Page 89 of Dust to Dust

Shane opened the SUV door, and Callum stepped out first. Flashbulbs began to go off all around him. It was at that moment that I realized we were going to have to walk some sort of red carpet. At the thought of all the people staring at me, I froze.

“Isla?” Quinn questioned.

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Yes, you can.”

“I’m not someone famous or wealthy. I don’t belong.”

“You’re a smart, beautiful woman who has every right to be at this gala,” he murmured into my ear.

Quinn’s words gave me the extra jolt I needed to move forward. When I started out of the SUV, Callum held out his hand to help me. “Thank you,” I murmured.

“You’re welcome.”

Quinn quickly exited the SUV and appeared at my side. He reached for my hand and squeezed it. Then he began leading me up the carpet and into the hotel.

Although I initially plastered on a smile, I became more comfortable in my own skin, and as time wore on, my smile became more genuine. Once we reached the lobby, I felt completely at ease. As Quinn introduced me to people, I shook their hands and made small talk.

I don’t know how long we spent making the rounds. By the time we sat down for dinner, my feet were aching, and my throat was parched. I reached for my water glass and downed it in several long gulps. Once it was empty, I started on the champagne.

“You were a pro back there,” Quinn mused.

“Really?”

He nodded. “After the initial hiccup, I was afraid you might run screaming before we got into the hotel.”

“I just needed a minute to get my bearings,” I argued.

“You’re a star. Everyone wants to know who the beauty is with the beast.”

I gasped. “They are not saying that about you, are they?”

He threw back a large gulp of whiskey. “Tonight it’s about my personality, not my appearance.”

“I don’t want them saying it about either,” I huffed as I stared daggers down the table at the other guests.

Quinn’s fingers came to my chin to pull my attention back to him. “Are you going to fight for my honor, Little Dove?”

“I most certainly am.”

Amusement twinkled in his blue eyes. “It’s always the little scrappy ones you have to watch out for.”

“Damn straight.”

The first course was served then, and I parlayed my knowledge learned from Pretty Woman to use the appropriate fork. Quinn turned to his neighbor to talk, which was some form of etiquette we were supposed to uphold.

So, I turned to the man beside me. “Good evening,” I managed.

He eyed me contemptuously before going back to his salad. Not willing to let him write me off, I asked, “What is it you do?”

“I’m a retired neuroscience professor from Harvard.”

My eyes lit up. “How interesting. I’m in graduate school for microbiology at MIT.”

The man cut his eyes from his plate back to me. “You are a microbiologist?” he questioned.

“I am.”

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