Chapter 23 Nora #2
There’s a soft creak and I spin, seeing Zayden step inside, looking down at his watch. He looks up and pauses mid-step, eyes widening. His gaze travels down every inch of my body and back up.
‘You …’ he finally says, his eyes raking over me, like he can’t decide where he wants to look first. ‘You look unreal.’
A nervous laugh slips out of me, and I smooth the front of my dress, suddenly shy under his gaze. ‘Thank you.’
He releases a low whistle, closing the distance between us. ‘I mean, I knew you’d look beautiful, but this? This is next level.’
I roll my eyes, even as my heart swells, my cheeks warming under his gaze. ‘You make me feel like the prettiest girl in the world, Zayden Stark.’
‘Well, maybe you are,’ he replies, his hands gently resting on my waist.
‘Don’t make me cry. I just got my make-up done,’ I murmur, eyes welling.
Leaning in, he presses a tender kiss to my forehead. ‘Are you almost ready to go?’
‘Yep, let’s go.’
The Uber arrives shortly after we make our way out onto the street. My fingers restlessly tap my handbag. Zayden and the driver make idle chitchat about the basic things you always talk about in an Uber. How busy he’s been, the weather, details about the event we are heading to.
My heart is pounding in a jittery, restless way, like it’s going too fast and uneven in my chest. In combination with the butterflies swarming my stomach, I’m ready to either vomit or drink my weight in alcohol. Honestly, probably both.
I don’t want to see any of them, but I need to do this.
My eyes dart down to my phone as I keep checking the time, as if we are running late, but we aren’t. I got ready in good time, considering I procrastinated and put it off for as long as possible.
Zayden’s warm hand finds mine and it helps reduce the noise in my head.
He offers me a comforting, encouraging smile.
My chest lightens. Despite all the craziness lately, it’s nice to do something together, even if it is attending this dreaded wedding.
At least I have him by my side for it. He’s been my rock throughout all of this.
When we arrive, my eyes widen as I peer up at the town hall. It’s unrecognisable. Zayden and I exchange a glance before we climb out of the car, admiring the transformation of the hall that was once so dark and plain.
Groups gather outside, and I don’t recognise anyone.
Following along the lit pathway, we walk inside.
It’s breathtaking, a towering spectacle of elegance.
The massive chandeliers overhead cast a soft, golden glow over everything.
Long, sheer curtains hang from the windows, swaying gently in the breeze, and the air is filled with the subtle scent of fresh flowers that must have cost a fortune.
This is so over the top, and so typical of my family.
My eyes slice to the aisle, which is covered in white petals. At the altar, a crystal vase sits, overflowing with more flowers.
‘It looks like a florist threw up in here,’ Zayden mutters, and I snort with laughter.
I’m glad I made the effort to get an expensive dress and my make-up done, because the other guests are dressed to the nines.
My eyes shift to Zayden. I can’t take my eyes off him.
He’s standing there, all cool and effortless, as usual.
I love his ‘just rolled out of bed’ appearance and ‘bad boy’ look, but seeing him like this? This is different.
His suit is black, tailored, hugging his frame in all the right ways, showing off his impressive muscles and height.
I can see the definition of his muscles through the fabric, the way it stretches over his broad shoulders, his undershirt revealing his defined chest. It looks perfect on him.
The shirt underneath is a deep shade of charcoal, the collar just a bit open, the tie slightly loosened.
He has the ‘I don’t need to try but I look hot as fuck anyway’ vibe no matter what he wears, and my God I find it so attractive.
‘When people ask me what my type is, I’m just going to say Zayden Stark,’ I say.
He smirks, enjoying that comment far too much. ‘Ditto.’
His hair is messy as usual but it works for him. His jawline is defined, with just enough stubble to make him look rugged. I like that he kept it and didn’t shave it for the event. I think he’s purposely dressed just like himself. He isn’t trying to impress my family and I love him for that.
When he catches me staring, he raises an eyebrow, that signature smirk pulling at his lips. ‘What?’ he asks, voice low and teasing, as though he’s somehow enjoying the way I can’t even form a coherent thought. ‘Are you checking me out again?’
I laugh, not ashamed I got caught staring. ‘Yes,’ I manage, my voice almost too soft. ‘You look amazing.’
He steps closer, his presence overwhelming, like he’s filling up the entire room. I watch as his smile grows, that cocky, confident grin spreading across his face. ‘You think so, huh?’
