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Your Dress Is From The Charity Shop - (13)

Your Dress Is From The Charity Shop.

I'm greeted by blinding lights.

I almost scoff at the cliche of it all, that's what everybody says at their first experience of paparazzi - they're blinded by the flashing lights on all the cameras.

However, there isn't really another way to describe stepping out of the car. They're literally everywhere and are shouting questions at anybody in sight.

Ivan swiftly wraps an arm around my waist and looks at me, his bright blue eyes filled with concern for me. 'Are you okay?' he murmurs quietly, so nobody but I can hear.

I smile easily. 'Of course,' I tell him confidently. I've gotten used to acting; I had plenty of practice at it when I worked at the club. 'Let's go kick some ass.'

He chuckles and relaxes slightly, but doesn't remove his strong arm from around my waist. He turns away from the car, facing the swarming paparazzi.

'Ivan Garth, when was the last time you attended an event with a date?' one loud voice yells out, subsequently triggering many more questions.

'Who is she?'

'Are you finally dating women, Ivan?'

'Where did she come from?'

'What's your name, miss?'

Ivan's grip round my waist only tightens. 'Come on,' he murmurs grimly, his normally light eyes now a much deeper blue. 'Almost there.'

It only then occurs to me that I haven't even thought to look at the building we're about to enter. My fleeting glimpse of it tells me all I need to know. It's an old, Georgian looking mansion. In other words, it's extremely posh.

I hold my head high as the door is opened for us and Ivan steers us inside.

The interior of the place is just as incredible looking as the outside. Massive chandeliers hang from the ceilings, the light dancing in every jewel. Grand paintings adorn the walls, each of them as expensive looking as the last.

I gulp.

This is the world you're entering into, Poppy. You chose it.

I square my shoulders, scanning the hall we're standing in. Right in front of us is a massive spiral staircase, but nobody is anywhere near it. Most people are in the next room, talking animatedly with each other, flutes of champagne clutched tightly in their hands.

I can hear the womens' sophisticated laughter ringing in my ears, taunting me. My laugh doesn't sound anything like that. When I laugh, it's unchecked and loud.

'Are you okay?' Ivan murmurs quietly in my ear, his arm still settled tightly around my waist.

I glance into his still concerned eyes, flashing him my best smile. 'Of course,' I assure him. 'I'm just having a look around. I'd momentarily forgotten you were a rich billionaire.'

'Oh, yeah?' he raises an eyebrow, playing along. 'And why's that?'

I shrug casually, impressed that when we're like this, it seems as though there are only two people in the room. 'I'm not sure. It might be something to do with your scruffy appearance,' I tease him lightly, elbowing his side. 'Your clothes are always so cheap, and do you actually spend money on the things you buy me?'

Ivan winces, his eyes dancing. 'I've been trying to find a way to tell you, baby,' he sighs. 'I just... I was scared that you were going to get really angry when I told you that actually, your dress is from the charity shop down the road. I couldn't afford anything else. I'm sorry,' he hangs his head.