Chapter 27 The Price Of Gold Luna
The Price Of Gold
Luna
My hands are shaky.
I tell myself it’s just nerves, that it’s fine, that all I’m doing is getting dressed and going to a party with my maybe-sorta boyfriend.
Except it’s not just a party. It’s this whole black-tie, media-splattered event.
I might be able to handle that but throw in a family meet and greet and I’m officially terrified.
Especially since his family doesn’t give off the warm and fuzzy energy I’m used to.
Mind-blowing that he thought this would be a normal first date.
Although to be fair, dragging him to my sister’s dance competition was an equally interesting choice.
“Breathe, Wilder,” Beth says, twisting another section of my hair around the curling wand. She’s exuding a suspicious amount of calming energy. It’s making me more antsy, like when someone tells you everything will be fine. That rarely bodes well.
“You’re not walking onto a battlefield. You’re just attending a nice, fancy little gala with your extremely hot, extremely loaded hockey player boyfriend.”
I press my palms against my thighs, ripping them away immediately when I realize they’re damp. Not your dress, Luna. “Gee thanks, Beth. Really helping the situation.”
Beth shrugs her shoulders. I’m getting zero apologies from her. “You’re a badass who captains a collegiate hockey team, wins over brands with a mere smile, and inspires billions of young girls to pursue their hockey dreams. You can survive a few crusty elites and a passed hors d’oeuvre or two.”
“Billions?”
“Millions, billions. Same difference.”
“Says the one who was born with a black Amex card tucked in her diaper. You’re only proving my point. You were born into this kind of life. Any chance you can go for me?” I bat my overly long fake lashes at her.
“Absolutely not. I hate these stuffy fundraisers. Oh, and I’ve got one more tip for you. Don’t eat the crab cakes. They’re a trap.”
As if I’ll be able to swallow a single bite, my throat is so dry, but a laugh sneaks out, and my shoulders relax.
Maisie plops down on my bed in a cloud of peach-scented body lotion. “Okay, but to be fair, his dad gives off major we own a yacht for our insider trading deals vibes.”
“Very specific,” I mutter, swiping another layer of concealer over the dark circles under my eyes. A faint shadow remains, no matter how hard I try to cover it up. I need more sleep.
“You’ve seen the news articles. He looks like a man who considers smiling a weakness, and judging from the way Beau talks about him, I’m pretty sure that’s accurate.”
Beth drops the curling wand into its heatproof pouch with finality. “Done. One stunning head of understated waves. You look expensive.”
“Because I’m in your dress, which probably cost more than my tuition for the semester.”
The black gown hugs my waist, flaring out enough to let me move on the dance floor.
One high slit shows off the only pair of heels I own.
They’re gold and strappy, and a couple inches too high.
Cute, but not cute enough to make up for the pain they’re going to cause me.
People think hockey is a painful sport. I’d take a hard fall on the ice over this any day.
“Ta da,” Beth says, dragging me over to admire her work in the full-length mirror.
I’m used to doing my own hair and makeup, so it’s unsettling to see what she’s done.
I hardly recognize myself. The hair is over the top gorgeous, slicked back at the front, falling in gentle waves down my back.
Deceptively simple, just like the dress.
“Thank you,” I say, swallowing around the lump forming in my throat. “Seriously. This would’ve been a horror show without you both.”
Maisie waves me off. “It’s what we do. Panic styling under pressure is our thing.”
Beth grabs a tiny gold clutch from her closet, tossing it to me. “And because I know you’re going to forget something essential, I’ve stocked this with mints, blotting paper, a Tide pen, and an emergency tampon.”
“A woman of many talents,” I murmur.
Maisie helps me into my coat while Beth checks the clock. “You ready?”
No, not even close, but I shoot Beau a quick text. Backing out of my promises has never been my style.
Me: Outside in five. Try not to pass out when you see me.
His reply comes back before I can tuck the phone away
Golden Boy: I’ll prepare myself.
Somewhere deep in my chest, the knot loosens. Just a little.
The limo sits at the curb, sleek and gleaming. The second I slide into the warm interior, I feel like I’ve stepped into an episode of Gossip Girl.
Beau’s sitting with his back to the darkened privacy window that separates us from the driver. He traces a path up the exposed skin of my thigh, and a delicious warmth follows his gaze, blossoming into a full-body heat.
“Hi,” I say, voice soft and unsure in the velvet-wrapped silence.
He exhales slowly, eyes raking down, then back up again. “Shit, Wild Thing.”
