Page 53 of Savage Temptation

Why couldn’t he just look like shit? At least I wouldn’t be star-struck every time he walked by or spoke to me. How could I stand my ground against that?

I couldn’t, but I damn well tried.

There was no way I was stooping lower and allowing Liam to see just how deeply what he said affected me. I had allowed myself to cry and wallow about it, but no more. I couldn’t let him see how much power he held over me.

Pathetic – my name would come up as a synonym in a Thesaurus.

Keeping this mask up, perfectly placed with a fucking smile like a cherry on top, was damn hard, so the reprieve of the weekend was very welcomed. Two days was short, but I’d take any break from him I could at the moment.

Alison’s birthday party came as the perfect excuse to get out of my own head. Even though I wasn’t exactly a social butterfly and I knew that mingling with people I’d never met would come at the expense of a huge slice of my monthly socializing quota, I was looking forward to it.

I was still nervous, though.

If anything, at least I’d be there for Alison. She had become a constant presence in my life, a rock I could lean on at every given turn. I wouldn’t miss this for the world. She deserved as much.

We had found common ground in many things, but one of them was definitely having a very limited friend list. Which, in regards to Alison, was strange. She was not an awkward introvert like me. Quite the opposite, she was fun, outgoing, reliable, and such a good friend. It was hard to understand why she only had me.

I felt there was a story there somewhere, but she’d looked so uncomfortable talking about it, I just left it alone for now. Still, I was glad I could be there to celebrate this with her and her family. It made me feel a part of something somehow. That definitely was a first for me.

Exhaling deeply, I took another glance at my reflection, finally deciding that I looked alright. I’d picked out a bottle-green dress that fell just above my knees with a low cut back, which Alison approved. It had no cleavage, but I was already showing enough skin on my back to make it quite a statement.

For the first time this week, I’d gotten some sleep last night, the bags and dark circles under my eyes fading a little. Concealer also went a long way in making me look less like the dead.

Hopping into the Uber I’d called, I finally replied to Alison’s texts saying I was on my way. I let my thoughts wander a little during the ride, mentally slapping myself every time they landed on Liam. Tonight was not the night for that. Tonight I would try to be open, meet new people, and have fun for a change.

Maybe even the awkwardness would help keep my head free of Liam and his damn handsome face for a few hours.

As I arrived at the address Alison had given me, I was astounded by the masterpiece before me. The driveway alone was big enough to fit at least ten cars, and the mansion that sat atop the hill was breathtakingly beautiful. I stepped out of the car and took in the grandeur of the place.

It looked unsettlingly familiar, too.

The façade was built out of concrete, floor-to-ceiling windows, and steel panels. The front garden was simple but so beautiful, towered by high trees that looked a century old. The strategic lighting that glowed together with the setting sun painted the scene in hues of shimmering gold cut from a fairytale dream.

I texted Alison, letting her know I had arrived, watching as a few other guests made their way inside the glorious architectural wonder. Just a few seconds later, my phone was buzzing with her reply.

Alison: Come on in. Your name is on the list. I’ll meet you in the foyer.

“I know you.” A deep voice startled me from Alison’s instructions, making me turn around to find the blond guy with icy blue eyes from the club. “You were at the club with Miss Battaglia.”

“I’m sorry, who?”

“Alison. You were at Dea Tacita with Alison. Come, I’ll take you inside.” I offered him a small smile and walked beside him towards the entrance. “I’m Max, by the way.” He said, holding out his hand for me to shake.

“Nice to meet you, Max. I’m Jamie Harden.” I remembered him. He was the man with the piercing, searing-hot look towards Alison. She had brushed it off as nothing, yet here he was, walking me right into the house without having to mutter a word to the guy holding the guest list by the door.

I spun on my heels, taking in the exquisite space. The curling staircase to the top floor, the double-height ceiling with its grand crystal chandelier, a damn Salvador Dalí hanging next to an unmistakable Pollock.

I’d set foot into a different dimension with a cool flute of pink champagne in hand that a waiter had handed me as soon as I was through the door.

“You’re finally here!” Alison almost squealed from behind me, hugging me before I could catch my bearings.

“Are those real?” I had to ask.

“Yeah.” She replied nonchalantly, not acknowledging my shock, “I’m so happy you made it.”

“I said I would. Max escorted me inside.” I said with a small nod towards him and a smile that said thank you, looking for her reaction. I felt there was something there between them, but none of them gave a hint of anything away.

“Thanks, Max.” She waved him off, “Come, let me introduce you to everyone. But first, a real drink. That pink champagne tastes like moldy rose petals.”

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