But I’m hardly the punching type.
“I see they’re letting anyone into these things these days,” Sturgis says. I know I could call him Brock, but I don’t want to. I like calling him Sturgis. It makes him sound like he’s related to a fish.
Hayes goes impossibly stiffer, and I realize it doesn’t matter how much formal training he has in social situations or how much time it’s been or how immature I’m being in my head.
He doesn’t want to be here and is struggling to not make a scene to get away.
“Hi!” I stick a hand out to the platinum blond woman and smile brightly at the couple. I might not have training, but I’m pretty sure I can do this. “I’m Begonia. Lovely to meet you. I mean, as lovely as it can be, given who you are. Your hair is gorgeous. That must’ve taken forever.”
The last woman on earth that Hayes ever loved looks me up and down slowly, not taking my offered hand. I have no idea if I’m doing the subtle insult thing right or wrong, but Hayes is breathing again, so there’s that. This woman might not be though, and I don’t think it’s my attempt at cattiness. Her dress is pushing her boobs up to her chin and squeezing her waist so tight that her hips jut out oddly beneath the shimmery white fabric. It’s like Elvis’s jumpsuit had a dress baby with a toga and shrunk.
“I see you’re borrowing the Rutherford jewels,” Trixie Melhoff-Sturgis says.
Oh, yes.
I remember her name.
How could I not, when she snuck into Hayes’s heart and planted explosives there and it’s never been the same since? I know she’s miserable—you can just tell sometimes. And I know we’re not going to stand here one more minute. “The jewels are a dime a dozen in this crowd, aren’t they? But the man—Hayes is the real treasure.”
Sturgis snorts. “He’s not worth the bitcoin I mine.”
Oh, for goodness sake. “Are you—are you for real? Do people like you actually say things like that? Oh, sweetie. Good luck with your virtual seven dwarves operation. Excuse us. There’s—” I scan the crowd and almost choke on my own spit. “Someone we need to go see,” I finish faintly.
Jonas Rutherford is waving at us.
Jonas. Freaking. Rutherford.
I grab Hayes by the hand, yank, and wave back at his brother with my other hand like we’ve done this a million times.
Excuse me, but how is this my life right now?
Hayes blows out a slow breath that I feel all the way in my own toes as he trots along next to me.
Am I running?
I might be running.
I hate insulting people. I hate it more when they make it necessary.
“Do not ever change, Begonia,” he murmurs.
“Was I mean enough? I’m so bad at mean. But I hated them on sight. Why are they here?”
“Gossip.”
“For the record, Hayes Rutherford, I am very pissed at you right now.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I don’t want you to be related to a movie star that I had a massive crush on for half of my life. I want you to be normal so that I don’t look like I’m only dating you to get close to your brother, because I don’t care who you’re related to, except for the part where I wish it wasn’t him. You really are the jewel here. But oh my god, do you have any idea how much Hyacinth would be wetting herself right now even if she weren’t pregnant?”
I’m pretty sure I’m whispering softly enough that we’re in no danger of being overheard by the fancy clusters of people we’re passing, but I’m also pretty sure the slow grin spreading over Hayes’s face means he doesn’t care if I’m in danger of blowing our story. “I’ll give you five million dollars if you’ll hug Jonas like you’re long-lost siblings.”
“I don’t want your money, you goober.”
“Forgive me, love. It’s been a rough three minutes. But please, sell it well, bluebell.”
It’s the last warning I get before we reach the high table where Jonas freaking Rutherford is sipping champagne, clearly tracking our arrival as he nods to Amelia Shawcross, whom I’m weirdly happy to see, because at least she’s familiar.
The movie star’s full attention shifts, and his grin widens, eyes crinkling at the corners as he sets his drink down. “Hayes! And Begonia. Nice of you to stop by to say hi.”
Oh. My. God.
Hyacinth should’ve come. She would be in utter heaven.
Hayes nudges me. “Go on,” he murmurs.