Page 42 of Masked Secrets
“When I need to be,” he chuckles. “I had to make sure you would accept my gift.”
“I still think the pearls are too much, but I’ll cherish them and the memories of this week.”
“So will I.”
“Any advice for what I should say if the reporters ask questions? There’s a photo of us on social media saying, ‘I’m not your type.’”
“Ignore social media. They have no idea what they’re talking about. As for the reporters, smile and pretend you didn’t hear them. Let me handle any questions that deserve a response.”
“Okay. That’s easy enough.”
“You’ve got this. Now, let’s kick some ass for the cameras.”
I laugh. “You’re something else. How do you always know exactly what to say?”
“Skill. Pure skill. Stay here until I come around and open your door.” He leans toward me, planting a kiss on my cheek before exiting on his side of the limo.
I let out a deep breath, intoxicated by his charm. This is a fairytale evening. If only it could last a lifetime.
A minute later, the back door on my side of the limo opens. I’m met by an onslaught of flashing cameras, shouted questions, and murmurs of onlookers in the crowd.
Stuarts extends his hand for mine with a megawatt smile on his face. I remember what he said.
He chose me as his date tonight.
So, I plaster a smile on my face and decide to fake a calm I don’t feel, assuring myself it can’t hurt to try. Stuart’s confidence and protective presence give me hope that this may work out.
Emerging from the limo, there’s a sea of celebrities in glamorous gowns and sparkling jewels ahead of us. My stomach plummets with another round of insecurity. What am I doing here? I’m not one of them. I should be home watching this on television like the normal person I am.
When I hesitate to move forward, Stuart’s arm goes around my waist, and he whispers in my ear, “I’ll tell you a secret. I know you’re nervous, but so is everyone else. They’re just pretending they aren’t. So, throw your shoulders back and own it. We’re in this together.”
Whether he’s right or not, I appreciate the sentiment, so I nod.
As Stuart guides me to the backdrop for photos, the reporters bombard us with questions.
“Lord Sandridge, who’s your date?” “Which designer are you wearing?” “Where’s the Earl?” “Is your date’s jewelry Harry Winston or Tiffany?” “Is that your fiancé?”
My eyes go wider with each invasive question. Stuart whispers through a smile and gritted teeth, “Smile and pretend you have no clue what they’re asking. It works every time.”
I smile and murmur, “I’m trying, but this is insane.”
“It is. Welcome to my world.”
Barely soon enough, a guide ushers us forward and through the entrance doors to the theater.
I let out a breath of relief, saying, “I’ve never felt so judged in my life.”
“It’s bonkers, right? But wouldn’t you agree, it’s a bit of an adrenaline rush too.”
I laugh. “In a messed up way, you’re right.”
“Now, let’s find a glass of wine and head to our front-row seats. My family paid enough for the seats at the auction that we should spend as much time in them as possible.”
“That’s the truth. Before we sit down, can we find Lowri and Cassie? I want to thank them for coming tonight.”
“Those are the two interns you’re supervising this summer, right?”
“They are.”
