Page 44 of Frayed Bonds

It was supposed to be a silly little dinner, with silly little rich boys. Tell me why my arm is now interlocked with Ambrose Vitale's, as he guides me to a gigantic red carpet that extends up what looks like the staircase to heaven.

Reporters, photographers and media of all kinds line both sides of the staircase as cameras flash at a blinding rate.

My arm tries to slip out of his grasp, my nerves causing me to want to straighten my dress out. We haven’t even stepped onto the carpet yet, but the paparazzi roar his name like a lion starved for years.

I actually feel bad for the couple ahead that seems to be forgotten as soon as Ambrose steps up.

He grabs my hand in his before looking down at me with concern. He leans down to my ear and whispers, “Stop fiddling and relax.”

He is good, better at pretending than I thought he would be. He looks down at me with the most endearing smile, as if the words that left his lips weren't a borderline threat.

His fingers thread through my own as a woman with an earpiece and clipboard guides us to the start of the carpet, and gestures for us to start the ascent.

I’m okay, it’s okay. It’s just stairs Valerie, you've climbed stairs before. Sure, there are hundreds of people and a hundred more cameras watching you right now, but that doesn't matter, you can do this.

Can I?

My heart sinks. There are so many different media outlets here, there’s no way Mattheo won’t know my exact location after this is published across every online magazine and newspaper.

Ambrose gently squeezes my hand and runs a thumb over my knuckle. My head snaps up and my heart wants to break out of my chest, run back down the stairs and all the way back home. With the way those green eyes are looking at me, I swear I’m the most important person in the world to him.

It’s pretend, Valerie.

Once we reach the first landing, he pulls me into his side and turns to face the one side of cameras.

Our hands hang awkwardly between us, like a couple of little kids who are holding hands for the first time. I play it off as best I can, smiling gently at all the flashing lights.

I lift both our hands so that his hand is near the opening at the back of my dress, but as I’m about to let go and leave his hand there, he grips mine even tighter, willing me not to let go.

I stare up at him but he seems unfazed. Yet something about the gesture is a crack in his ever-perfect facade

He’s nervous.

The camera flashes increase, and I realise it’s because of how I’m looking at him. There are screams of his name and requests for him—or rather us—to face in certain directions. Almost as if he can tell it’s getting all too overwhelming for me, he gestures for me to follow him and we continue up the stairs again.

The next and final landing goes much smoother, with us only staying for a few minutes this time before heading towards the entrance.

The Luminé, where the dinner is being held, is so beautifully decorated that if I hadn’t been here before, I would have sworn that somewhere between the stairs and the front door, we were magically transported to ancient Greece.

Tall ivory pillars run along the walls all decorated with delicate fairy lights and branches of greenery. The simplicity of the decorations only highlights the architectural beauty of the museum.

A large water feature is on central display, flowers of all kinds and small candles float gently in the pond below. The rich truly know who to hire to convey a perfect theme. The sunset cascades in through the large windows, casting a warm glow that highlights the flowers strategically arranged throughout the room.

“Val,” Ambrose's voice breaks my trance, and he offers me his arm, which I take and continue staring around at the beauty of the opening hall.

A server offers us a flute of champagne and Ambrose takes one and gives it to me.

“Thank you, are you not drinking?” I ask, taking a small sip of the drink. Bubbles tickle my nose, and I scrunch it up.

“Not a fan of anything bubbly.” He shrugs, and returns his attention to the direction we’re walking.

“Oh, my God, this makes so much sense!” I gasp, and his head snaps down to look at me.

“What?”

“That’s why you have a constant stick up your ass, what kind of monster hates bubbly things.”

He rolls his eyes in annoyance. “The only bubbly thing I hate right now is you.”

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