Rising (Blue Phoenix, #4)(72)

“Fine, I’ll go, but I don’t think I fit in with the other Blue Phoenix girlfriends.”

“Talk to Bryn’s then.”

“He doesn’t have one, does he?”

“Exactly. So you won’t be able to piss her off.”

I smack his arm. “Ha f-ucking ha.”



****



Jem neglected to tell me the awards ceremony is in Germany, which doubly pisses me off. Bad enough when English-speaking paparazzi mob me, now I don’t understand what they’re saying. They seem to understand the English swear words I throw at them though.

My sulking intensifies when a Blue Phoenix PR girl suggests I dress up, indicating I could get paid for kitting myself out in some up-and-coming designer’s creation. I pretend to comply by accepting a dress, and then deliberately leave the expensive item on the bed in Jem’s house. Hence, I’m sitting around a table, in the star-studded venue amongst the overdressed in my black dress covered in skulls and unicorns. Jem comments that at least I match his black shirt even if I do fail at looking like a normal person. I stomp on his foot with the heel of my matching green and black shoes.

“No, look, I put a sparkly clip in my hair,” I say as he pours me a glass of water.

“Right. A sparkly skull shaped clip.”

Jem in a suit amuses me, the PR girl’s magic works better on him. I’m not into men in suits, but I can look forward to removing his designer clothes later. He’s already dispensed with the jacket and hung it over the back of the dining chair. Yes, I’m definitely unbuttoning his shirt and getting my hands on the taut muscles barely hidden by the cut of his shirt as soon as I can. Jem spots my scrutiny and arches an eyebrow. When I smile, he bends closer and kisses my cheek. I run a hand along his arm, hoping his stressed aura over the last few days is about coming to the ceremonies he dislikes, and nothing to do with us.

A woman – an actress I vaguely recognise - sashays past our table. Perfectly primped in a sparkling silver designer dress I can only describe as unique, her disdain for me is obvious. I lift my glass in a toast and she looks away.

Liam and his fiancée, Cerys, sit across the white-clothed table. I haven’t seen them since they came to a Ruby Riot gig a few months back, and they’re a nausea-inducing, lovey-dovey, holding hands under the table couple. Cerys has also foregone the designer clothes trap, opting for a simple black dress and an inexpensive-looking necklace with a heart-shaped pendant. Liam’s arm is across Cerys’s shoulders, as he rubs her neck with his thumb. She’s what I’d call down-to-earth; and not the kind of girl I’d imagine falling in love with a longhaired rocker. But what do I know? Nothing about these people, Jem barely discusses them.

Despite the fact Jem forced me to come to this, his stiffened shoulders and fingers tapping on the table reinforces he doesn’t want to be here either. Why make us come?

“You okay?” I ask.

“Yeah. You having a drink?”

I shake my head. “How many times? I don’t drink around you, Jem.”

“Everyone else is, it doesn’t bother me,” he says tersely.

“Water’s fine.” I pick up my glass and drink to reinforce the point.

Dylan appears with Sky who looks as happy about being here as I am. The venue is filled to the brim with star power; musicians from all genres rub shoulders, and in some cases, clash egos. Jem always has an energy humming around that sets him apart from others, and Dylan shares that. More eyes follow Dylan than anyone else I’ve seen arrive today. Perhaps his natural comfort in his own skin, an assured poise, is what eclipses Jem slightly. Not to me, but to those around.

Sky grips his hand, dressed in a short blue dress that matches her eyes, hair loose and curling to her shoulders. She wears little make-up, doesn’t need to. Dylan rubs a hand along her arm and whispers something that breaks her look of concern into a smile. They sit and he takes her hand.

I’ve not met either Sky or Dylan before, and he scrutinises me before glancing at Jem.

Jem shifts in his seat. “This is Ruby,” he says with a half-hearted hand gesture. His under-enthusiasm prickles.

“I know,” says Dylan. “Hey, Ruby.”

“Hello.”

“Did you want a drink?” Dylan asks, taking the champagne from the ice bucket.

“No. Thanks.”

“Sky?” Dylan hovers the bottle over her glass

Sky places her hand over the top of the flute glass. “No, I’m not feeling well.”

“Still?” Dylan’s face creases with concern.

“I’ll be okay, feeling sick, just gastro I think, but coming here doesn’t help,” she mutters and picks up the water jug to pour herself a glass.

“Yeah, I’m with you on that one,” I say.

“I can imagine. Nice to finally meet you.” Sky gives me a small smile before turning to Cerys. My stomach sinks, my reputation obviously precedes me because, despite her words, something in her expression is distrust. Of course, any chick with Jem is going to be far too obnoxious to join their gang. Like I give a shit.

I jump as Jem squeezes my knee under the table. “You okay?” he whispers and when he closes his warm hand around mine, I place the other on top. Who cares what they think?

Liam and Dylan chat, too. Are they deliberately ignoring us? I know Jem’s usually pretty closed off from people, but they could involve him. Perspiration begins along my back. Is it me? Do they not approve of Jem being with me?