That’s usually the first thing I notice about a man, too.”
“He’s a very devoted friend,” I admit. Everything he’s doing for me, he’s really doing for Rafe. As much as it might drive me nuts. “And I think he’s got a pretty dry sense of humor, too.”
He often uses it at my expense, but he does have one; I have to admit that.
Amber swirls her champagne in her glass. “That’s a very diplomatic description.”
“Thanks?” I fumble for another compliment, trying to think of anything else. That he’s painfully handsome but seems not to care about his appearance. That he’s intimidating and scowls a lot, that he’s powerful. That I’m aware every single time he steps into a room.
He’s magnetic.
But I can’t tell his sister that.
Her face breaks into a wide grin. “Relax,” she says and nudges me. “I know you two aren’t really dating. Let me guess; you’re here to help him score a point against Mom?”
I hesitate for a second. There’s no good answer here, so I just lift the glass to my lips and drain the last of the champagne.
Amber laughs. It’s a warm, easy sound, and my own worries slip away with the bubbly burn of the drink. “Don’t worry, I’ve got your back. He’s never brought a girl to one of these parties on his own before, and I can’t imagine him doing it with someone he’s just started seeing. But if it gets Mom to stop trying to set him up with women he has no interest in, I’m all for it.” Her eyes glitter again, and the cool wind brushes her strawberry blonde hair back. “How did his best friend’s sister get drawn into all of this, though?”
I blow out a breath. “That’s a very long story.”
“I’ve got time.” Her eyes dip to my empty glass. “But we’re going to need more to drink. I’ll grab a bottle. Stay right there, will you?”
I pat the stone. “I won’t move.”
She jumps down, landing on the balls of her feet. She walks on practiced, smooth strides to the bar and gives the bartender a winning smile. He just nods, and she swipes an entire bottle of Dom.
I stare at her, mouth half open.
She holds it up in triumph as she returns. “I hunted, I gathered!”
“Wow.”
“Hold this for me.” She hands me the bottle and jumps up beside me again. There are other guests around, and some send us curious glances, but we’re far enough away to be left mostly alone. Except by the security guard standing several feet away with his earpiece and serious expression.
I nod to him. “We can’t share the champagne, can we?”
Amber chuckles. “I’ve tried in the past. I had a particularly attractive security guard my third year of college…” She undoes the steel cage to the champagne bottle easily. “But he had been trained too well. Never so much as looked when I wore a push-up bra and a low top.”
I laugh. “You did that?”
“Of course.” She uncorks the bottle with a loud, familiar sound and holds it out to me with a flourish. “There we go. Now you can tell me the whole lurid tale of how you ended up right here, right now. Pretending to be in a relationship with West.”
I take a fortifying sip of the champagne first. “Okay. So… it started a few months ago, with a letter on my doorstep.”
“Wow. Not what I expected.” She fills her own glass and then wiggles her eyebrows. “Watch,” she says, and extends the glass to Sam. “Want a glass?”
His eyes slide to hers, and his stoic facade doesn’t break for a second. He just shakes his head firmly.
“Right. If you change your mind!” she tells him.
“You weren’t lying,” I tell her. “Have you had guards often?”
“The last decade or so, yes,” she says with a shrug. “On and off. Mostly West will assign me a driver with security training to give me a little freedom.”
I sigh. “God. I’d love that.”
“You have the whole team?”
“Yes, and they’re around constantly. For the last week, my schedule has been monitored every single minute.”
Her mouth thins into a line. “Oh. I’m sorry. What happened with the letter? I derailed your story completely.”
“No, no, it’s okay. It’s just… I started getting threatening letters. I think it was just someone trying to scare me, but I told my family, and Rafe hired guards.”
“Threatening letters,” she repeats. “Oh my god, that’s terrifying.”
I laugh a little. I’ve become so used to laughing it off, to pretending to be strong, to seeming like it doesn’t really bother me all that much. Like all my hopes weren’t dashed today with a beautiful bouquet of flowers.
I don’t want people to feel like they have to comfort me.
“Yeah, it hasn’t been the best. It started with all these online messages, really. Texts and comments. But when the first letter arrived, that’s when we knew it was serious. It escalated to a few pictures in the mail. Pictures of me doing things. Walking around the city. Waiting in line for a casting.”
“Shit.” She glances from me to the security guard and then back again. “Okay, he should not be drinking, and it’s very good that he turned me down. I’m sorry.”
