Page 73 of Catching Feeling

“I’ll behave. For now.”

MY AROUSAL IS REPLACED with nerves once more when the limo pulls up to the front entrance of the venue. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that Reese got a limo to take us tonight like that’s a totally normal thing, but if there’s anything I’ve learned about him, it’s that he has no problem being the most extra person in the room. And I did give him one free pass for tonight only.

“Viv?” he murmurs my name as he stands in the doorway of the limo, jostling me from my thoughts.

Eyes cast upward, I give him a smile. “Sorry, yes?”

He helps me out of the car and then adjusts his tux before speaking. “Don’t be nervous, okay? It’ll be a blast. I promise.”

“Who says I’m nervous?”

Chuckling softly, his shoulder dips in a shrug. “Just saying, if you are nervous about being my date, meeting my parents, whatever, don’t be. There’s no pressure. Just a fun night out.”

Of course, he knows that I’m nervous. He has the uncanny ability to read me even when I’m doing my best attempt at concealing my emotions, and it makes me feel exposed, raw, and completely vulnerable.

Feelings that I don’t handle very well.

I paste on a bright smile, tamping down my anxiousness as he shuts the limo door behind me and slides my arm into his. “I’m good. Excited. Can’t wait to stuff my face with king cake.”

Reese laughs. “I’m looking forward to dessert too, but not the cake.”

He’s incorrigible, and I tell him that as he leads me up to the entrance of the ballroom. Everything about this place is bougie. The heavy, black double doors with ornate gold embellishments that look like it’s out of a movie where the place requires a password to enter. The gas lanterns flickering on each side. The glitzy Hollywood-style purple carpet we follow toward the entrance. The maître d’ checking coats in the entryway.

It screams old money.

I feel like a fish out of water, even in this new dress and on the arm of a guy whose family could probably buy the building and everyone inside of it, but when he tightens his hand in mine, it reassures me that this is where I’m supposed to be. Whether I belong or not.

“Good evening, Mr. Landry.” The maître d’ greets Reese with a level of familiarity, gesturing us through the entrance with a sweep of his arm.

I don’t even hear Reese respond because I’m too busy gaping at the ballroom in front of me.

“Holy shit,” I breathe, mostly to myself, but out loud.

The inside is even more opulent than the outside, and the level of ornate detail… it’s mind-blowing.

Seriously, I’m so shocked right now that I’m rooted in place.

Tables are scattered around the room with lush tablecloths and lavish centerpieces of purple, green, and gold flowers accented with a mixture of masks, fleurs-de-lis, and jesters. The ceiling above is draped in a tasteful gold chiffon and organza.

There are champagne towers positioned throughout and two bar stations stocked with only top-shelf liquor. Plush green and purple couches with feather pillows and fancy glass tables covered in more flower arrangements are tucked along the walls. The band takes up the entire back wall of the venue, and a photo booth with what looks to be a professional photographer is nestled into the corner.

I’m pretty sure I’ve only seen this kind of thing on TV, and even that doesn’t come close to what it feels like to experience in person.

I can only imagine how much time and money went into making this ball happen.

“It’s a little over-the-top,” Reese says, his eyes raking over the room much like mine are. “They take it very seriously around here. My mom is on the committee, and my dad always donates every year, hence why my attendance is generally not optional.”

Now I see why having a fancy dress is such an important part, and I’m even more convinced now than I was when I first put it on that it’s absolutely perfect for tonight.

“Oh, there they are. C’mon, let’s get the introductions out of the way.” He laces his fingers in mine and gently tugs me after him.

My stomach flips the entire time it takes us to walk across the room, and when he stops in front of his family, I plaster on a bright smile.

Of course, they are just as attractive as he is. His dad is an inch or so taller than him, with the same deep brown eyes and stubble lining his jaw. The same unruly hair and a dimple that pops when he smiles at me as he bypasses my outstretched hand, opting to pull me in for a hug instead.

“You must be the infamous Vivienne that we’ve heard so much about.” He chuckles. “Nice to meet you, darlin’. I’m Nate.”

Reese groans. “Dad, Jesus.”

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