Chapter 2
“Doesn’t the time fly,” Julian said softly. “You’ve done so much to take care of me over the years. I’m sure it’s a shock to us both to realize that as of four days ago, for the first time in my life, I am in complete control of my own money and my own decisions.” You have no power over me now. You can’t hurt me. Wishful thinking, but he could make it true, couldn’t he? “I’ll be making some changes,” he said, hoping his voice wasn’t shaking, “to how I do things.”
For the space of a breath, Uncle’s expression was something very ugly indeed. Then he blinked, and the usual genial mask settled over his face.
“We’ll discuss the role tomorrow,” he said blithely, as if Julian had never spoken at all.
No. Frustration and panic welled up under Julian’s skin. You don’t get to disregard me anymore. You don’t get to will reality into your mold.
“Don’t worry about it now,” Uncle continued. “It won’t do to walk into the Constellation Gala looking as if we’ve been quarreling. The last thing you need is another public argument, after all.” He sighed heavily. “I hope you understand, Julian, that however much we disagree, I have only your best interests at heart.” He reached over and squeezed Julian’s knee.
It was hard to describe the white-out scream that flashed across Julian’s senses.
No.
He opened the car door behind him, half-fell out onto the sidewalk, and slammed the door on his uncle’s shocked face.
The light had changed, and the limo pulled away before Uncle could come after him. Julian gulped air, rubbed shaking hands against his trouser legs, and began walking in the other direction.
* * * *
It was probably rude for Rafi to be on the phone while Jean-Paul Caron, the renowned French designer, got him dressed for the Gala, but Rafi needed the emotional support.
“You’re a big boy,” said Amber Hernandez, manager and best friend extraordinaire, her voice on the speakerphone echoing slightly throughout the shiny hotel dressing room. “You can do this.”
“But they’re going to be there,” Rafi said, the words a growl between clenched teeth. He raised his arms obediently so Jean-Paul’s scurrying staff could get his shirt off.
“Yep,” Amber said, “and if they have the balls to show up, you’d better have ‘em too.”
Rafi groaned. “I wish you were going with me.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t pay absurd and irresponsible amounts of money to get in, and I’m pretty sure that as your mere manager I wouldn’t be cool enough to rate a ticket anyway.”
The stylists heaved a cloak onto his shoulders, massive with grey fur, and buckled it there with leather straps across his bare chest. Rafi jumped a little as Jean-Paul began dusting the exposed skin with powder. “Stop tickling my nipple!”
“Is this a bad time?” Amber said dryly.
“I wish.”
“We don’t want you looking washed out for the cameras, Ralph,” Jean-Paul said cheerfully
“It’s Rafi. And that’s not usually a problem with my skin tone.” Rafi sighed, seeing Jean-Paul’s minions approaching with combs and spray cans. “I should put those gold contact lenses in before you get to work on my hair. Amber?”
“Text me when you get home and we’ll overanalyze everything your evil ex and douchebag brother say to you tonight.”
“You’re a pal,” Rafi said, and tapped to hang up the phone.
He stood before one of the dressing room’s many mirrors, once his costume was finally complete, and considered the effect. Maybe costume was the wrong word, but the Constellation Gala at the Aiden Planetarium had become the place to cut loose with wild fashion, and Rafi’s outfit was going to be one of the wildest. Games of Thrones with a splash of BDSM.
The theme of the Gala this year was the constellation Leo, King of Beasts, which everyone was taking as an excuse to dress up as animals. He had chosen a wolf, which Jean-Paul had pulled a lot of medieval knight ideas into, built around the bare chest as an exposure of the beast within, or something like that. He usually had to read the magazines’ analyses of his stylist’s work the next day to really understand it, but he liked the effect anyway.
It was going to be the devil to drive in, Rafi thought as he disentangled himself from Jean-Paul and called for the hotel to bring his car around. Most people would be arriving at the Gala in the backs of limousines, but he wasn’t about to hitch a ride with Bo and Carlos in the one they’d scheduled as a group, and anyway the Planetarium was only a few blocks from his hotel. There’d be valet parking, surely.