My heart does a full somersault. “That’s not very gentlemanly.”
“You can’t come in here looking like that and expect me to be a gentleman.” He trails a hand along the exposed skin of my back, tracing shivery circles.
My smile tugs itself into place despite the nerves. “You don’t look terrible yourself.”
“I knew I should’ve gone with the velvet lapels.”
We fall into silence, but it’s not awkward. It’s warm and full of unspoken things. Outside, the soft orange glow of the setting sun tints the city like a warm filter. Inside, it’s just us. If only we could keep it that way.
He exhales, running a hand through the slick swoop of hair. I never thought I was into blonds, but when I look at him, my brain short circuits. “I didn’t think it was possible for you to get more intimidating. And then you show up in that dress.”
“I’m not trying to be intimidating.” He’s one to talk.
“Well, it’s happening anyway.”
A flush creeps up my neck, but I ignore it. “You look nice too.”
“Nice?”
“Nice,” I repeat, savoring the slight twitch in his jaw. “Very restrained billionaire’s son.” He looks hot in a classic tux. I’m sure it cost almost as much as the dress I’m wearing, but it’s lacking the personality of his usual post-game suits.
“Okay, now you’re just being mean.”
“I’m not saying you don’t look incredible, but it doesn’t look like you. Where’s your usual style? I was expecting a tux worthy of the red carpet. Something unique. You look like you’re trying to disappear into the crowd.”
“Nice to know you’ve noticed my style.” His teasing smile curves down, and a faraway look darkens his blue eyes. “Maybe I am.” He squeezes my shoulder. “It’s a small thing to keep my father off my back. He’ll have enough to say.”
My stomach does a few more cartwheels. He’s going to be upset that Beau brought a nobody to this thing.
“About me? Coming as your date? He’d rather you brought someone from your world.
” I shift away from him, but he slides his arm around my waist, pulling me back into his side. His warm bulk is comforting.
“It’s easier not to fight the small things. What I wear tonight isn’t important. Who I’ve got at my side is. I wouldn’t want anyone else on my arm tonight, Wild Thing. Who else would have the audacity to ask Beau Whitaker to clean up cat turds on film?”
The tension slips from my tight jaw as I laugh, but the relaxation doesn’t last. The weight of what we’re walking into presses against my ribs.
I smooth my hands over the soft fabric of my skirt. “We should talk about the livestream.”
He nods. “When did you want to do this?”
“Yeah.” I pause. “Would next Sunday work?”
His eyebrows lift. “Is that soon enough?”
“Probably not. They’re already speculating.
The articles. The posts. I’m sure it will only get worse after tonight.
There’s going to be photographers there, right?
But I don’t want this to be a rushed thing.
I don’t want to let the media force us into a hasty announcement.
” Why couldn’t we just have a nice day at my sister’s competition without some kid taking a pic and spreading it around online? Or more likely, some bored mom.
He swallows hard. “You want to confirm we’re dating? Publicly?”
“I want to control it. We set the tone. We say what’s true and what isn’t. And if that means going public as a couple, then that’s what we should do.”
His mouth curves back into his cocky grin, but his eyelids have dropped half shut. It does nothing to hide the heat as he studies me. “I’ll be happy to tell the world you’re off limits. That you’re mine.”
A fresh shot of lust punches me in the gut. There are so many things wrong with that reaction. “I’m not yours.” My protest is weak even to my own ears.
“You sure about that?”
I shut my eyes, taking a deep breath. “This is serious, Beau. You may be used to having your relationships splattered across the web, but I’m not.”
He studies me for a long beat, brows pinched together. “You’ve never introduced one of your boyfriends to your followers?”
“No.” He doesn’t need to know how long it’s been since I had an actual relationship.
Sure, I’ve gone on dates here and there.
One guy even stuck it out for two months in freshman year until he couldn’t handle my schedule anymore.
Apparently, canceling every other date to deal with some crisis or other wasn’t cool with him.
“It’ll be fine. We’ll be together.”
I nod, fingers grazing the back of his hand on the leather seat. “Good. I want them to hear it from us.”
“For the record,” he says, gaze dropping to my lips, “if we’re doing this live, I might kiss you on camera.”
I lift a brow. “That so?”
“Just to drive the point home.”
“Purely professional.”
“Absolutely.”
The rest of the ride passes in a kind of breathless silence. Not awkward. Just thick. Like there’s too much unsaid and neither of us wants to be the first to crack it open.