2. Alex
Alex
Entering the hall from the kitchen is like waking up from a dream.
The reality of who I am and why I’m here comes back into focus, now that I’m away from the woman who gives me the possibility of being in another world.
What are the chances that I would see someone that I actually want at this gala?
Leave it to me to seek out the most unexpected option.
All night, women have been throwing themselves at me, and I happen to go for the person working the event.
I can’t help it, though. When she scoffed, she drew my attention and held it the rest of the night.
Still, I am back in London for less than a week, and I’m already starting to create a scandal. What would my mother think?
I unbutton my suit jacket as I slide into my seat. Carter looks at me from the corner of his eye, the question mark clear in his nod. I wink, letting him know that I am likely up to no good. With a sigh, he turns and starts talking to the woman next to him.
Unlike me, he actually likes all the attention the debutantes and heiresses rain down on him.
Always quick to hop in and out of “relationships” with them; he is on the prowl for his next one.
The suitable-wife talk didn’t go over better with him than the one I got when I turned thirty.
No longer permitted to roam and play with whoever we are attracted to, it was made very clear who we are meant to marry. While I abstain, he dabbles.
Elizabeth, the woman seated to my left, is that exact type of woman. Already, she has made it known that she is interested if I am. Too bad I am not. Still, it doesn’t stop her from trying.
“What are you doing after this?” she asks me, ivory fingers tracing the lapel of my jacket.
Facing her, I am met with eyes reminiscent of a cloudless sky in the middle of summer.
They shine with the want laid bare in the way she smiles at me with perfect teeth.
Chanice has a gap. A beautiful parting in the middle.
A small detail that adds to the unique quality of her.
Elizabeth, on the other hand, is a generic copy of every woman I have ever grown up with.
She is tailored and put together, emitting an air of superiority.
Twice tonight, she has already made comments that iterate the idea that she thinks she is better than most people.
All because she is a Blackmore. Her prestigious education and impressive career lead her to believe that she somehow earned the life she lives enough so that she can judge other people not in the same situation.
Like all the women put before me, she was bred and raised to be a shining example of privilege.
It is all off-putting. The idea that we will get together and continue with this lineage makes me want to run away.
Again. Unfortunately, this time my responsibilities will follow me.
Where I am now is not where I was when I left for France after finishing school.
I was called home to take up the mantle, and whether I want it or not, it will trail behind me waiting to be acknowledged.
That doesn’t mean I have to do it on their terms.
Placing her hand back on the table, I give her the best smile I can muster. “I am getting a drink with Carter.”
“I’ll join. I need a good Scotch after tonight.” She tucks a piece of her red hair behind her ear, showing off the stunning diamonds in it.
They perfectly match the jewelry accentuating her neck and wrists.
All of it is meant to highlight the white dress she is wearing, perfectly made for her body.
She does look good, I will give her that.
Any other day, it might have been enough to persuade me to stay in her company and see if depth exists underneath her pristine surface.
But after meeting someone whose eyes speak of oceans waiting to be explored, I don’t know if I want to dally in a kiddie pool.
“We are going to a men’s club.”
“Next time, then,” she says, turning to face the table.
She is in a few circles I am meant to frequent.
I’m sure she thinks there will be a time when we will be in each other’s company again, and I will say yes.
The idea that this game of avoidance will continue has me pinching the bridge of my nose between my fingers.
I’m over this life, and this is the first appearance I have made.
Carter must sense my weariness, because he leans into me.
“After the auction, we will leave,” he says, his face neutral for anyone watching us.
“How about I write a cheque to the foundation, and we leave now?” Not as good at playing the game, I can’t keep myself from frowning.
Carter gives me a smug smirk as he pulls at his tie. “I was planning on spending fifty thousand. Will you match it?”
I will do anything if it means getting out of here. “Done.” I reach for my pocket.
“After dessert. I need my sweet fix,” he says.
I place my hands back on the table in resignation.
A server slides a plate in front of me with three tiny decorated cakes.
If she is here, then that means Chanice is out of the kitchen.
My attention goes beyond my table, searching for her across the ballroom as wait staff moves from table to table.
Spotting her just a few rows behind me, lowering her tray onto one of the waiting holders, we lock eyes.
Expecting a flirtatious wink or an insider smile, she instead looks at me with apprehension.
I want to go to her and ask her what is wrong, but that is a ridiculous notion.
She is working, and I am too secretive to cause such a scene.
If people know what you want, then they can take it.
I don’t want anyone to try to ruin us yet, not until I see if it is worthwhile.
Carter takes a bite out of the cake and moans, not caring who hears him.
You would think he is between a woman’s legs with the ecstasy radiating off of him.
But that’s just how he is with confections.
Our love of food is one of the things we bonded over when we were in boarding school together.
Whenever we got our hands on something other than what they served in the cafeteria, it was the best days of our young lives.
Even now, we scour the world in search of our next favourite dish, sending each other recommendations daily. In the end, I give him my plate, as savory foods appeal to me more. He doesn’t leave a crumb.
When we hand over our cheques to the organizer, he gets the name of the caterer. He raves about the food all the way to the club and doesn’t stop until we are seated at the bar.
“First day facing the board on Monday. Are you worried?” he asks, sipping from the dirty gin martini he ordered.
I take a gulp of my own old-fashioned and contemplate the question. Seeing as it will be the first time the board of directors will see me since I was told I am meant to take over the company, a lot rests on how well it goes.
The legacy of my father, Geralt Whitmore, was a shadow I was asked to walk in my entire life. With him having the indecency of passing at a young fifty-eight, I am exposed to the sun of his world sooner than I thought.
Never having given me anything other than money, he also left me the company our ancestor built and a dynasty to protect. All of that can slip away, despite our majority shares, if they find me to be inept.
“I’m ready,” is all I say, knowing I have no other choice but to be.
“I don’t envy you. Being the younger brother, I just have to work for my family. I don’t have to run anything.”
If only the roles were reversed. You would think with the way we act that he is the one burdened as the oldest son, and I am the spare, free to do as I please. But no, all I have is an older sister who our misogynistic world determined would not be in charge from her birth.
I shake my head, stopping that thought path. I can’t think about Olivia right now, because then I’ll think about our mother and end up drinking myself into a hole.
“Yes, you do,” I say, changing the subject, “I am the better-looking one.”
“We can play the game right now? Go to a bar and see who walks out with more phone numbers.” Raising his glass, he asks for another drink, making it clear he doesn’t actually want to play. Why would he? It’s almost always a tie.
“No, I have someone in mind that I would like to get to know.”
“Elizabeth?” He looks skeptical at this, but asks anyway.
The only woman I spoke to most of the night, he has no reason to believe it is anyone else.
“Someone else I met tonight. A server.”
“Alex.” The reprimand is clear in his voice.
Even without him having to say it, I know what he is thinking.
The expectations are clear, but I don’t care.
I tell him as such, ending the lecture before it even begins.
Despite what he and the rest of the elite believe, I know a valuable woman when I see one.
Her existence outside of our wealthy circles makes her even more appealing.
I will get to know her. Changing the subject again, we continue on our evening.
The whole time, I can’t get her out of my mind.