Page 165 of Tall, Royal Hater
“I want to pause this moment and stay right here with you,” he rasped. “Pretend we don’t have to go inside or go back to our own lives tomorrow.”
My heart pounded at the base of my throat as I swallowed, blood whirling in my ears.
Fucking Neves, what was Shehryar doing to me?
He had my heart and head in the palm of his hands, and the feeling kept growing stronger so fucking quickly with every passing minute I spent with him. I liked him a lot, and as much as I wanted to claim part of it was down to five years of hating wanting him, a lot of it was just to do with how we were together now. How he was with me. His smiles, his words, his flirtatious touches. Everything.
I liked this version of us.A lot.And fuck, it was going to be hard when we parted tomorrow.
But despite what I’d said about not doing long-distance, with him, I really wanted to make it work.
“If only,” I whispered back and kissed him. “But, we’re here to do something important for you, so stop distracting me by being cute and sappy. I’m trying to get in the zone.”
He chuckled, and we stayed just like that for several more seconds before finally climbing the stairs of one of the most expensive hotels in Pavilion City hand in hand.
“Here you go,” the lady who’d escorted us from the lifts said. “We hope you enjoy Miss Ablah’s birthday party.”
“Thank you,” Shehryar and I said at the same time.
She stepped away, eyes lingering on him, as the guards outside the wooden doors opened them both. Music, colour, and laughter emanated out, and after a second, we stepped into it.
Wow. I thought this was meant to be a small gathering.
What seemed like over a hundred people, dressed in designer suits and dresses, mingled in groups, most of them young but not exclusively so, in the grand silver and cream hall that matched the historic décor of the rest of the hotel. Round tables were set around the perimeter of the room, draped in pale grey cloths, with one longer table packed full of gift bags and wrapped boxes. And right at the back were large windows draped in cream curtains and glass doors to a balcony.
“You…you came.”
An older man stepped into our periphery, and despite looking nothing like him other than a similar height and build, I knew instantly the man was Andrew Platmon—Shehryar’s dad. The way he was looking at Shehryar in awe and relief, plus the thick southern Jahandari accent, gave it away.
“Hmm,” Shehryar muttered stiffly.
Andrew Platmon opened his mouth, closed it again, and shifted on his feet. “Well…thank you. I know—I mean, I can guess it wasn’t an easy decision, but Ablah will appreciate it.”
Shehryar replied with a single nod. An awkward silence followed for several suffocating seconds before Andrew Platmon angled himself to me, forcing a smile that didn’t quite hide the uncertainty in his eyes. “Apologies. I was not ignoring you in any way.”
I was a little wary of him on Shehryar’s behalf, but I flashed him a smile. “No, it’s okay.”
“You must be Mariyah, correct?” He put out his hand.
Shehryar’s fingers tightened around mine, keeping me close, as I slipped my other palm into his dad’s hand and shook it. “Yes, I am. And you must be Mr Platmon?”
“Yes, but please call me Andrew.” His eyes darted to Shehryar. “I was glad to hear my—I mean, Shehryar was bringing a plus one. Are you two…” His gaze dipped to our hands as he drifted off.
“Yes, we are,” I said, lifting a glance to Shehryar. “As of recently.”
A slow smile spread across the older man’s thin lips. “That’s lovely to hear—”
“Dad!”
Andrew Platmon glanced over his shoulder to a tall, lithe girl in a gorgeous gold dress that complemented her olive skin tone and brown eyes just like Andrew’s. She was young and pretty in a striking way with a square jaw and thick brows, and with her figure, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she turned out to be a model. It was clear though exactly who she was.
Ablah Platmon. The birthday girl.
“Come on over,” Andrew beckoned brightly.
Ablah glanced curiously at Shehryar, stepping into her father’s open arm. “Is this who I think it is?”
“Yes. This is…” Andrew Platmon cleared his throat. “This is Shehryar. Your…brother…”