“I’m getting… used to it, I suppose. I wanted to move to New York, specifically for a job, and I didn’t want this to stop me.” I lift a shoulder in a shrug. “My brother asked his friend to help with the security.”
“Ah,” Amber says, nodding sagely. “And my brother doesn’t do anything by half measures.”
“No, he most certainly doesn’t.”
“Is he smothering you?”
“A bit,” I admit, looking at the doors to see if he’s nearby. I don’t want to sound too ungrateful.
She laughs. “He’s not all-powerful, even if he likes to think he is.”
“I’m just… it’s not that I’m not grateful,” I tell her. “I’m just struggling with all of it. The stalker sent flowers to my new workplace today, and everyone freaked out. That’s why I’m moving in here tonight. Apparently Fairhaven has excellent security and lots of space.” I take another sip of champagne. The bubbles are quick, delightful little things, and my head feels lighter than it has in a week.
I’m going to have to figure out a new kind of atelier. Maybe buy a sewing machine and see if I can set it up in the guest room I’ll be staying in. There’s no way I’m missing my shot at the Fashion Showcase.
“It’s a beautiful place.” Amber’s voice turns a bit wistful. “I love this house. The ocean, the orchard, the library… I spent most of my childhood here.”
“It’s incredible. It’s a little hard to believe it’s where you grew up. Both of you.”
She glances at me with a smile. “Yeah. I know we were lucky that way.”
“Do you still live here?”
“No, I haven’t for years, but I still consider one of the guest rooms my own.”
“West said I had to be by his side all evening, for security reasons…”
Amber lifts her shoulders in a shrug. “But you became the convenient solution to avoid Mom’s matchmaking tonight.”
“It seems like it, yes. And so much for the whole ‘Nora, do not stray from my side’ talk he gave me earlier. He’s the one who just strayed!”
She laughs again. “God, you’re going to be so good for him.”
“I’m going to drive him insane. He already complains that I’m trouble, that he doesn’t have time for this.” I roll my eyes and take another long sip. The air is getting colder, and a shiver races across my skin. But I can’t imagine moving away from this ledge, right here, with her. It’s been a long time since I’ve spoken so freely to someone. “But I’m just trying to get by in what’s already a really weird situation.”
“Hey, you know what you need?” She turns to me more fully on the hedge, a smile playing across her lips. “A girls’ night out.”
“Oh, I’d like that. But no nightclubs.”
“No nightclubs.” She holds up her glass to mine. “We’ll bring the guards. We’ll be safe, but we’ll have fun. I’ve had years of practice sneaking out from my brother.”
“I’d really love that.” I touch my glass to hers, a true smile breaking out. Maybe this whole thing won’t be so terrible after all. Maybe there’s a way to still be my own person here.
Another shiver races across my skin, and I take a long sip of champagne. My head spins a tad more.
“I leave you alone for what, half an hour?” The voice is deep, male, and very clearly frustrated.
I look over to see West standing in front of us. He’s looking at the half-empty bottle of champagne between Amber and me.
“Careful, or your new girlfriend here will think you’re a total bore,” Amber says. She jumps down off the ledge. “We had a wonderful heart-to-heart. I’m happy for you.” She pats his arm. “I didn’t know how truly romantic you could be.”
His eyes narrow and slide to mine.
I hold up my hands. Not me.
Amber looks over at me with a wink. “We’ll talk later?”
“Absolutely.”
She heads off, and West doesn’t spare her another glance. He looks at me instead, his lips turning down in a faint frown. I’ve probably committed yet another grave offense. Maybe this particular stone was laid by a founding father and I’m desecrating it.
But I can’t find it in me to care right now.
“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “She figured out you and I aren’t really a… couple.”
“I suspected,” he mutters, and he shrugs out of his jacket. He steps closer and hangs it around my shoulders. It’s big and warm from his body. It hangs stiffly off my shoulders, and I grip one of the front pieces, pulling it closed around me.
“You’re cold again,” he says.
“Just a little,” I say. “Is this your move? Giving girls your jacket? This is the second time.”
West’s eyes narrow as he looks at me, his gaze flickering between my face and the champagne glass in my hand. “How much have you had to drink?”
“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
“I think everything about you is my business right now.”
I shrug and look past him to the others on the terrace. “Have you been off mingling with eligible women?”
“Hardly. Everyone knows I brought you tonight.”
Oh. “And that’s apparently a big thing, is it? Your sister told me that you never bring dates to these events.”
