Scandalized(60)

It’s Yael, and up close I see how stunning she looks tonight. Statuesque; hair that’s normally in a tight bun is down and wild. A slash of crimson lipstick. “Alexander Kim has asked for a moment of your time.”

Immediately, my heart is beating in my mouth. “Uh—sure.”

Billy practically shoves me away, murmuring, “Get his permission.”

I follow Yael as she leads me across the room, out into the lobby, and down a hall, wondering if permission is all I’m going to get.



* * *



We walk in silence away from the murmuring crowd and around a corner.

“Is everything okay?” I ask.

“I presume so.”

I have to hand it to Yael. She really is most likely to win Least Amount of Fucks Given at the end of this trip, and it’s hard to not respect a woman who won’t kill herself to make friends in LA. She leads me to a private powder room that seems like it’s used for bridal parties but is otherwise empty. Two walls are lined with vanities and mirrors, and at the back of the room standing facing the door is Alec.

Yael sweeps her arm, gesturing me in, and shuts the door once I cross into the room.

I walk slowly forward, enjoying the view. This close to him, in that suit—I might need smelling salts. “Are you requesting an official LA Times interview?”

“I read the story.”

Drumbeats fill my chest. “And?”

“It’s brutal.” His dark eyes flash with pride. “I forwarded it to Sunny, but I should be able to get you an answer early tomorrow.”

I know that won’t be the news Billy wants, but no one else has Alec’s part of the story, and given that he only decided today to go on the record with it, I can’t exactly rush him. I have to hope Billy can allow the Kim family this courtesy for another twelve hours. “Okay.”

Alec reaches an arm out, pulling me close, spreading his hand over my bare back. I am immediately uncorked. I didn’t realize how carefully I’d been holding myself together until he puts his hands on me.

“You look amazing,” he says.

“So do you.”

He drags his nose along my neck. “This dress.”

“You like?”

“Mm-hmm.” He kisses my jaw. “I’ll let the lack of turtleneck slide this time.”

Something in his voice feels different. Quieter, stiffer. “You okay?” I ask.

Alec pulls away, adjusting his collar. “Who was that man you were with?”

Ah.

“Out there?” I hook a thumb over my shoulder. “That’s Billy. I should introduce you.”

“Sure.” He drags his fingertips possessively along my collarbone. Over my shoulder. His touch teases down the low front of my gown. He directs his question to my cleavage. “He’s your boss?”

“Yes.” I stretch, kissing his chin. “He’s a grouch and a perfectionist and doesn’t need sleep, but he’s great.” I feel the presence of words he’s not saying like an elastic band pulled tighter and tighter. “Alec?”

“Hmm?”

“Am I here because you’re jealous?”

He meets my eyes squarely. “A little bit, I think.”

I can’t help it; I laugh. “Seriously? I’m surprised you even noticed me in the room.”

“I noticed you within about thirty seconds but it took a while for you to look over at me.”

“Not true,” I say. “I saw you the second you walked in with Yael.”

He draws a finger over my bottom lip. “I realized this story is going to get you a lot of attention, and there is a roomful of men out there you might date when I leave.”

Reaching up, I cup his face. Is he serious? I cannot imagine how any other man could measure up now. Before Alec, this kind of connection would have sounded made up, preposterously fictional. Now I worry every morning that this will be the last great romance of my life—extra devastating if it ends in a matter of days. I try to shape these thoughts into words, but I can’t. I am a thin glass vessel, carrying too many volatile emotions inside.

So instead, I fall back on teasing. “How dare you be jealous. Have you seen yourself?”

But Alec doesn’t play along. “Have you?” He grips my shoulders, turning me so I face a mirror.

And my breath feels suctioned from my chest.

We’ve stood side by side at the sink, brushing teeth. We’ve passed the mirror together on our way out of the hotel room, headed in separate directions. Out on the terrace, we are surrounded by gleaming windows; clearly, I know what we look like in a reflection. But here, with both of us dressed completely in black, and with mirrors in front of us and behind us, reflecting a thousand versions of the black-tie couple in smaller and smaller boxes, we’re… so good together. I come up to his shoulder, and his big hand curves possessively around my waist. He’s golden; I’m olive-skinned. His hair is neatly combed off his forehead; mine falls straight and glossy down my back. His eyes are dark and soulful, mine hazel and dancing. Together we are perfect. And for a flash, maybe only a handful of seconds, I know we experience the same thing: we can see ourselves standing side by side in a reeling collection of future moments. Welcoming friends at our front door. Walking through LA with fingers interlinked. Standing at the bedside of a loved one. Standing at the altar.