Alina
THRONGS OF PEOPLE milled about, laughing and engaging in airs. The choke of propriety and haughtiness swirled through the space, stifling any original thoughts anyone might’ve had. Everyone dressed impeccably, what they’d spent on their outfits enough to feed a third world country. They carried on meaningless conversations about fashion and gossiping about who was sleeping with whom, of course, the latter being whispered amongst selective groups. I grew up around the wealthiest of people, the firm representing everyone from Hollywood A-listers, to Fortune 500 companies.
I loathed the faux concern people tried to express over important issues such as the environment and disease. All they really cared about was how many homes they owned and procuring the newest luxury vehicle, looking down on anyone who didn’t fit into their world. I’d bet most of them hadn’t even cared enough about their housekeepers or nannies to learn their names.
My hurried steps caused me to trip over the hem of my black floor-length evening gown, stumbling forward toward the ground. Before I face-planted, however, strong hands caught and helped stabilize me.
“I was looking for you.” Chris held me steady, dropping his hands when he saw how flustered I’d become.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to him, because I was indeed. Any woman would be. He was a handsome man, standing at six foot with broad shoulders and a slim waist. Wavy, sandy-blond hair adorned his head, the style kept short and professional. His eyes were a beautiful shade of brown, sometimes appearing green, depending on the lighting. Being a good kisser was another positive attribute of his.
“Where were you?” His tone was soft yet curt. I’d meant what I said when I’d told my father I didn’t trust him. He seemed nice enough, but there was something lurking behind the persona he showed the world. Again, maybe I was rushing toward unfettered conclusions, seeing as I hardly knew him well enough to say for sure.
“How could you agree to a fall wedding? We’ve barely been dating long enough to make any kind of life-altering decisions,” I rambled. “You don’t have to adhere to what my father wants just because of who he is.” I was positive my frustration for the entire situation was most assuredly causing quite the scene.
“Don’t you think we should talk about this in private?” A faint smell of alcohol wafted off him but not enough for me to believe he was in anyway impaired.
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore tonight. All I want is a drink.” I tried to step around him, but he blocked my escape, grabbing my hand and pulling me close.
“Don’t fight this, Alina. You know how your father can be. Besides, would it be so horrible to be married to me?” He flashed his practiced megawatt smile, but instead of calling him out on his seeming lack of genuineness, I huffed, before snatching my hand back.
“I don’t want to marry you or anyone else for that matter.” Raising the hem of my dress that time, I successfully dodged his outstretched arm and stalked across the large room, ignoring anyone who tried to claim my attention. My patience had worn thin, and I swore if someone else tested me, I was going to lose it for sure.
Planting my frustrated ass in one of the empty seats at the bar, I wasted no time in waving to the bartender. I needed something strong to numb me to the fact my personal life was moving in a direction I didn’t want, one leaving me standing on the outside, as if I were a voyeur, someone completely disconnected. But I wasn’t. It was my life, although all the reins were held by someone else. Someone who was delusional in thinking he always knew what was best for me.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked, slinging a towel over his right shoulder.
Knowing it wasn’t a drink I would typically order because of how strong it was, but realizing I needed the arms of detachment to drag me under, I said, “How about a scotch on the rocks?”
“I don’t think that’s what the lady really wants,” a stranger’s voice blurted. Shocker there was yet another man who thought he knew best. Someone else putting in his unwanted two cents and trying to make decisions for me.
I didn’t even bother to seek out the ass who interjected, instead telling the bartender to ignore the rude man and to bring me what I’d requested. He gave me a quick nod before disappearing toward the other end of the bar.
“You look more like a fruity drink kind of girl.” Without looking, I knew the unwanted intruder was sitting to my left. The roughness of his voice intrigued me, although I fought against it and kept looking straight ahead.
“First off, I’m not a girl. I’m a woman. Secondly, please butt out and mind your own business.” I found it difficult to exude any kind of civility.
“I’m just trying to be helpful. Scotch is a rough drink for someone like you. I just don’t want you to be sick later on. That would be a real shame.” His mocking tone was what made me finally turn my head, ready to tell him off all while having a fake smile plastered on my face so as not to draw too much attention.
“First off—”
“Oh no, not the countdown again,” he said mockingly.
“Do I know you?” As soon as he came into view, I needed a moment to stifle my surprise. He was a stranger, that much was for sure, and to make matters worse, or complicated, or whatever word would properly fit . . . he was breathtaking. A mixture of sophistication and ruggedness emanated so effortlessly from him, it was hard to distinguish just what type of man I was dealing with.
I tried not to blatantly stare, tried being the operative word, but my eyes raked over his features, trying to study him as best I could before looking away. My reaction to him confused me, and after several moments, I focused on the drink I’d just been served.
“You don’t know me,” I snapped, becoming a little flustered, “so please mind your own business.”
He spoke as if I hadn’t just told him to butt out of my affairs. “What’s got you so agitated you want to start off with the strong stuff?” He switched his seat so he was sitting directly next to me. The silence between us proved he was waiting for an answer, but he’d be waiting for quite some time because talking was the last thing I wanted to do. Drink. That was the only agenda I had from here on out that evening. “You don’t want to talk to me?” When I still didn’t respond, he smirked before draining the remaining liquid from his glass. Yeah, I ventured another quick glance in his direction. “That’s fine. I’m content just sitting next to the most beautiful woman in here.” The compliment, fake or not, mixed with the sexy rasp of his voice sent a tingle through me, but I’d be damned if I allowed him to see that he affected me in any way at all.
Bringing my drink to my lips, I made sure not to smell it. Otherwise, I wouldn’t’ve been brave enough to partake, and I didn’t want to seem weak in front of him. Why I cared about how he would perceive me, I had no idea, but I never gave the silly thought any merit before swallowing a healthy amount of the amber liquor. As soon as the alcohol slid down my throat, my body convulsed in a coughing fit. Shit, I forgot how strong this stuff is.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Before I could answer, his large hand hit my back several times, the heat of his palm warming me more than the alcohol ever could.
Once I’d gained my bearings, I dodged his next touch, shifting my body further away from him.
“I’m not your sweetheart, thank you very much,” I fumed, my lungs finally ceasing to convulse from the alcohol.
“You sure are a feisty one,” he retorted, sliding his chair even closer. His scent was most pleasing, a subtle mix of expensive cologne and something very male. I envisioned myself leaning into him to inhale more, but knew I never would. That would be completely inappropriate, and out of character, so I kept my rigid position, facing forward.
Daring to take another sip of my drink, I prayed the liquid went down more smoothly this time around. Thankfully, it did. No more coughing fits. I had no idea what I would’ve done had he chosen to put his hands on me again.