Page 85 of Ruthless Heir

I place my hand to the small of Harper’s back and quickly take in the soft beat of her pulse leaping against the smooth skin on her long elegant neck. She’s definitely nervous. So am I.

And… judging from the state of my dick, I’m also fucked.

It’s already difficult to control myself around her because all roads keep leading me back to what I want most.

Her.

Chapter Seventeen

Harper

I’ve heard great things about the Astoria but seeing it in real life is something else entirely.

The building is a testament to timeless European elegance with its ornate carvings on the exterior and the tall, arched windows that punctuate the walls.

Considering where I was weeks ago—from the broken down motel in the middle of nowhere to the county jail—I never imagined in my wildest dreams that I’d ever be here as a guest at the invite-only association which caters for the world’s elite, known by their net worth.

The press spot us as soon as Asher and I step out of our car. And when I see them the nerves in my stomach turn to rocks.

It’s time. Time to act like Asher and I are a real couple.

I don’t think I’ve ever been more nervous in my life. I feel like I’m going to implode.

A group of journalists swarms us when we walk further inside. Asher keeps his hand at the small of my back but moves closer and I follow his lead.

“Asher Le Blanche, who is this beautiful mystery woman you’re with?” asks a woman with thick-rimmed glasses who reminds me of Velma from Scooby Doo. “Is she your date for the evening?”

“Yes, she so happens to be my date?” Asher gives her a charming smile.

“Are you two in a relationship?”

Asher replies with another smile not confirming or denying the answer to her question. I smile too, realizing what he’s doing.

He’s allowing them to believe whatever they want. And they do. Theyassumewe’re dating but they won’t have it on record that he confirmed it.

A flood of questions come rushing our way next.

They ask for my name. Where we met. How we met. How long we’ve been dating and if marriage is in the picture. But Asher remains silent and leads me away.

“They’re not allowed in the hall,” he mutters in my ear, making it look like he’s whispering sweet nothings to me.

For a moment I wonder what that would feel like but I shove the thought away and smile back at him.

“I’m glad because I don’t know what to do if they ask me something crazy,” I murmur back under my breath.

“You’re doing great. Just keep doing what you’re doing. Come on.”

Asher leads me up the sweeping marble staircase leading to the large double entrance doors. Then we go into the grand hall which is brimming with people dressed in their finest.

There are stunning women dressed in gowns suitable for the red carpet, but it’s the opulent décor in the hall that makes my head spin.

Gilded mirrors stretch high along the walls, reflecting the soft, golden light spilling from the glamorous chandeliers lining the painted ceiling.

Deep burgundy velvet drapes frame the windows and the floors shine like black crystal.

Whoever designed this place was a real master of the arts. I feel like I’ve been swept into some fantasy palace where every detail seems meticulously crafted to evoke the grandeur of the Rococo period.

Little old me only knows about theRococo periodbecause of a trip to Europe in my freshman year. We mainly stayed in Italy and I fell in love with the place.

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