Page 15 of Lost Summer
“Edward—” She gave me one of those exaggerated pouts that sent her millions of followers into a frenzy. Her eyes sparkled like perfectly cut sapphires, but to me, they’d lost the magic. “You know it’s important to me. Besides, this was the deal when we met.”
Oh yes, my father’s bright idea of marrying me off. I had always felt the weight of my family’s expectations pressing down on me. Growing up as the son of a billionaire, I was accustomed to a life where choices were often shaped by lineage and prestige. When my father pushed me to pursue a relationship with Elena, a glamorous socialite who perfectly fit the family’s image, I felt cornered. The prospect of living up to my family’s legacy loomed large, and marrying Elena seemed like a way to fulfil those expectations, despite my unresolved feelings for Adele.
God, Adele.
How was it possible that a weekend spent ten years ago with a woman still held such significance in my life?
But when I met Elena, she’d just beenher—cute, simple, walking into a bar without airbrushed filters or small armies of publicists. She hadn’t been as full on or famous back then; she hadn’t had the gravity of celebrity pulling at her every move. That girl was long gone, replaced by this woman dressed in perfection and constantly striving for more.
“You weren’t famous then,” I muttered, smoothing down my tie.
“I was!” she insisted, grabbing my hand. A security guard standing beside us acknowledged Elena with a slight dip of his head, moving aside as we approached the velvet-roped entrance.
The air outside was thick with the scent of champagne already poured and bodies drenched in the latest designerperfumes. Lights popped everywhere as photographers jostled for position while their bulbs blew up in my face, blinding me momentarily.
Elena’s grip tightened. “Anyway…this is your big debut. Smile—look happy!”
I forced a grin, feeling it stretch tight over my face. God, I had so much fucking money, and I was supposed to be living the dream. Yet here, among the cream of the upper class, in a perfectly tailored suit and beside a perfect woman, I had never felt so...invisible.
“Hi!” Elena’s voice dripped with sweet charm, louder now as we stepped into the swarm of press. The bulbs flashed like fireworks, each one an explosion begging for a piece of us. “Thank you so much for being here tonight! This is Edward, my fiancé.”
“Edward, how did you pop the question?”
“Edward, how does it feel to be Mr Elena?”
“Edward—Edward, over here! Flash a smile!”
I could feel my face aching from the effort of pretending. I exhaled through a clenched jaw.
Diamonds glittered everywhere as women passed by, their gowns rustling. Teeth so blindingly white, reminding me of perfect pearls.
“Elena, you look ravishing,” said one of the older men, his voice louder than anyone else’s. His eyes not so subtly lingered on Elena’s cleavage, sparkling just as much as the diamonds at her throat.
“Doesn’t she?” I replied—though the guy didn’t seem to care much for my opinion, too far gone into his ogling. Wonderful.
Elena giggled, kissing him on both cheeks as though this were Paris in springtime instead of hell itself. “How’s Elizabeth?” she purred, expertly diverting attention.
“Oh,” the man responded, clearly delighted by her attentiveness, “Devastated about that delay on the Esse collection. Terribly so.”
“Did she pre-order?”
I spun to face them, frowning. “Esse?” My voice dragged out the word like it was something I’d picked up off a crumpled grocery list.
“Jewellery, Edward,” Elena snapped lightly under her breath, though her smile never wavered. Her fingers wrapped tighter around my arm, as if willing me to understand the importance of her words.
I didn’t care. Maybe the pounding of this kind of life was finally making cracks in my patience. I didn’t take kindly to disrespect—and when I saw eyes dip again toward my fiancée’s chest, something inside me snapped.
“Where is your wife?” I questioned with nonchalant precision, smiling so hard it hurt.
Elena sucked in a breath, invisible knives in her gaze. “Edward! If you haven’t got anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all!”
I smirked, unfazed. “Fine. Forgive me for wanting to point out wandering eyes when they’re practically glowing in the fucking dark.”
“Grow up,” she hissed, waving at a buxom blonde from across the room. “Sherry!”
I tried not to laugh when the blonde sashayed over. No, I wasn’t imagining it. This was Sherry Mary. “Isn’t that…the porn star?” I muttered under my breath.
“Edward, for Christ’s sake—she’s anactress,” Elena shot back, the word dripping with irony.
