Page 8 of Sexting the Bratva Beast
“Concentrate, Cartier!” I start over. “Thank you, Mayor George, for coming today.”
Why does it sound so stuffy? Since when did a ‘thank you’ get so difficult?
“Gianna is disappointed that she couldn’t be here today, but babies have a habit of popping out whenever they’re ready.” Oh. My. God. He’s a mayor for chrissakes, not the King of the United Kingdom.
I fill my lungs with oxygen, take one last lingering glance around the garden, and head back inside. At least if I’m surrounded by people, it’ll take my mind off Andrej Ivanov.
One of the catering staff that Gianna hired for the event is filling tall slender flutes with champagne when I walk through the kitchen. I’m tempted to take one and down it quickly, but I can’t even get my speech right sober. A glass of cold water won’t cut it either, but it will have to do.
Voices reach me from the common room, and excitement gurgles inside my chest.
This is what we’ve worked so hard to achieve. This is our dream. For Gianna’s sake, I can park the raven-haired sex-god on a fucking park bench at the back of my mind until this is over. Later, I can take him out and examine our brief conversation incloser detail, but for now, I need to forget that he even exists in the same world as me.
“Cartier!” Mika blocks my path, all perfect white teeth and fluttering lash extensions. “Is your speech ready?”
“Ye-es?” She called me Cartier instead of Car. Never a good sign. “What’s wrong? Did the mayor cancel?” I could totally get on board with that calamity, but I know how disappointed Gianna will be.
“No. The mayor is already here.” Her voice has taken on a falsetto tone.
I try to peer behind her, and she moves to block my view again. “Did someone spill champagne on the new carpet?”
“Oh God no.” She shakes her head, a lock of dark hair sticking to her lip gloss. She picks it off carefully with diamante studded acrylics.
“What then?”
“Nothing.” She says this way too brightly.
“Okay. Then let’s do this before I change my mind.”
“You’ll be great, Car. Just remember not to look at the audience.”
I smile. “Spoken like a true drama queen.”
The common room is buzzing when I get there. Gianna would’ve been so proud.
I recognize the mayor’s profile and make a beeline for him, following Mika’s advice and avoiding eye contact with the audience.
Three minutes. That’s all it’s going to take to formally introduce him to the other guests, shake his hand, thank him for coming, and step aside. So, why does public speaking make me feel like I just arrived at the top of a mountain with only one ski? My legs are shaking, my mouth is dry, and he’s turning around while I’m still mentally unprepared…
Then I spot the person he was talking to, and all kinds of crazy lights explode inside my head.
I drag my eyes away from Andrej Ivanov and shake the mayor’s hand.
Why is he here? He wasn’t on the guest list; I’d have remembered if he was.
I peer around the mayor and he’s still there, watching me with those dark eyes that I swear can see straight through my clothes.
“Yes.” I find myself responding to a question that I didn’t hear.
“Shall we?” Mayor George gestures to the makeshift podium erected at the far end of the room.
And I follow him. Because my body is doing this without any direction from my brain. God help me.
The room goes silent.Don’t look at them, the words pop into my head.
Too late. My eyes have already sought him out, and he’s staring right back at me, his lips curled into a faint smile.
“Um.” I clear my throat. I’m supposed to speak first. “Thank you all for coming.”
