Page 129 of Sugar

I’d done enough of that.

For the night, at least.

I would one hundred percent pester her at a later date.

I hooked a thumb toward the living room. “Who the heck is the bubble bully in the fish tank?”

She practically deflated as she let out a long exhale. “Oh. That’s Scrooge. He was supposed to be Donald, but he won’t let the others near the new castle.”

“Fitting name then.” I grabbed a cucumber and popped it into my mouth. “And you thought it would be boring when I left.”

Chapter 27

Riveting

MADDIE

Iwas at a Hollywood event.

And it was oddly underwhelming and miserable.

Those were probably the wrong words for it, but the vibes were definitely off. Or maybe that was just the way it went. It wasn’t like I had anything to compare it to. But I’d spent the entire day imagining some glam, magical night, and the pre-party wasnotliving up to my expectations.

Easton had convinced me—or rather ordered me—to skip out on my classes for the day. Since my grades were shockingly good and my assignments were done, I’d been able to do it without an undercurrent of anxiety. After sleeping in, he’d sent me to the spa for another massage, that time followed by hair and makeup.

It didn’t matter what age a girl was, playing dress-up like a princess never got old.

And that was just how I felt. Like a fairy princess.

The front of my hair had been twisted away from my face, but the rest had been left down in a voluminous tumble Iwould never be able to recreate, no matter how many tools and products I bought. Each stroke of my immaculate makeup had been perfectly placed to look like I was wearing none at all.

Well, except my eyes.

The artist—and I meant that in every sense of the word—had gone heavy on the mascara and wispy false lashes to make my blue eyes look huge and striking.

Because Easton was on Tripp duty for the entire day, Vic had picked me up and taken me to the theater. It was probably just as well.

I got the feeling that if it had been Easton, we wouldn’t have made it out of my apartment.

Standing in the opulent theater lobby, I scanned the crowd in search of my date. I’d let him know I was there, but I doubted he was checking his phone. I knew he would be in there soon since more of the cast had begun filing in from the red carpet.

I’d thought their appearance would change the vibe of the room.

It hadn’t.

At least, not for the better.

The assistants and support people who were relegated to the perimeter of the room fell into one of three categories.

Bitterly resentful as they carefully made snide comments.

Neurotically anxious as they watched their person with the same anticipation of a chihuahua waiting to be smacked with a rolled newspaper.

Or an odd blend of sycophantic and egotistical, as if they were included in the stars and not separated out.

The celebrities themselves weren’t much better. Unless a camera was aimed at them, they weren’t smiling. They weren’t excited to be there. I was sure it was exhausting to beonfor any length of time, but their expressions fell to unbridled misery the moment they could get away with it.

Except—I was pleased to note—Tripp.

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