Page 110 of Bastian

Clenching my jaw, the smile on my face is starting to hurt. I need to cut this interview short before I say something I won’t regret. “Sure.” All this hassle is in the name of business. No wonder business moguls sell their souls to the devil. The devil seems like someone I would enjoy more than this girl with these questions at the moment.

“They’re calling you the heart of the president.” She giggles. She honest-to-God giggles like a small child, leaving me stunned. I’ve read the papers. I know what they’re saying about me and us. How we’re the western royals. “It’s like a fairytale romance. Like the Royals, but here in the States!” She exclaims happily.

There we go…

And now it’s time to cut this interview short.

Keeping my smile, I do my best to evade the question. “Yeah, his supporters seem to really care for president Kenton and his personal life. It’s kind of…sweet.” Yuck, the words burn my mouth like acid. It’s not sweet to me, but I understand people feeling as if they know him for how open he is about most things. I can’t fault this girl for doing her job either. It would be hypocritical of me to do so. Making a show of looking at the other reporters down the line, I tell her. “Thank you for your questions. You’re doing a fabulous job tonight.” I throw that last part in because, although I am not as friendly or friendly at all, like her, I value hard work and I know her job is hard work, even if people don’t believe so. It’s not easy to interview and ask hard questions, even when you feel like the scum of the earth asking them or when people are rude as hell to you for doing your job.

The girl looks stunned, and then nods, thanking me.

Smiling one last time, I walk back to the red carpet, ready to continue with the rest of the night.

No more interviews.

I tried. I really did but I am no longer in the mood to endure them.

All of a sudden, I am taken aback by the loud murmurs, all around me and the sudden erratic behavior of the photographers. One of those famous billionaires or reality TV stars must’ve caught their attention. Okay…and that’s my cue to leave. Looking around for the ushers, I notice more men dressed in black than they were before. There is one I recognize anywhere now.

Ares.

Of course, Sebastian would send his security.

I wonder if he was invited.

He didn’t say anything to me the last time we spoke, and it is unlike him to not show up like the devil wherever I am. He has a bad habit of doing that…

Oh, please, you foolish brat. Your heart stops every time he surprises you and catches you off guard.

Who wouldn’t when they’re being stalked by the devil?

You are delusional…

Shush.

Yeah, I am losing my mind if I am standing on a red carpet dressed head to toe in House of Arnault, ready to be ushered out of the interview section and talking to myself. But then I know for sure I am losing it because a shock of electricity runs through my body, making me feel as if something monumental is about to happen.

What is going on?

Turning away from the direction I should be heading in, I watch as the crowd at the top of the carpeted stairs parts, and a second later there he is.

The most beautiful man there ever was and most likely will ever exist.

Dressed in all-black Dior.

The President of The United States is attending this Gala for the first time. My handsome devil stands tall and overlay confident in a black suit while his eyes are trained on me and nobody else with a perfect crooked grin on his face.

Thud.

Thud.

There goes my traitorous heart.

I stand there frozen as he makes his way through the crowd, while his men surround him, but still give him room to walk. Is it possible for one man to steal the air out of this place? Logic will tell you no, but then again I tend to lose all logic when he looks at me the way he is doing tonight.

The small crowd around us buzzes with excitement, and the flashes of the camera go crazy.

“Well, look at you.” Sebastian’s husky voice makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise. “La plus belle reine du monde.”

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