Too Much To Hide || EDITING

c.18

      He didn't want to listen to my protests. As much as I refused, he just pretended to have lost his hearing. I exhale a frustrated sigh and run my hands through my hair as I sit in the classic Mercedes, staring out of the tinted window with my arms crossed over my chest.

      "I don't want to—"

      "You have no choice."

      I twist myself in my seat to set my furious gaze on Adrian.

      "I do not want to accompany you to an event where people, presumably like your parents, are going to mingle!"

      "Is that a problem?" He raises a brow.

      Unbelievable. He's already forgotten what happened between me and his parents so quickly. A twinge of hurt stings in my chest. 

      I sigh. "I want to avoid further situations, Adrian."

      Adrian lets out a cold, humourless laugh and cocks his head to look at me. His blue eyes shine with determination and confidence.

      "No one would dare say a word to you in my presence."

      I reel back from his statement. He sounds so... possessive. It sends a soft shudder down my spine but also sets my heart running for the hills. Its beats are so deafening in my hearts, I almost fear that Adrian can hear it.

      Neither of us talk nor attempt to make a conversation, letting the silence engulf us in the backseat of the Benz. This is better than having to deal with my erratic heartbeat and heated cheeks. 

      A while later, our ride pulls over in front of a nicely styled shop with large display windows. It's a boutique, judging by the several dresses put on show. I cannot lie, they all look stunning. All done by hard craftsmanship.

      The door unlocks and I push it open, stepping out onto the pavement. Adrian walks around the back of the car and ends up next to me, signalling a hand to Michael, who stays behind the wheel. With a stiff nod, he rides off, leaving the two of us alone.

      "Shall we?"

      Adrian doesn't wait for an answer and walks up the small steps to the threshold. Scratching my head, I scrunch up my nose stubbornly but follow him up. He holds the door open for me and I walk through, a rush of air conditioning messing up my bangs.

      Pushing away the stray strands, I get an impressive view of the boutique. Mannequins dressed in silk gowns and satin wraps stand nearby racks of frocks. There seems to be one for literally any occasion; there's beach wear, party wear, home wear, night wear—it seems very convenient.

      Adrian gives a knowing nod to a girl behind the cash register, who returns it and ducks into another room. I turn over to him, a troubled look adorning my features.

      "I have a dress, Adrian, I'll just wear that," I mumble, casting wide glances at every dress that catches my eye.

      "I'm sure you would look fantastic in it but we're buying you a new one." He says firmly.

      I can't even appreciate his compliment because of how inferior I feel in this shop. There are other customers here, who look more sophisticated and proper than I do. Here I am, dressed in a normal t-shirt and jeans. Even Adrian looks fancy in his casual attire. Is that just a trait you gain when you're rich?

      "Adrian!"

      The sound of a thick French accent catches my attention as I twist around to see a woman striding over with her arms out. She takes Adrian by the shoulders and kisses both his cheeks politely. God, she's just as tall as him and she isn't even wearing heels.