Page 6 of Cross the Line
Straightening up, I pass my empty champagne glass off to Chava and run my fingers through my hair to sweep it off my forehead. I’m a good-looking guy, and I’m charming as fuck, so this should be a breeze. I’m writing off the past six weeks as a fluke. I just haven’t tried hard enough. Now, though? I’m in it to win it.
But all my plans go out the window the second Willow Williams walks into the room.
CHAPTER 3
Willow
It doesn’t matter that I’m wearing an outfit that costs more than a month’s rent; I feel wildly underdressed in this crowd.
I know I look amazing in this baby-blue silk gown and four-inch heels – even if I am tempting fateandmy ankles by wearing them – but I still feel out of place. If there’s anywhere in the world that could make me feel like I don’t belong, it’s a swanky party in Monaco.
Monaco.Just thinking the name has me nearly shaking my head in disbelief. Because, honestly, who expects to be offered a last-minute invitation to visit a place synonymous with wealth and fast cars? Certainly not me and my barely used passport.
After flying into Nice this afternoon, I was picked up at the airport by a driver Oakley sent to fetch me. I kept my face glued to the luxury car’s window as we made our way down the coast and across the border to Monaco, admiring the beautiful blue waters, lush greenery and the stunning cliffs.
Even if my brother hadn’t mentioned the race this weekend, I would have known by the sheer number of closed roads and million-dollar yachts crammed into the harbour. It was controlled chaos. Excitement for the weekend was practically palpable in the warm spring air.
I video-called Grace and Chantal to show them the sights as we slowly drove past them, but I nearly lost my ability to speak when we pulled up to the hotel.
I’m not a stranger to luxury. My parents have done well for themselves, and Mom’s taste for expensive things is well known, but I’d never seen extravagance like this. The building had old-world charm in the columns and aged facade, with purple and yellow flowers climbing in perfect patterns up both and hanging over the portico. The lobby, with its sweeping ceilings and eighteenth-century art, might as well have been a backdrop straight off a movie set.
I nearly giggled when a porter wearing a maroon uniform and a little hat asked me in accented English if he could take my bags. It was perfect.
The suite Oakley reserved for me was just as incredible – beautiful views of the water, a soaker tub, and a bed big enough to fit ten people. Clearly, he went all out for this graduation-slash-birthday present. Either that, or his company has sweeter benefits than I realized.
But I still haven’t gotten a chance to thank him, because my brother has been MIA all day. He texted to tell me he’d be busy up until the start of the party, but that he’d meet me in the hotel’s ballroom for tonight’s event.
I spent the past few hours getting ready. I soaked, buffed and moisturized my body into submission before slipping into the gown Grace had encouraged me to buy, even though I nearly had a heart attack seeing the price tag. But itisstunning, and I felt like a million bucks . . . until now.
I’ve always been a tiny bit self-conscious about my looks, and one glance around has me shrinking in on myself. Every person drifting by me is somehow more gorgeous than the last. And here I am – short as hell, baby-faced and the CEO of the Itty-Bitty Titty Committee. It’s a trifecta that often leaves me being asked where my parents are when I’m out on my own.
I’m envious of women like Chantal, with her long legs and curves. Unlike her, I’m convinced I could be replaced by a square piece of cardboard with a picture of my face slapped on it, and no one would know the difference.
But each time I start to feel like that, I remind myself of the attributes Idolike. I love the bronze glow of my skin no matter what the season. I love my curls (even though tonight I’ve straightened them to within an inch of their life). And yeah, most days I love that I can get away with not wearing a bra under almost anything.
With those reminders, I push my shoulders back a little and lift my head, thankful for the boost from my heels. Without it, I wouldn’t be able to see a single thing in this well-dressed crowd.
I take a few seconds to scan the ballroom, from its high ceilings with intricate moulding and gilded trim to the shining wood floors. There’s a Formula 1 car sculpted out of ice – complete with a shot luge – positioned on one side of the room, and a fire-breathing act is taking place on the other. Clearly no expense was spared, but I shouldn’t be surprised. This is a sport that’s always been about money, money, money.
‘Wills!’
I start at the sound of my brother’s voice and turn in the direction it came from, spotting him waving at me from beside the sleek bar. Blowing out a small breath of relief, I weave my way over. Ever the life of the party, he’s surrounded by a crowd of people, but he’s quick to excuse himself and meet me halfway.
He spreads his arms wide and I lean into them, squeezing him tightly for a few seconds. Standing back, he grips my shoulders as he looks me over. ‘Did you get shorter?’
I wrinkle my nose and knock his hands away. The moment of sibling love is decidedly over. ‘Did you forget I’m the perfect height to destroy your kneecaps? Don’t try me.’
‘Yeah, I guess I shouldn’t, especially with those shoes.’ He grimaces at my stilettos. ‘Should you be wearing those? I swear, if you dislocate anything, I’mnotpopping it back in for you.’
I roll my eyes, but his concern isn’t exactly misplaced considering my joints don’t always like to stay where they’re supposed to. Long ago, I learned that heels, no matter how stunning, weren’t the best shoes for me, though that never deterred my love for them. Sometimes you’ve got to live life on the edge. Oakley has fast cars – I have high heels.
Still, I spend at least an hour every day either in the gym or on a yoga mat, working on strength exercises to encourage my body to keep everything where it belongs. With the help of physical therapy and a couple of surgeries, I’m not too worried about major injuries these days. But I’ll always remain cautious. It’s why I had to sit back while Oakley got to run reckless and follow his dreams of being an athlete.
I try not to be bitter about it, try not to let myself wish I was the sibling without chronic pain and weak connective tissue, but sometimes I taste it in the back of my throat.
‘Relax, I haven’t popped anything out of place in a while.’ I wave off his comment. ‘But it’s nice to know you wouldn’t help if I did. You’re awful.’
He shrugs, unaffected by the insult. ‘We both knew that already.’ That settled, he gently grasps my elbow and turns me in the direction of the bar. ‘Let’s get drinks and go find Dev. He’s gotta be around here somewhere.’