I nod, feeling flushed, my words stumbling over each other. ‘Yeah. I can’t believe I get to call you mine.’
He chuckles, the sound rich and dark, like he’s enjoying every second of this. ‘Funny that, I think the same about you.’
I can’t stop smiling, my breath catching in my chest. I can feel the heat between us building, and for a second, it’s like the whole world fades away.
We exchange a heated kiss before making our way further inside.
The cool air soothes my flushed skin, grounding me, reminding me where I am and who is around me.
A cart off to the side has rows of beers and champagne glasses. Zayden steers me towards it. We both take a generous gulp of our drinks. It’s cool and crisp on my tongue, bringing an instant rosiness and heat to my cheeks. Champagne always has that effect on me.
Zayden and I stick to ourselves, pretending we are enjoying being here, when I hear a voice that makes the hairs on my arms stand. I feel his presence before I see him. I don’t need to look over my shoulder to know that it’s him – my dad.
I keep my eyes trained on the champagne in my hand, pretending to adjust my grip, but the truth is I’m bracing myself. I hear him before I see him, his voice cutting through the soft hum of conversation.
‘Did you know my daughter is a famous author?’ he says, as if someone is holding a microphone up to him. ‘Not just any author, mind you – she’s Violet Vixen. The Violet Vixen. You know, the one who writes those bestselling novels that are becoming a movie?’
My brows dip. He didn’t even get my name right, that’s how much he knows.
I feel my stomach twist. A knot, tight and unforgiving.
I don’t look up. Don’t make eye contact.
My entire body trembles as shock and anger course through me.
His voice is booming, drawing more attention than I ever wanted in a place like this.
I hear the small gasps, the whispers – some people seem impressed, others surprised.
I want to shrink, to disappear, but I know better than that. Zayden’s eyes burn into me.
‘Did he just say Violet?’ Zayden asks in a hushed voice, trying not to laugh, but I barely hear him.
‘Really?’ someone asks, audibly shocked at the news.
My father does that irritating, fake laugh that he always does around other people. ‘That’s right. My little girl. She’s something special.’
I finally take a deep breath and force myself to turn around. My eyes meet his, and there’s that smile, that practised, disingenuous smile he’s so good at. He looks the same – well-groomed, too polished, the way he always is when he needs to impress someone.
I don’t know what to say. Do I pretend like we have a great, genuine relationship? Or do I call him out right here, in front of all these people, for being a narcissistic asshole most of my life?
My mouth decides for me.
‘So, you’re proud of me now?’ I ask, trying to keep the sharpness out of my voice, but failing.
My hand tightens around my drink, my fingers cold against the glass.
‘After telling me for years that my writing was a useless skill and that I would never achieve anything with it? That my arts degree is nothing but a “waste of time” and it’s “useless”? ’
His smile falters for a fraction of a second, but he quickly recovers.
‘Oh, come on, honey, I’ve always been proud of you.
You know that.’ The words come out too easily, too rehearsed.
‘I’m just glad the world knows what I already knew.
You’ve always been destined for greatness.
I mean, of course you are. You’re a Robertson. ’
My chest tightens, the words stinging like acid, and I want to cry, but somehow, I hold it all in. Zayden shifts closer to me, his shoulder bumping mine, as if he is offering reassurance.
‘Right,’ I mutter, the sarcasm thick in my voice. ‘You’ve always been there. You know me so well that you even got my pen name wrong.’
‘Of course.’ His voice is louder now, ignoring my comment, sounding more assured, as though he’s convincing both me and the room that this is how it’s always been. He places a hand on my shoulder – too heavy, too forced. ‘And now, look at you. My daughter. The famous author.’
I want to shake him off, walk away, but something holds me in place. I stand there, my mind a tangled mess of anger, disappointment and exhaustion, while he tries to convince these strangers that he is a decent human being.
I’m not a kid anymore. I don’t need him to validate me. There was nothing more than me wanting him to be proud, but not anymore.
Instead, I just take a deep breath, smile through clenched teeth and nod.
‘Thanks,’ I say, my voice tight but polite.
‘It’s nice of you to finally give a shit.
It only took a worldwide story to break out for you to notice me or care.
’ The words taste like venom on my tongue.
‘I suppose I should thank you; you’re a massive inspiration behind some of my work. You know, the trauma and whatnot.’