7. Matthias

7

MATTHIAS

T he night before my dad's new wife and her son were due to arrive, I took Zoey out for dinner at Nobu's.

Dressed to the nines in a gorgeous red cocktail dress, Zoey was tall and leggy, with ample assets and pouty lips to draw the eye. Her blond hair glimmered, and I knew she'd look amazing in the photos come tomorrow's celebrity gossip sites.

It wasn't easy to eat our monkfish paté with caviar and carry on a conversation while pretending to ignore the constant flashes of light that came from the restaurant's ocean side. We couldn't even enjoy the sunset with the two paparazzi standing there.

For as long as I lived, I'd never get used to flash photography, but at least I looked presentable in my Tom Ford draped Mikado Cooper suit.

"Thanks for being flexible on our date night, Zoey," I said from across the table. We normally went out on Saturday nights, but tomorrow night was my dad's big celebration.

Zoey was a theater major at UCLA and was, by all appearances, a good actress. But film studios and major directors didn't look twice at a pretty blond when pretty blonds were as plentiful as palm trees in Los Angeles.

But draped on the arm of a billionaire's son, Zoey was able to get her face and name mentioned in the right circles. A few weeks ago she landed a speaking role on a major commercial, so things were looking up for her.

"I hope I'm not so much an ogre that I'd begrudge you for wanting to attend your father's gala celebrating his recent marriage," Zoey said thoughtfully.

If she was disappointed I hadn't invited her to the gala, it didn't show on her expression or her voice.

Not that we were dating dating.

This was business.

"No one in their right mind would think you're an ogre," I said. While Coach Anderson and I butted heads loudly and often, Zoey was, thankfully, not of the same caliber.

After asking for the check, I suggested to Zoey several options for the rest of the evening. A small indie film fest premiere or the usual get-together at The Beverly Hills Hotel? Filipe, while he was being flippant last week, knew me so well.

Joy spread across her face. "I have been meaning to catch Tobias's new film." Her hand slid across the table to take mine. "But I'm happy to go wherever you think best."

A budding actress deserved to be seen at a film premiere.

I smiled at her. "Indie film fest it is."

She nearly squealed, her joy evident before she tamped it down.

"Don't quell your excitement on my account," I said, paying the bill.

"I just don't know how you were able to get tickets on such short notice."

There was no need to inform her that my dad not only helped fund Tobias's film, but he was one of the major sponsors for the film fest itself. All I had to do was ask my dad's assistant to phone the organizers to let them know we'd be there.

Instead I said, "One of my friends already had two tickets and couldn't go."

When we left the restaurant, I clasped Zoey's hand as one grizzly paparazzo asked, "Have a nice dinner, Matthias? Where you headed to next?"

If I were by myself, I would just ignore them, but I knew Zoey would appreciate being mentioned by name.

"Zoey and I are attending the Grand View Indie Film Fest."

Captions for the photos would say something like, "Matthias Vaulteneau and friend Zoey Anderson spotted having romantic dinner at Nobu Malibu."

In the car ride into West Hollywood, Zoey posted updates to her social media accounts. Actress or not, being seen in a cherry-red Ferrari and then stepping out onto a red carpet was a noteworthy event. The valet took the keys and I escorted her down the red carpet, all the while bright flash photography blinded my actual vision.

We paused for a few photos where entertainment reporters asked, "What's your friend's name?" or "Matty, who's your date?" or "Mr. Vaulteneau, is this your girlfriend?" and "Which film are you most excited to see this season?"

I let Zoey answer the last question and she offered such a thoughtful reflection on Tobias's film that it wouldn't surprise me if Entertainment Tonight or TMZ aired her soundbite.

At the end of the date, it was one in the morning when I pulled up to Zoey's sorority house.

Zoey kissed me on the cheek when I brought her to the front door. "Thanks for an amazing evening, Matthias."

"Happy to be of service, Zoey."

She lingered a moment longer, maybe thinking I'd kiss her back, but when several seconds passed by, she murmured a "good night," unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

It was close to two when I finally made it back to the estate, parked the car, and stumbled up to my bedroom in the guesthouse.

Dad's new bride and my stepbrother would be landing in a few short hours. I endeavored to get some sleep in order to make a presentable impression. Not because Ciaran was gorgeous, because he wasn't , but because my dad would expect it of me.

Checking my phone, I read a few texts from friends and one from Dante, in which he asked me to text him my thoughts after meeting Theresa.

Opening Dad's text thread, I clicked on Ciaran's photo to enlarge it. "What are you like?" I stupidly asked the image.

I popped a muscle relaxer and crashed into bed, not even bothering to disrobe. If I ended up dreaming of the guy who was now my stepbrother, I knew I wouldn't remember it in the morning.