His face hardens. “Spoke about my dating life, did you?”
“It came up,” I say primly. “Is it because you scare women away? Because I can see that.”
Something flickers in his eyes that looks weirdly like amusement. “Yes. That’s exactly it,” he says. “No woman in history has ever been attracted to wealth, power or prestige.”
“Well, not this woman, at any length.” I gauge the distance to the ground. It looked so easy when Amber jumped down, and I’m very used to being in heels, but I don’t think I’ve ever jumped in them before.
I scoot forward on the stone.
West sighs and steps forward. “Let me help you.”
“I can do it.”
“You’re not breaking an ankle the second day I’m in charge of your safety.” He puts an arm around my back and bends a bit. “Come on. Arm around my shoulder.”
It takes me only a second to obey. The touch is clinical. Practical. He slides his other arm under my knees and then he lifts me squarely off the stone ledge. For a moment, I’m suspended in the cradle of his arms, my face close to his chin. Wearing his jacket.
My head spins again, and this close, I catch his scent, cologne and something darker, smokier. He sets me on my feet but keeps his hand on the low of my back. “You all right?”
“I’m fine,” I say. “Perfectly fine.”
He looks at me for a long moment. “It’s time we made our exit. Enough excitement for one night.”
“But I’m just starting to relax.”
“My mother will try to corner you for an interrogation, and I can promise it won’t be very relaxing .”
“Okay. Am I staying in this… house?”
“Do you think I’d exile you to an outhouse? Fairhaven has dozens of rooms.”
“I didn’t mean to insult you,” I say, and turn my chin up. “Just a question.”
His lips twitch, like he finds this amusing again. “I know. Ernest has made sure your bags are already in your room. I’ll show you the way.”
I hesitate before reaching out to grab the bottle of champagne. “I’m keeping this.”
“Wouldn’t dream of taking it from you. Come on, let’s go.”
He guides me through the crowd with his hand still on my lower back. I notice how people part for him, their eyes following us curiously. A few women give me appraising looks that make me want to shrink into West’s jacket.
Because I’m still wearing it. If people didn’t think I was here as his date before, they all certainly know it now.
My annoyance at him sparks again. I wonder if it’ll ever go away completely. She’s the last person I would date. Except when it’s very convenient for him, apparently.
We’re walking through the large sitting room when his attention lands on something in the corner. Someone. “Wait a second,” he mutters, steering us toward a photographer in the corner.
I walk on autopilot, but I’m confused. “You want to memorialize this night?”
“I want to be photographed beside you, yes,” he says in a low voice.
I want to stop right then and there. What the hell? Just so he can do what, exactly? Send an even stronger message of just how off the market he is?
“West,” I protest. “I don’t want to be?—”
“This photographer was hired by my mother’s party planners. I can make sure a photo of us ends up in the local paper.”
I shake my head slowly. “Why on earth do you care so much if people think you’re single or not?”
“Not me,” he says sharply. “You. If you have someone watching your every move, I want them to know that I’m next to you now. That you’re not alone and that you’ve got a powerful friend in your corner. People here will talk, but an image speaks louder.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize… That’s smart.”
His lips twitch again. “Thank you very much.”
“Okay. Let’s do it.”
He takes the champagne bottle from my hand and puts it on the windowsill behind me. Then he holds out a hand for his jacket.
“Oh. Right.”
He tosses that beside the champagne bottle, and then the photographer’s attention is on us. I shuffle beside West, and he reaches for the low of my back again, wrapping an arm around me.
It doesn’t feel so bad.
It feels… good, and warm, and strong. And he’s not trying to charm me, to get me into bed. There are no expectations here. It’s an act, and I know how to act.
I tilt my head against his shoulder and smile at the lens. It’s one of the smiles I’ve perfected over years of modeling. The secret smile, a photographer once told me. Like you’re happy and thinking about a secret only you know. Or in this case, a secret only West and I know.
I think of him sitting alone in the armchair years ago, nursing his scotch and looking up to meet my gaze. Me asking. Want to grab a drink?
A flash.
I look up at West and keep that smile in place. He looks down at me, his eyebrows knitting together. His eyes really are the oddest color. The deep shade of whiskey or honey, so unusual beneath the scarred eyebrow. He looks at me like he’s trying to figure out what I’m thinking.
Another flash, and the spell is broken.
I step away from him.
West’s jaw works. He thanks the photographer and reaches for the bottle of champagne. “Come,” he tells me. “We’re done for tonight.”