“Thank you,” I croak, clearing my throat and feeling like an idiot.
“Are you all right?” He steps closer, but his presence doesn’t feel threatening. More like protective, what with the look of concern marring his handsome features. His brows are drawn downward and a lock of golden-brown hair hangs over his forehead.
That I have the sudden urge to push the hair away from his face and test its softness is … crazy.
“I’m fine.” I offer him a shaky smile, which only makes him frown deeper. “Did you know him?”
“Never seen him before in my life. But a lot of assholes come to these parties. Cannes is full of them,” he says, sounding disgusted.
I want to laugh. My savior has no problem being crude and I can appreciate it. At least what he says is real. Most of the people I encounter speak carefully, as if they’re afraid they’ll somehow offend me.
“Thank you for scaring him away.” I absently rub at my arm, glancing down to see the imprint of the man’s fingers glaring red on my skin.
“He marked you.” He grabs hold of me, his large hand engulfing mine as he holds my arm out to inspect it. His jaw goes tight and he lifts his head, scanning the room with ruthless efficiency. “I should kick the shit out of him.”
“It’s no big deal.” My heart is all fluttery at the protective streak this man is displaying and I tell myself to get over it. “It’s already starting to fade. See?”
Slowly he tilts his head down, his lips parting as he examines my arm. He releases my hand, his thumb smoothing lightly over the imprints, causing gooseflesh to follow in the wake of his touch. “Does it hurt?”
“No.” I shake my head, watching in fascination as he continues to touch me. His hand is so large, his skin tanned and the pad of his thumb rough. I can’t help but wonder at the difference between the two men. Both of them strangers, yet my reaction to each is so completely different.
“Good,” he says gruffly, though I can tell he’s not satisfied with my answer. His hand drops away from my arm and I wonder for a moment if he’s going to take off after my so-called assailant, but he remains rooted in place, standing next to me as if he were put on this earth to be my protector for the evening. “Want a drink?”
“Oh, please.” Before I can tell him what I want, he walks away without another word, his broad-shouldered body cutting a swath through the crowd, and they all part for him obediently. He’s a head taller than the majority of the people in the room, so it’s not difficult to keep tabs on him as he strides toward the bar across the way.
He doesn’t smile at a soul, doesn’t stop to make pleasant conversation with anyone, either.
I’m completely fascinated.
“Who’s the guy?” Violet magically appears at my side, her gaze dropping to my dress, pointedly taking in the slits in my skirt, my thighs playing peek-a-boo whenever I move. “Did you draw him in with the dress or what?”
“Not everyone is as scandalized with the dress as you are,” I mutter, irritated that she’s ruining my mood. Violet and I are usually on the same side about everything, but the moment I made my appearance at Daddy’s suite before we all went to the premiere together, I knew she wasn’t happy with my choice of attire.
And that hurt, despite my brave face and carefree attitude. I blame it on the fact that she’s always had a motherly, almost protective attitude toward me. Daddy didn’t like the dress, either, but that’s no surprise. Ryder gave me a high-five with a wicked grin on his face before we left the suite, and I appreciated that. Clung to his approval like some sort of anchor that was saving me from drowning. I needed any show of support to get through tonight.
You did this to yourself. The only one you have to blame is … you.
That naggy little voice inside my head needs to shut up.
“Can I be honest with you?” Violet turns to face me, her expression somber, warning me I’m not going to want to hear what she has to say.
I barely withhold the sigh that wants to escape when I answer, “Go for it.”
“You’re reminding me of Lily.” She wrinkles her nose, looking both cute and disgusted. That’s the ultimate low blow, saying I remind her of Lily. I feel like she stabbed me right in the heart. “The flashy outfit, the necklace. Did you know Grandma was going to let you wear it tonight?”
Ah, is that what this is about? That Grandma let me wear the necklace and not her? Maybe it was stupid, wearing such a dress. The press had shouted at me continuously as we posed on the red carpet. Asking me who designed it, where was Lily, since when did I get so bold. Hardly any of them asked about the necklace.
I wonder if that made Grandma mad.
“No, I didn’t,” I answer. “She brought it to me about a half hour before we all met. I had no idea she had it with her.”
“She mentioned to me she was going to bring it to Cannes a while ago. But I figured she would want Lily to wear it. Since she’s not here …” Violet’s voice trails off.
“You’re right, she did want Lily to wear it. She also said I reminded her most of Poppy.” I absently drift my fingers across the stones, my thumb smoothing over the largest one set in the center. “So she let me wear it tonight. Said you didn’t need to because you already have your big diamond on your finger.”
Violet immediately holds her hand out, the diamond catching the light just right and making it sparkle. A little smile curls her lips as she stares at it. “She’s probably right.”
“I know,” I say dryly, my gaze snagging on my savior, who’s still waiting in line at the bar. His shoulders are terribly broad and he’s so tall. His hair is longish in the back, in dire need of a trim, and he reaches back at the exact moment the thought passes through my mind, scratching at his nape absently before he turns, his gaze meeting mine all the way across the room.