Page 67 of Off the Rim
I can't fucking help it. Ashton James in a tux is a sight to behold. Everything about him is smooth, suave confidence. From the tips of his shiny shoes, to the one strand of hair escaping his top knot.
Another car pulls up, and we're shuffled toward the walkway. Thus far, I've avoided looking at my surroundings, focusing on Ashton for my own comfort. When did that happen? When did we move from tense, distrustful silence to me linking my fingers through his to calm my nerves?
The James estate is a massive mansion, larger even than the hotel we're staying in. The huge circular driveway is busy with cars dropping off rich and famous guest dressed in formalwear that would rival an Oscar’s red carpet. The path from the driveway to the front entrance to the house is lined with tall, thin cypress trees decorated in tasteful white lights. The grounds are frosted with a thin layer of just enough snow to make it feel like the party planners have control over the weather.
If I thought the outside of the house was imposing, the inside is even more intimidating. The entrance hall alone is nearly the size of my childhood home, except it’s three stories high. A chandelier the size of the SUV we arrived in hangs from the ceiling, dripping with crystal and what looks like diamonds, casting a sparkling glow on the guests as they enter, hand their coats to the staff, and make their way to greet our hosts.
I forget everything else when Ashton wraps his arm around my back and escorts me through the foyer, the crowd growing silent as they watch our procession. Ashton warned me there would be some shocked expressions at first, but that everyone in their parent's circle was especially good at covering their reactions and keeping the gossip quiet amongst themselves. We aren't likely to have to endure any poor behavior, which is another reason we're showing up here like this. Our public appearance, at one of his family's most popular social events of the year, forces his parents to put on a strong front and act like everything's fine. They'll be forced to show public acceptance or face being the subjects of gossip and scandal.
As his parents look up to see what the sudden hush in the room is about, I get the pleasure of watching their eyes shutter through multiple emotions in the blink of an eye. To their credit, their faces give nothing away. Both of them have frozen but pleasant expressions on their faces, so long as you don't look too closely at the way their eyes dilate and focus in on me. It's almost robotic, and a little creepy.
Ashton's mother is the first to break the awkward silence. She approaches her son with a gleaming white smile, taking short but elegant steps in her tight-fitting gold floor-length gown. "Ashton, you didn't say you were bringing a guest. Who is your friend?" she exclaims, feigning surprised elation at our arrival and air kissing both sides of his cheeks.
"Mom, this is my boyfriend, Marcus Vell."
Boyfriend?
We didn't really discuss how I was going to be introduced, but the implications that we're together—as in,together-together—were a given. He said it was to keep me safe from whatever hisfather could be planning, because he'll be more concerned with public appearances than going after me. But it didn't occur to me that we'd have to pretend to be official.
The moment Ashton says my full name, her mask slips. It only lasts a split second, but the reactions I read in that flash of expression range from disbelief to rage, settling on an expression that can only be described aswhere did you get the audacity. Ashton smiles down at his mom, knowing exactly what's going through her mind and loving every second of her discomfort.
Mrs. James begrudgingly offers me her hand, which I take and press a light kiss to the top. I mostly do it because I'm not sure what else to do, but I admit I also get a sick sense of pleasure watching her react to my unaffected charm. I learned it from your son, lady. Watch yourself.
"Son," Mr. James says, though it sounds more like a warning than a friendly greeting.
"Yes, father?"
I stand awkwardly beside Ashton as he and his father engage in a little standoff. Wanting this part to be over with, I extend my hand.
"Mr. James, I don't think we've ever actually been properly introduced. I'm Marcus Vell. Roman's son." The little spark of enjoyment I get from watching his expression darken at hearing my father's name is short-lived.
Mr. James gives me a once over before accepting my handshake. "You clean up nicely, Mr. Vell. I remember your father was also very talented at presenting himself as a civilized person."
"When you were stepbrothers, you mean?" Maybe now wasn't the right time to show any of my cards, but I can't help it. The immediate tension in his body, as well as the little gasp of outrage from Mrs. James, is exactly what I need to hold my head up high and not let his disrespect of my father's memory get a reaction from me. "Well, we don't want to hold up the line," I say, hooking an arm around the back of Ashton's waist and pulling him closer. "I look forward to getting to know you better, Uncle."
Ashton’s body shakes with laughter as we leave his parents open-mouthed in the entryway and step into the ballroom. Yes, Ashton's childhood home has an actual ballroom that's the size of my high school's gymnasium. Everything is draped in white and accented with gold. Garlands of deep green and massive Christmas trees are perfectly placed throughout the room to give enough ambiance and cheer without making the space feel crowded. There's a stage where a string quartet is playing somber versions of holiday classics. Behind the quartet, there's a massive gold harp, the musician waiting patiently for their time to shine. It's really something to behold. I whistle my appreciation.
"Yeah, I know. It's a lot."
"I can't believe you grew up here. I've never seen anything like it."
"It's not all it’s cracked up to be. All the staff and parties and people coming in and out…"
I shake my head. "It doesn't sound pleasant to me at all, actually."
Ashton gets a faraway look in his eyes, like he's replaying memories of his childhood here. "It's weird thinking about how I've always been surrounded by people, but I always felt so lonely. I've only ever been a prop to these people."
Annoyed at myself for feeling so mushy towards him right now, I pull Ashton against me and look up into his deep brown eyes. I always thought they looked a bit soulful when they weren't twinkling with mischief, but maybe it was just sadness.
"I see you, Ashton James."
"Can I just be Ash to you?"
"Yeah, baby. I'll call you anything you want."
"How aboutmine?"
My stomach does an uncomfortable flip, setting butterflies wild in my chest. My breath catches a little, brain struggling to come up with a response.
