"I never thought I'd see this day," one of the twins says. I make a concerted effort to tell which one he is. Judging by the way he winks, and the cocky smirk, it must be Christopher. I have a fifty percent chance of being right.
"Watch it, Max," Blake warns. Okay, so I failed one hundred percent.
"Clara, please give us the rundown. Is he treating you well? Should we kick his ass?" the actual Christopher asks.
"Or give him pointers?" Max adds.
"Anything you two want to add?" Blake points at Daniel and Logan.
Logan drums his fingers on the table, narrowing his eyes in mock concentration. Then he perks up, as if he has the right answer. "No, I think Max and Christopher about covered the range of scenarios."
Daniel flashes a grin, pointing with his thumb at Logan. "I agree with him."
"I'll have you know he's being a swoon-worthy gentleman."
Logan cocks a brow. Next to me, Blake nods.
"He bought my favorite flowers and planted them on the balcony."
Christopher and Max both feign shock. Teasing is an art in this family. I can only hope I'll be as good one day.
"‘Atta-boy," Logan exclaims.
"I think he's giving all of you a run for your money in the charming department," I add for effect. The brothers look slightly affronted at this, and Blake smiles proudly. Too proudly. Hmm, my wicked side rears its head. Having Blake's back is good. Riling him up is even better.
"But he's also very inappropriate."
He cocks a brow at me. "You'll pay for this."
"I'm looking forward to it."
The four brothers guffaw just as a waiter appears with a tray of glasses filled with a fizzy drink. I take a sip from mine. It's champagne, as I guessed, and it's delicious. As the waiter leaves, the lights turn dimmer, and the screens at the side of the runway light up.
"Where's Sebastian?" I ask.
"See that mirror at the back of the room?" Logan asks. "It's a see-through glass. A room is behind it, and Sebastian watches from there. Too much press around here for him. He did attend at some point, but I swear the reporters have only become nosier over time."
"I can imagine that," I say, my stomach twisting as I remember my conversations with Quentin.
"Ava will be here. She's backstage with Pippa now," Daniel adds.
Everyone sits down, Blake and me included. As an energetic, upbeat song replaces the soft background music, I realize this is the first time we're together in front of the family, or at the very least the brothers (Will's party doesn't count since we were still on shaky ground). But I know how this works. Everyone will know about this by the time the evening ends.
Ava joins us, sitting in one of the two remaining chairs. She grins at me, giving me a thumbs-up.
"How come you're not watching with Sebastian from the back room?" I ask quietly.
"I like to tease him." Even in the dim light, I can tell Ava's blushing. "Besides, I need to concentrate on the show, put out any fires if needed, and Sebastian is very good at distracting me."
"Oh yeah, the Bennett men should come with a warning sign."
When I turn to face the runway, out of the corner of my eye I see Ava furiously typing on her phone. Correction: everyone will know about me being here within an hour.
Blake takes my hand, kisses my knuckles, then puts our interlinked hands on the table as the show starts.
I watch with rapt attention, not wanting to miss one detail. The girls strutting up and down the runway are gorgeous. They're all wearing simple clothes so the jewelry stands out.
I have to admit, I have a hard time seeing the jewelry on the runway, so I glance at the screens often, but many in the audience appear to do the same.
At midpoint, there is a break, and I excuse myself because I desperately need to go to the bathroom. As I walk away, I catch two women sitting a few tables away watching me. They have their heads together, and one is pointing at me, but she quickly withdraws her hand when I look her way. I rack my mind, wondering if I've met them before. Maybe in passing at work? I really can't place them, and considering they pretended to look away when I caught them staring, I don't care about placing them. If people lack manners, I won't spend any of my energy being pissed and annoyed about it.
To my surprise, the toilets are empty. Thank goodness. I practically sprint to a stall.
When I dress up minutes later, I have to rearrange my boobs. It's the type of dress that has the unfortunate tendency of sliding up from too much movement, and now the tight part of the fabric meant to highlight my waist is squishing the underside of my boobs. I remain in the stall, one hand in my neckline, when I hear the bathroom door swing open.