Chapter 11
Molly
Well, shit.
Being rejected once wasn’t bad enough. I just had to embarrass myself again. I blame the man beside me, and all the emotions that run wild whenever I’m in his presence.
I’m tempted to groan out loud.
I don’t get this.
He was the one to start this whole thing, getting all up in my personal space before we got in this car. I simply continued riding that wave.
And then he rejected me.
Again.
I’ll admit that this rejection may hurt even more. Because I straight-up offered him a sexual relationship.
And he said no.
Even though the rejection stings, I can tell there is something more to this. Something which has everything to do with his haunted eyes and the weight he seems to be carrying.
He’s not ready to let go of that weight, even though I’m ready to carry some for him.
Peter is struggling, and even though I’m gutted that he’s turned me down again, I can’t force myself to be too mad at him.
My gut is telling me that this man is trying to work through his own demons, but I don’t know if he has an angel sitting on his other shoulder.
When we get to the gala, the tension is thick, but I try my best to let it go, focusing on the night ahead of us.
Cars and limos pull up, each one more expensive than the last, and I take them in.
The gleam of a freshly washed luxury car will always be a beautiful sight.
Peter hands his keys over to the valet before he steps up towards me and extends his elbow for me to grab.
I probably should have fought him harder.
This whole fake-dating thing doesn’t seem like the brightest idea given our complicated relationship. I don’t understand why he would want me to do this either considering he just turned me down for the second time.
I grab hold of his arm before we make our way to the carpet.
Rejection or not, having my arm wrapped around his awakens my body.
As we approach the photographers, I turn to Peter.
“We really don’t have to do this, Peter. I’m sure we could come up with an excuse for your team,” I say, feeling bad about this situation.
I could never see myself in his shoes.
A team is making decisions for him. Forcing him to make appearances with a date to help his bad boy and playboy image.
“Pulling out on me, sweetheart?” he drawls, a smile on his lips.
He doesn’t seem fazed by the situation.
“No, that’s not it. I just think your team is shit, except my father,” I tell him, which earns me a chuckle.
“That we can agree on, but at least I get to spend time with you, so come on.”
When he says things like that, my hormones explode.
He pulls me along with him, and soon enough, we’re posing on the carpet, the flashes of the cameras going off as the F1 star has a date on his arm, and none other than the daughter of the new owner of his team.
“Peter, are you done with your playboy era?”
“Molly MayWilder, how is it being the woman of the hour?”
“Peter, who is this new woman?”
“Molly, what does your father think of this?”
“Peter, look here!”
The reporters and photographers shout questions at us, but we keep our silence.
When one of them asks an even more inappropriate question, asking whether or not Peter will bring me along to his cocaine-filled adventures, his grip on my waist tightens.
I look up at him, noticing the tick in his jaw as he looks out to the photographers.
I bring my hand up to his face, turning his eyes toward mine.
“You’re here with me, that’s all that matters now,” I tell him quietly, and his eyes soften as he looks down at me.
I’m done with these fucking photographers.
I grab his hand and pull him after me as I make my way into the ballroom.
Instead of going into the crowded room, I drag Peter with me to an empty hallway.
“Those fucking reporters. You’re right, I’m not cut out for this, Peter. I wanted to grab that camera and smash it in his face.” I’m pacing back and forth, my heels clicking on the floor, feeling furious over the nerve of these people.
We’ve all heard about the cocaine story, but my dad told me Peter tested negative for any drug use and said it wasn’t his.
If my dad believes him, so do I.
“They’re not worth your anger, sweetheart.”
Peter stops my pacing, placing his hands on my waist.
Now, I’m burning up, not from anger, but from his touch.
This fake-dating thing should be a short affair. If not, my body will probably combust by the likes of this man.
“They’re just so fucking rude,” I huff, and Peter smiles as he looks at me, finding me amusing.
“What?” I ask, not understanding how he’s not reacting.
He’s probably used to this shit.
“You’re just cute. I like you getting all fired up over me,” he says, placing a lock of my hair that has escaped behind my ear.
I breathe out, trying to focus on the feelings he evokes in me, rather than the anger. I stand there, drinking him in as he merely looks at me.
Those eyes will keep me up at night.
“Should we meet the parents?” he asks, amusement evident in his tone.
Gosh, the parents.
My parents.
My father knows this is all for show, but I don’t know what he’s told my mom.
She’ll probably fawn over herself at seeing me with a man.
