Chapter 33: Little Mole
Cora rose from the stool and eyed the neat row of heels the stylist had laid out. “Can I… not wear anything too high? I’m not great in stilettos.”
The stylist produced a pair of white pumps—low slimmer heel, hidden platform, crystal sheen. Cora tried them, paced twice, and nodded. “These.”
Julian was waiting outside. He looked ready to bark, then went still as she stepped out in a white, strapless, cinched-at-the-waist cocktail dress and those soft-glint shoes. For a second his gaze flickered—like he’d seen this exact frame somewhere before.
“Jule, I’m ready. Sorry to keep you.”
He offered his arm. It took her a beat to understand. Then she slipped her hand through, careful, almost reverent. Even in heels she barely reached his jaw. No wonder women swarm him, she thought. The face, the height, the money…
“Walking while daydreaming?” he said without looking over.
“Ah—” She stumbled, nearly turning an ankle. His palm caught her waist. Heat shot through where he touched; she straightened too fast, putting space back between them.
“Sorry. I zoned out.”
She didn’t miss the way his mouth flattened at the distance she reinserted between them.
Austin pulled up in a different car tonight—sleek, winged hood ornament traded for a flying figure. Keys changed hands.
“Get in,” Julian said, cool as glass. “We’re short on time. Tardiness is rude.”
Cora buckled in without argument. The car surged—then, as if he remembered her snapped I’m pregnant from last time, eased to a civilized pace. Neither spoke. He stewed; she stared at the window, mystified by the rules she kept breaking without meaning to.
They reached the venue—a blaze of crystal and murmurs. An usher bowed. “Mr. Watson, we’ve been expecting you.”
“My apologies,” Julian said smoothly. “Traffic.”
He glanced at Cora—still a little wide-eyed—and crooked his arm. She looped in faster this time, hugging close on instinct in a sea of strangers. The tiny shift pleased him enough to erase whatever annoyance was left.
“Relax,” he murmured, feeling the nervous clutch at his elbow. “Crowded rooms mean no one’s looking at you.”
They were. The moment a host boomed, “Mr. Watson! Finally—oh? First time with a date. And this is—” heads snapped their way.
Not looking at me, huh? Cora shot him a wounded glance.
“Cora,” Julian supplied, shaking hands like he owned the room. Cora summoned Aunt Zhang’s crash course smile—eight teeth, warm eyes. “Nice to meet you. I’m Cora.”
“Roy,” the host said, briefly dumbstruck. Freshness wasn’t common here; neither was sincerity.
“Where is everyone?” Julian asked, accepting a highball. “I heard tonight’s guest of honor is a prodigy.”
Roy leaned in. “Waiting outside to greet him. Word is he’s your equal—and he’s backed by two families with very deep pockets. If he sets up shop here, you’ll have a true rival.”
“Good,” Julian said, taking an unbothered sip. “It’s been a while.”
Cora stood, listening to names and numbers blur, feeling the weight of female stares sharpen. Ladies, you’ve got it all wrong, she pleaded silently. I’m not here to compete. Please—take him. Take them all.
And in her head, to Julian: You walking hormone dispenser. Wherever you go, the air gets thick and I get stabbed to death by eye daggers.
He caught the edge of her discomfort and cut Roy short. “Eat,” he told her, steering her to a quiet alcove. “If you aren’t used to this, don’t force it. No alcohol. Easy on the junk.”
She nodded so fast her bun wobbled. Perfect. She armed herself with a plate, a glass of juice, and retreated to the shadow of a potted palm, content to focus on salmon bites and safety.
Across the room, Julian did what he always did—drew a small orbit of men and women as if gravity had opinions. Even so, his gaze kept skipping the surface, searching. Where did she burrow off to?
He spotted her at last: tucked behind greenery, small fork working, eyes bright and blinking at the buffet like it might bite. A laugh ghosted in his chest.
Little mole, he thought. Digs a hole and disappears the second I look away. Those round eyes, that lost expression…
The nickname sat in his mind and, absurdly, suited her. He found himself smiling.