Page 16 of The Eleventh Hour

I close my eyes and shake my head. “Hi, Richard, it’s good to see you again.”

He smiles tightly. I’m sure all the memories of my pranks are running through his mind, filling his shriveled heart with fear.

“You look…well.”

I narrow my eyes. “I am, thanks.”

“Good.” He turns away from me to face my father, effectively dismissing me. “Andy is getting upset. Jeraldine is starting to whine. We have investors here, Ed. Sort those women out so I can distract the investors and show them our plans.”

“You realise this is an engagement party, right?”

Richard snaps his teeth together and gives me a look that could scorch ice. “I don’t expect you to understand, Jackie. Eddie, we need to talk about the Bailey Overingtons Ball-”

“Call me Jax,” I cut in coldly. “Jackie is gone.”

His eyes widen slightly, and the corner of his lips tilt up. For some reason, my name change amuses him. “Jax.” He considers me for a moment, looking at me for the first time in my life like I’m a human. “Maybe you grew up after all.”

He puts his hand on my father’s back and steers him back to the party. I watch, confused and unsettled. I turn my back on the house and stare at the garden of dahlias. It’s Jeraldine’s pride, and as much as I hate everything she stands for, it is beautiful.

I just hate these flowers. They are poison.

I shouldn’t be here. I should never have come. Should never have allowed River to corner me in the club. His expression was so pained, so shocked, that I’d been unable to do what I needed to and pretend not to know him. I’d given in. Spent months getting to know him, hanging out, becoming friends. Only to be busted by another blast from the past when my father heard my voice during a phone call. The fight between my father and River had turned lethal.

I’d had to step in or watch my brother lose our father, too.

Guilt is toxic. It eats and twists you from the inside out. It’s eating me alive. The what ifs, the fears, all the millions of things that could go wrong. The price would be high, and it would hurt them.

I look up at the house. He’s standing at the top of the stairs, watching me. A man I don’t deserve. I should leave. I should walk, no, run far, far away. But I can’t bear to see the sadness in his eyes.

I wish Gideon was here, holding my hand or brushing my arm with his. But he’s not. I let my heart lead, not my head, and I move towards the stairs. His expression lights up, a radiant smile turning him back into the handsome man he used to be.

The man I used to call Dad.

Rafe

Aman in a black suit leads us through the house and abandons us promptly on the back terrace, the likes of which I’ve never seen before. Dane stands beside me and lets out a low whistle.

For once, I agree with his assessment. People are dressed in suits and beautiful dresses, with glasses of sparkling champagne in their hands. Every time their glasses start to empty, a man appears and tops it up. There must be a hundred people standing around. No one is paying attention to the carved snowflakes on each table or the stunningly expensive decorations. The tables are filled with foods that could feed a family for months.

The waste is horrendous, offensive, even. Just a few blocks from here, I saw people sleeping in the street. I clench my hands and slowly take in the entire scene.

“Stop it,” Dane hisses.

I instantly blank my face.

“I’m going to mingle. Try not to be the judgemental little ass you can be. Eyes on the prize,” Dane hisses and stalks off.

Within a minute, he has three tall models laughing at something he says. I pull at my collar and consider if I can do my mission from right here in the corner, not speaking to anyone.

I’m about to step out when she rises from the back of the terrace like a goddess. The crowd has parted, giving me the perfect line of sight. The world stills and slows down. I can hear my heartbeat. A wind picks up her long brown hair and waves it like a banner. She would stand out even if she was dressed as they are, but the leather jacket and jeans are so casual that it marks her as not belonging. Yet, it doesn’t seem to bother her. She casually brushes her hair behind her ears and looks around before slipping behind the crowd.

But it’s not her physical features that hold me sway, it’s something more, and I frown as I try to put my finger on what it is. It’s the confidence of her movements, the way she ignores the eyes that slide disapprovingly over her. She has no air of arrogance, but neither does she let her isolation affect her. She’s not a part of them, she’s different, and she wears that like a cloak.

I need to know more. I wipe my clammy palms on my thighs and follow her, working my way in her direction. This has to be her. 2B. Dane was right, she is my type of woman. Her eyes are guarded as she walks around, deliberately evading eye contact but keeping a polite expression on her face. A man appears and offers her a glass, but she shakes her head and keeps moving.

I stay back but follow her cautiously until she stops at the balustrade and climbs up on it, one knee bent and the other hanging off the concrete. There is no one around her. I wipe my hands on my thighs again and smooth my hair. Now’s my chance, this is my in, I can’t blow it.

“You seem to be enjoying this party as much as I am,” I whisper, but it still startles her, and the naked fear I see shocks me, until she covers it with a sardonic laugh.

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