“If you call racing around your hotel draped in greenery and magazines subtle, then you need to go back to spy school. Tom would never be so sloppy.”
Thea’s soft hair brushed Felix’s cheek as he moved his lipsto her ear. “You looked better than Mr. Cruise ever could. Seriously though. Are you okay? I know I’ve been a terrible host today. I’m so sorry.”
A small furrow appeared between Thea’s brows, and she took a deep breath, her breasts straining against the fabric of her dress. “You should know, this party is my worst nightmare. I don’t look like me. Everyone’s going to be staring, wondering who I am. I’m going to have to answer a million questions. I was hoping people wouldn’t notice me.”
Felix’s gaze roamed over Thea in the mirror, and his dick stirred against his fly. “How could they not? You’re breathtaking.” Thea nibbled at her bottom lip. He’d hoped for a smile, some hint that his words had eased her mind, but the line between her brows only deepened. “You could devise an alter ego to get you through the evening. Think of it like acting. Playing a role. A character.”
Thea snorted a wry laugh. “Oh, sure. The only character I could pull off in this dress would be a high-class hooker.”
Felix grimaced. “That wasn’t quite what I had in mind when I chose it, but I’m willing to be adventurous.”
Thea picked at the scrunchie on her wrist, threading her thumb around its elastic before letting it snap back against her skin.
“Are you going to take that off?” Felix unwound his arms from around her and straightened up.
“What do you mean?”
He reached out to still her fingers. “You can’t wear a scrunchie to a gala. I should have thought. Organised some jewellery.”
Thea’s eyes grew wider in the mirror. “But I need it. I get all fidgety without it.”
Felix snickered and turned Thea around, running his hands down the outside of her arms. “If you need something to do with your hands, I’ll happily give you some options. But fornow, I’m going to take possession of this.” Felix inched the scrunchie from Thea’s wrist and threaded it onto his own, the green fabric at odds with the impeccable cut of his cuff.
Thea frowned up at him, and his heart went out to her. He was asking a lot of her tonight. Had asked a lot of her all day. Since they’d met, really. But he didn’t want anyone else at his side tonight. Only this incredible woman he’d fallen head over heels for.
Felix's heart skipped as soon as the thought registered in his brain. He’d had the same burn before, the same tug in his chest weeks ago, but he’d buried it; he’d thought it ridiculous. They’d only known each other a short time, but the ache to be near her had only grown. And the moment she’d reached to join his hand in the chapel at Barrow Manor, Felix had known he’d move heaven and earth to be with her.
And now he was asking her to go into the lion’s den with him. Be the public face of The Walsh Group alongside him. And she hadn’t sharpened her claws. Felix had plenty of practice over the years, but Thea was a total novice. Being in the public eye wasn’t for everyone.
With a sigh, he stroked the skin of Thea’s forearm, its feathery softness passing under his fingertips. “If you really get freaked out tonight, this lift goes straight to my apartment. You just need to press the button or ask Gemma. She’ll be there with us.” Thea’s shoulders dropped slightly, and Felix ran his fingers down to rest on the back of her hand.
“I know everything I’m throwing at you, the dress, the clients, is overwhelming. Probably the last thing you considered when you made that bid at the school. But I can’t tell you how much I want you here. I have to make a good impression tonight. I can’t think of anyone more impressive than you.”
Thea’s deep blue eyes met his, and her mouth opened to speak.
“Just be yourself, and everyone will love you, I promise.”Felix brought his lips down to kiss away the furrow on her forehead. “Now, take a breath. We’ve got this.”
As Thea gaped back at him, the lift doors slid open, and Felix took her hand.
31
THEA
The lift doors drew back, and Felix tightened his grip. Holding hands with anyone who wasn’t Ammy was still a novelty for Thea. The pressure against her skin felt alien. They stepped into the bright ballroom together. She went from a comfortable silence to a thick, clamouring hum. Chatter buzzed in the air, punctuated by the tinkle of glasses and the music of laughter. The sounds blanketed Thea, like somebody had immersed her in water.
The room jostled with life. Sparkling dresses and jewellery melded with dark, sleek suits and a heady mix of perfumes and colognes assaulted Thea’s nostrils. It took all her effort not to sneeze.
She ran her eyes over the room. Four enormous chandeliers hung from the lofty ceiling, each one as big as the duck pond on Tottenbridge village green. Sweeping white pillars met the canopy of the ornate ceiling, and lush plants crept up their outsides. Thea took a deep breath. It was like she’d arrived on Mount Olympus. Perhaps Zeus and Aphrodite would wander past with a glass of champagne.
The first face that swam into focus was Gemma’s. Like shewas the last life preserver on the Titanic, Thea clung onto her business-like smile. She ushered them to the side of the lift and pulled down the glasses that lay atop her coiffed hair to rest on her nose.
“Felix,” she said, scrolling through the iPad she held in the crook of her arm. “The first order of business is to take care of the press. All the speculation about the Crichton project has whipped them into a frenzy. I’ve organised a little ‘show and tell’ over by the staircase if you’re ready.”
Felix nodded and turned to Thea with a tentative smile. The pleading look in his eyes made her gut lurch. Like he was willing her to come and walk the plank with him. Thea looked across the room to the staircase Gemma had mentioned. Its curved white steps led to a level above them, and at its base stood a group of around fifteen people. Some had cameras, others held smartphones with microphones attached.
“They’re recording?” Thea asked.
“They will be,” Felix said. “Entertaining the press is a necessary evil at these sorts of things, I’m afraid. It’ll only take ten minutes. All they expect is a smile, some photos, and a line they can quote in an article. It’s best to just get it over with. What’s that old expression?”