Even if it’s for display.
We make our way into the ballroom, multiple heads turning our way. Peter greets several people as we move throughout the room, and I’m amazed at his persona.
He’s a natural at this.
But I can tell it’s not his favourite kind of activity.
Greeting the suits as he calls them. But he’s the ever clever and charming man as he greets them and introduces me as his date.
We finally make our way to my parents, who beam when they spot us.
“Moll doll and Peter, what a sight you two are!” Dad says before giving me a hug.
When he pulls Peter in for a hug as well, I’m astonished.
Just how well do these two know each other?
What’s even more surprising is Peter hugging him right back.
I’m staring dumbfoundedly at the two men who start joking around whilst I’m gawking at them.
“Molly, dear. Are you alright?” my mom asks me, probably wondering why I’m frozen.
I shake my head and finally turn to her.
“Yes, sorry. How has your night been mom?” I ask her, still looking at the two men out of the corner of my eye.
She goes into a rant about all the people they’ve met throughout the evening, but I’m only half-listening. Still entranced by the exchange happening between my dad and Peter.
He looks remarkable as he leans his head back, laughing at something my dad says.
“I know that look.”
Oh no.
I realise I’ve zoned out again, and this time, my mom won’t let me off the hook easily.
I turn to her, a smile on my lips, but she sees right through me.
“What look, Mom?” I ask her, trying to sound as relaxed as possible.
“The look of love.”
I nearly groan out loud at her.
Because this is not happening.
Not now.
Not ever if I can help it.
My mother is telling me about the look of love.
“I’m so happy to see you finding your match, dear.”
Peter and my dad are still chatting away happily, and I’m tempted to grab Peter’s hand and drag him away to pretend someone called his name, and we just have to go greet them.
Anything to get out of this situation.
“Mom, this is all for show,” I tell her, feeling like I’m twelve again and talking about how the boys at my birthday party, in fact, are just my friends.
She’s always been a hopeless romantic, and seeing as I’m her only child, she seems ready for me to find myself a man and settle down.
“So your father said, but you two are telling me very different,” she says, and it doesn’t exactly lessen her point when Peter looks at me, a tender smile on his lips before he goes back to his conversation with my dad.
He sure knows how to make my insides turn to mush with a simple look.
～
“Ready to go home?” Peter asks me.
We’ve been mingling all night, and I realise I’ve had a better time than I thought I would.
And it has everything to do with the man in front of me.
“Yeah, sure,” I say.
My parents left a while ago, but a part of me thinks that Peter and I stayed a little longer wanting to cling to the illusion of us being together.
As long as we stay in this bubble, surrounded by people who think we’re here as dates, we have a reason to touch.
All night, Peter’s hand has been resting on my hip, on my back, or on my waist. My hand’s found his more times than I can count.
And the top moment of it all was the moment when he leaned in, kissing my cheek when we were hanging out by the bar, just the two of us.
I’d like to believe that was just for us.
At least, that’s the perfect memory I’ll keep with me long after this night ends.
When we’ve settled in his car, he starts driving back towards the track, and I ask him if he’s been drinking tonight. I haven’t seen him drink anything, but if he has, he shouldn’t be driving.
Again, that troubled look crosses his face.
It reminds me of the moment in the bar when he told me he’d kiss me when I was sober.
Which he did.
Then he rejected me for the first time.
“No, I haven’t. I would never drink and drive, Molly,” he says, a sombre tone in his voice.
It makes me feel stupid for asking, but I was only wondering.
The tension rises in the car, but this time, Peter is the one to break it.
“I still can’t believe you’re Arthur’s daughter,” he says, wonder in his tone.
“You didn’t hear it when the news broke a few weeks ago?”
“Don’t really read the gossip columns,” he says, confirming my earlier suspicion.
Seeing Peter and my dad together tonight was strange.
My dad is always good with people, but they genuinely seemed to enjoy each other’s company. Which is surprising considering I rarely see Peter around people.
The two men getting along so well doesn’t really lessen my attraction to the man beside me.
“Well, now you know.”
“Molly MayWilder, the millionaire,” he says, a snicker in his tone.
I snort, my own laugh breaking through.
Unlike most people, Peter isn’t fazed by the money or the name. He’s got himself plenty.
“God. I prefer Molly May, thank you,” I say.
“And I prefer Moll doll.”
I guess I’m up for some teasing about that nickname.