Page 149 of Collide
Alex’s chuckle is low, but the edge beneath doesn’t go unnoticed. His fingers tighten around mine in a subtle, unmistakable claim. He leans in, lips brushing my ear, voice a silk-draped threat.
“I don’t have to fight for you,” he murmurs. “You’re already mine,Älskling.”
Riley takes a long, slow sip, eyes flicking from Alex to Broderick, then back again.
“Honestly? I’d pay to watch.”
I groan. “Not helping.”
She winks, tapping her glass against mine.
Alex smirks, but I feel the tension humming off him as he squeezes my hand again.
Before the conversation can spiral further, we get intercepted by none other than Philippa’s friends. A group of perfectly polished socialites, all boobs, sleek blowouts, and designer bikinis. And the second they see Alex, their conversation dies mid-sentence.
“Oh my God,” one of them gasps, gripping another girl’s arm. “Is that Alexander Westerberg?”
“It is,” another whispers, eyes going wide. “Philippa, you didnottell us he was coming!”
Philippa, who’s now beside us, takes a leisurely sip of her champagne and gives a pointedly amused glance my way. “Elena’s plus-one.” The way she says it is neutral, but there’s an unspoken meaning beneath it. Philippa’s friends, however, are not neutral.
“Oh my God, Alexander, Ilovedyour last campaign,” one of them purrs, touching his bare forearm. “The Paris spread? Absolute art.”
“Didn’t you date Madison Walsh?” Another giggles, twirling a piece of her hair.
“Wait, weren’t you just in Milan? What was it like?”
The fawning only gets worse. Philippa’s friends lean in closer, lilting laughter, fingers brushing Alex’s arm like they can’t help themselves. He eats it up.
That signature smirk slides into place—smooth, magnetic, lethal. The kind that makes women lose their footing and their dignity in the same breath.
He’s in his element. Untouchable.
I haven’t seen this version of him since the Geek-Fest panel. This isn’tAlex, this isAlexander. The public persona. Polished and charming. He slips into it like it’s a second skin.
And Ishouldbe fine with it.
But something twists low in my chest, sharp and tight. Not jealousy. Not exactly.
Just the sickening awareness that I have to share him. That even with his arm around me, the world doesn’t seeus. They seehim.
Unattainable, desirable, and still up for grabs.
The worst part?
I don’t even need to look. IfeelBroderick watching. Across the patio, his presence clings to me like smoke. His stare—sharp, quiet, accusing—lands between my ribs.
What are you doing with him?
Alex must sense it.
His hand slides lower on my waist, fingers pressing in just enough to make a point. His stance shifts subtly, cocky and deliberate. Like he’s staking territory. Like he wants Broderick to see.
And I can’t tell if it’s pride or panic that fills my lungs. Desperate to move past the moment, I turn to Philippa. “Everything looks perfect,” I say, forcing a bright, easy smile. “I just want to make sure you have everything you need.”
Philippa gives me a knowing look but doesn’t press. “Everything’s great,” she assures me, swirling the champagne in her glass. “Though Idothink some of Andrew’s friends are a little…surprised by the guest list.” She flicks her eyes meaningfully toward Alex.
I don’t miss the way a few of Andrew’s friends are casting sideways glances, murmuring amongst themselves, probably wondering why a celebrity is suddenly in their midst.
