Dating Games(50)

He keeps his fingers intertwined with mine for a while as he drives. As we approach an intersection, he withdraws his hand to downshift, causing my shoulders to fall. But once he turns down another street and is back up to speed, he returns it to my thigh.

I snap my eyes toward his as a fluttering erupts in my stomach. My breathing increases, the skin beneath his fingers tingling.

“Is this okay?” he inquires in a low, smooth tone.

“Yes,” I whimper.

“Good.” His pupils dilate as he steals a glimpse at my exposed leg. Then he looks forward, squaring his shoulders. “Because we’ll need to touch each other quite a bit over the next few weeks. If we’re to make people believe what we have is real, we need our interactions to appear natural.”

“Right.” I form my mouth into a tight line, suppressing the flicker of hope his gesture gave me. “So is there anything I should know about the people who will be there today?”

“This is more of a casual get-together at David Gittney’s house.”

“Old money or found money?”

He passes me a sly smile as he shifts into fifth, then returns his hand to my thigh. “Very good. You remember. David is old money.”

I purse my lips, trying to understand the proverbial caste system that appears to be in place here in the Hamptons. “If he’s old money and looks down upon people with found money, as you claim—”

“Which he does.”

“Then why does he invite you to his parties?”

“They like to flaunt the fact that this has been their lives for as long as they can remember, that they’re the equivalent of American royalty. Old money invite new money so there are warm bodies at their parties, at least more than the few dozen people who’d attend if they kept it strictly old money. Found money goes in the hopes to finally be accepted. It’s a game that’s been taking place for ages now. And I have a feeling it will continue even when I’m dead. The current found money will eventually become old money and a fresh batch of newly minted millionaires and billionaires will strive for acceptance.”

“Well…” I settle into the black leather. “I suppose I’m in store for a rather eye-opening summer. Anything I should keep in mind? Should I act a certain way? Not swear? Stuff like that?”

He flashes me his debonair smile as he pulls his car up to an elaborate iron gate. “Just be your normal, charming self. Don’t change who you are for these people. I chose you because of who you are. Don’t blend into the crowd. Stand out.”

“It’s hard not to stand out with bright red hair,” I joke.

“That’s not what I mean. You’d stand out even if you had a black curtain tossed over you. I’d never ask you to change who you are to suit my needs.”

I face forward, reminded of my breakup with Trevor.

“I like you as you, and that will never diminish. Anyone who takes for granted how incredible you are doesn’t deserve you. Remember that.”

“But aren’t you trying to convince these people you’re someone you’re not?”

“I’m not trying to convince them I’m someone I’m not.” He returns his eyes to the driveway, continuing up an even more extravagant and impressive paved path than the one leading up to his estate. I didn’t think such a thing were possible. Again, I’m proven wrong.

“But you said it yourself. You’re not cut out for the relationship thing.”

He pulls to a stop in front of a sprawling home that rivals many of the mansions I’d seen in Newport during a trip I’d taken with Trevor. When a valet attendant approaches the car, opening my door, Julian leans toward me. “And I’m not. But that doesn’t mean I sleep around, either. Because I don’t. I don’t lead women on. I am upfront and honest with everyone from the beginning, just like I was with you.”

He steps out of the car and I do the same, allowing one of the attendants to help me to my feet. When Julian reaches me, I part my lips, wanting to press further, but the warning in his gaze reminds me we’re on display for everyone. I glance past him to see other cars pulling up behind his, curious eyes observing us. Some indifferent, others tainted with animosity.

“Ready?”

I nod quickly, swallowing down my nerves. He rests his hand on my lower back, steering me up a grand staircase leading into a palatial home that screams money. Crystal chandeliers. Marble tiles. High ceilings. Pristine furniture. Rare art. It is the quintessential display of wealth.

After navigating our way through the house, we step out of a pair of French doors and onto the back patio, the pool party already in full force. There must be over two hundred people in attendance, not to mention a band set up on a stage in the corner, playing hits of the 80s and 90s.

You know those cliché scenes in coming-of-age movies when a girl moves to a new school and walks into the cafeteria that first day, knowing absolutely no one? That’s how I feel now. Except I’m at a five-star cafeteria and naked. At least I feel naked. That could be the only thing to explain the dozens of eyes that instantly zero in on us, the whispers washing over my skin.

Able to sense my nerves, Julian turns toward me and grabs my chin, tilting my head back.

“Be yourself. These first few days will be the hardest. People will wonder who you are. And some women here today will most likely be catty. Don’t let them get to you.”