Fauxmance (Showmance #2)(27)

Ellen blinked, inhaled a deep breath, then said, “No, she wouldn’t. Elodie knows she looks fantastic no matter what she wears.”

I smiled my approval. “Exactly.”

I helped her climb into the waiting cab, my gaze idling on the impressive diamante encrusted heels she had on. They gave her an extra five or six inches of height, and I realised that was why I thought Elodie was taller. She always wore heels, no matter what.

“Nice shoes.”

She glanced down a moment, then back to me. “Yes, I like them, too.”

“Are they new?”

“No, but this is the first time I’ve worn them…out.”

My lips twitched. “Does that mean you wear them around the house?”

She gave a sultry look that was pure Elodie. “Maybe I do.”

“They must’ve cost a pretty penny.”

Now she smirked. “A lady never reveals the price of her possessions.”

Again, I wondered how she could afford such fancy things.

Not that her possible wealth changed my opinion about her. I was a firm believer that people got to decide who they wanted to be in life, no matter their beginnings. Having been born the son of a poor, single mother with alcohol and mental health issues, not to mention little education, I shouldn’t speak, act or dress the way I do. However, this was how I chose to portray myself to the world.

I refused to let my start in life define me, and I thought that if more people did the same, there would be a lot less misery out there.

“So, are you going to tell me where we’re going, or shall it remain a mystery?” Elodie asked. I’d call her Elodie now, since most traces of Ellen had vanished. Gone was the uncertain girl who’d answered the door so hastily. Now she held her chin high in a haughty fashion, taking on the air of a woman who took what she wanted from life and apologised for nothing. I relished her immersing herself in her role.

“We’re going to Branson Sutton’s birthday party at the Savoy,” I replied, and she blinked at me.

“The race car driver?”

“The one and only.”

She took a moment to absorb this, then flashed me a sassy smile. “Great. Maybe I can bag myself a rich racer boy.”

“You aren’t seeing the stripper anymore?” I questioned, playing along.

Elodie shook her head and levelled me with a coy look. “No, when it comes to matters of the bedroom, I don’t like to share. Strange women had their eyes all over him every night. I didn’t like it.”

Something about the statement made my chest burn. Perhaps because there were certain similarities between my work and that of a stripper. I brushed it aside. It wasn’t like I was doing any of this to romance her. I was doing this out of sheer enjoyment and mischief. I quite liked the prospect of fooling all the rick folks at this party into believing Elodie was real. My fatigued soul needed a change to make parties exciting again, and Elodie was the perfect recipe to provide it.

I returned my attention to her and winked. “In that case, let’s find you a racer boy.”

When we arrived at the hotel, a bellhop came to open our door. I got out first, then assisted Elodie. I offered her my arm and we strode into the party. We were two people aware of our attractiveness, intending to use it to our full advantage.

“Is that Elton John?” Elodie leaned close to whisper, awe trickling into her voice.

“I do believe it is. Old bastard borrowed my Alexander McQueen scarf last month and never gave it back.”

Elodie laughed. “Good one.”

“I’m not lying.”

Her eyes widened. “Well, in that case, why don’t you go ask for it back?”

“Later. Right now, I have some people I’d like to introduce you to.”

“Why can’t you introduce me to Elton?”

“Because he’ll only bore us with tales of how he slept with Cher in the seventies.”

Now she gasped. “He did?”

I chuckled and led her further into the party. I snagged a glass of champagne from a server and handed it to her. “Here you go.”

She took it and brought it to her mouth. “Mmm, that’s good champagne. Why aren’t you having any?”

“I don’t drink.”

“Oh.” She frowned, then asked. “Any reason?”

I answered honestly. “It was a problem for me in the past.”

Her expression sobered. “Right. Understood.”

I was surprised that she simply accepted my explanation without wanting to know more. Usually, when it came to my past addictions, people were nosy, but not Elodie.

“Julian,” came a sweet accented voice and I turned to see Krystyna walk toward us. She and her husband were arm in arm, looking the picture of youthful, wealthy elegance.

“Krystyna, you look wonderful. And Branson, I’d never guess you just turned forty,” I teased.

The handsome, dark-haired man gave an amused laugh. “Thirty-seven, actually.”

“Ah, right. My apologies,” I winked and he shook his head.

“And who is your lovely date?” Krystyna asked, eyeing Elodie with interest. I’d heard through the grapevine that Krystyna and Branson hosted swingers’ parties from time to time. Alas, I’d never been invited, since I was too much of a wild card. Celebrities typically only let loose at small private gatherings consisting of other celebrities. Everyone had to have something to lose, and I didn’t.