Chapter 107

Ava

The first thing that I noticed was the bright white light of the cameras: it was practically blinding as Chris and I stepped out of the car. Next, the sounds of hurried voices met my ears, people shouting frantically as though they were in competition for our attention.

“Chris! Over here!”

“Chris! Show us your new girlfriend!”

“Show us your dress!”

“Pose for us!”

I felt like a deer in headlights, my hand instinctively moving up to cover my eyes from the insanity of it all. But before I could, Chris’s steady hand was touching mine and gently lowering it.

Looking up, I was met with those familiar green eyes—like a light in a dizzying storm. Those eyes, combined with that incredibly steady hand of his, were enough to make my heart return to its normal rhythm. Or something close to it, at least.

“Don’t hide that beautiful face of yours,” he said softly.

I nodded stiffly, letting myself bump into him as he pulled me closer along with him. Soon, the cries and shouts of the fans and the paparazzi faded into the distance. It was just us walking up the red carpet and nothing else. For a time, at least.

“Ava! Ava, over here!”

“Ava, who are you wearing tonight?”

I frowned, glancing over at Chris. “They know me already?” I murmured.

Chris shrugged. “People work fast over here when it comes to celebrity gossip. If it makes you feel any better, I’d hedge a bet that most of them are supporters.”

“Oh. Yeah, that helps,” I groaned.

Noticing my trepidation, Chris gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry, Ava; the word won’t make it back to Moonstone. And if it does…”

“I know, I know,” I said softly. “You’ll handle it.”

He shot me a wink. “Just like I always do, huh?”

I didn’t have a retort for that—because he was right. He had handled so much that had been thrown our way already, and he had surprised me every time. Maybe he could handle this, too. Hell, maybe he could handle all of it—the Elders and the blight included.

Wouldn’t that be nice? I thought to myself as we began ascending the steps to the reception hall. Then we wouldn’t have to…

“Darling!”

Chris and I turned at the sound of the familiar voice, and I felt myself let out a breath that I hadn’t realized I had been holding when I saw Ophelia scurrying our way. She was wearing a red tea-length dress and Louboutin heels, her blonde hair coiffed into a signature Marilyn Monroe style. And she still had that little dog tucked under her arm; the dog was wearing a big red bow around her neck and practically seemed to be posing for the cameras herself.

“Ophelia,” I said, taking a step toward her. I let her take my hand as we kissed each other on both cheeks.

“Oh, darling, you look fabulous,” Ophelia said, gesturing to my dress. “Very Audrey Hepburn.”

I snorted. “I was thinking the same thing earlier.”

“What about me?” Chris asked, gesturing to his tuxedo with a smirk and a flourish. “Do I look fabulous?”

Ophelia waved her hand dismissively. “I’m so bored of tuxedos, darling. I do apologize.”

With that, Ophelia looped her arm through mine and we strode inside together. I threw an apologetic glance over my shoulder at Chris, but he just shook his head and laughed before already being pulled away by someone else himself.

When Ophelia and I stepped into the reception hall, I finally felt as if I could breathe. It was still bustling inside, but much calmer with far fewer flashing cameras and no screaming fans. Not yet, at least.

Ophelia instantly led me over to the bar. “Princess needs a drink,” she said, ordering a glass of water. “And you?”

I shook my head. “Maybe after—”

“Nonsense. You look like a deer in headlights.” Ophelia ordered two martinis, and when they arrived, she pressed one into my hand. “Here. A little liquid courage.”

“It isn’t considered rude to beeline for the alcohol at events like this?” I asked, although I was already sipping my martini.

“Heavens, who cares?” Ophelia shrugged, nonchalantly placing Princess on the bar so she could drink her water, completely ignoring the disgruntled bartender in the meantime. She gestured around. “Look at everyone else. Do you see anyone who isn’t pregnant or ancient without a drink in their hands?”

I followed her hand, and saw that she was right; everyone was already sipping at some drink or another.

“It’s how we get through events like this,” Ophelia explained. “A sip here, a sip there—next thing you know, you’re hardly noticing how your behind hurts from sitting in those god-awful folding chairs.”

Nearly snorting into my martini, I simply shook my head and scanned the room for Chris. He was already being swarmed by event staff, who seemed to be ushering him up to the panel. Ophelia, noticing this, picked up her dog and led me toward the seats.

“So,” Ophelia said as we settled in the front row where all of the reserved seats were located, “when can I come and visit your pack? I hear it’s lovely, and frankly, I get so tired of the city.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “You’re welcome to visit anytime, Ophelia,” I said. “Although, my cottage isn’t the most luxurious. But we do have a nice inn—”

“As if I would mind!” Ophelia exclaimed. “Chris tells me that you have a lovely garden, a comfortable couch, and a fully-stocked wine cellar. That’s all I’d ever need, darling.”

“Alright, then,” I laughed, pleasantly surprised by her good attitude. “My couch is yours for the taking, then. And my wine cellar is always open to you—”

“Ladies and gentlemen!” an announcer’s voice cut me off. “If you will all please take your seats, we will be beginning in five minutes!”

“Ah,” Ophelia groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Here we go…”

…

“And you, Mr. Hubbard?” the reporter asked. “What are your thoughts on next season’s advertising campaign?”

The older man in the seat furthest to the left—the eldest member of the bunch, I had surmised—cleared his throat directly into his microphone. “Well, I can’t say I necessarily support PharmaGreen’s initiatives, but…”

I stifled a yawn, chancing a glance over at Ophelia. She was sitting with one arm propped on the arm of her chair, running her gloved hand over her weary face and struggling to keep her eyes open. Princess had moved from her lap into mine, and I was stroking the little dog’s soft white fur more in an attempt to keep myself occupied than anything else.

Meanwhile, the panel was running far overtime. It seemed that this next racing season was full of changes as opposed to the last one, and reporters had come in droves with all kinds of questions for all of the drivers.

Glancing up at Chris, who was seated toward the middle, I felt myself soften a bit. He hadn’t missed a beat all night—never once showing his exhaustion, never giving the wrong answers.

He was every bit the celebrity as he was the Alpha. He spoke so easily in the eye of the public, almost as though it was second nature. I admired that about him, and I knew, as I watched him up there in his tuxedo, that he had made the right decision in staying at Moonstone’s Alpha.

“Thank you, Mr. Hubbard,” the announcer said. “And thank you, Reporter Jenkins. Do we have any other questions?”

The room shifted for a moment, and Ophelia picked her head up and glanced around—her dagger-like eyes daring anyone to ask more questions. I felt my own heart kick up a notch, excited to get up out of this chair. Ophelia had been right in her statement: the chairs were god-awful.

However, it seemed as though there was one more question. One reporter toward the back suddenly stood up, waving his notebook in the air.

“I have a question!” he called out, eliciting a quiet groan from Ophelia.

The microphone was passed to the reporter, and a momentary silence passed as he flipped through his notebook. Then, speaking just a little too closely to the microphone so that feedback rang through the event hall, he said, “This question is for Alpha Chris of Moonstone pack.”

Chris’s head perked up, and so did mine. “I’m all ears,” Chris said easily, his face betraying absolutely none of the annoyance that Ophelia was clearly feeling beside me.

The reporter cleared his throat before speaking.

“Chris, rumor has it that your pack’s precious artifact—the moonstone, I believe?—was recently stolen. Is this a sign that you may not be able to handle the split lifestyle of an Alpha and a NASCAR driver, and that you may need to give up one or the other?”

I felt my stomach knot. Even Ophelia beside me seemed to tense in her chair. Glancing up at Chris, his face seemed to have gone pale.

The event hall was utterly silent.