The Billionaire And The Waitress (gxg)

18 - an experience

CHURCH was an experience.

    For starters, it was an exclusive church. Only the rich could get in. Probably because they had funded its construction, brick by luxurious brick. The ceilings stretched so high they might as well have broken the very plane of existence on which the clouds touched, and natural light streamed through the stained glass windows―a waterfall of soft, shimmering, rainbow colour. 

    Muse had never been religious, but she felt reverent now.

    Her and Adrien had decided to hold hands for their first real public appearance. She squeezed Adrien's as they walked through the tall, glossy church doors. She refused to let go, even though it meant awkwardly shifting her purse so she could make a cross on her forehead with holy water. 

     Once Adrien had done the same, Muse tugged a little on Adrien. Adrien leaned down, and Muse whispered, "No flames yet."

     Adrien smirked, her lips a breath away from Muse's cheek. Something in Muse's chest tightened, unbearable. She wanted to turn her head, just a bit, and feel that smirk against her own lips. But this was church. And they were surrounded by rich people, impeccably dressed, with proud stares and stiff shoulders. Hand-holding was acceptable―that was the line drawn. If they kissed now, Muse bet they would whip out the pitch forks and start hissing.

      She was still tempted anyway.

      It's just the nerves, she told herself, as Adrien led her towards a pew in the middle. They would be seen from all angles here. A soft launch of their new relationship, their future marriage. 

      "Muse!" 

      Muse turned, squeezing Adrien's hand again. Grey Hansen had called out to her, tall and booming, dressed in a midnight blue suit. He gave her a swift up-and-down, and she was reminded again of what she was wearing: a turtle-necked, knee-length cream dress. She'd thought it was ridiculous at first, but Adrien had asked her how she managed to make everything look beautiful. Now, she didn't really mind it. 

       Adrien, next to her, was dressed similarly. She had on a suit, with a high collar and a cream tie to match Muse.

      "Grey, it's nice to see you," said Muse. It was not.

      "Excuse me for a second," said Adrien to Muse and Grey. To Muse, she whispered, "There's my father. Let me deal with him. I don't want him to come close to you. As long as he sees you here, though, I think he'll let it be."

      Muse did not want to be abandoned, but Adrien let go of her hand and she had no choice. At least she wouldn't have to talk to Julien, who had implied she was a trashy whore. But was that worth losing Adrien?

     Forced to make small talk with Grey, who was the only other person she knew here, Muse asked, "How are you?"

      "Yes, yes," he said distractedly. "Oh. This is my wife, Sherry." And he pulled from within the crowd a woman with brown skin and sleek hair, her smile subdued, eyes exhausted. She had one hand on her stomach, which was swollen with what had to be at least six months of pregnancy. She had obviously been mid-conversation with a friend, but Grey didn't acknowledge it. He only wrapped a possessive arm around her and grinned. "Sherry, honey, this is Muse . . . um, sorry, what was your last name?"

      "Gardner."

      "Ah, yes." Grey grinned again, teeth dazzlingly white. His auburn locks had been swept to the side, like the last time Muse had met him―only this time, he had used enough gel to cast a reflection on the artful wave of his hair. "Muse Gardner. She's here with Julien's daughter."