I had never been to a charity dinner-thingy, so my only preparations were based on prejudice. Swedes paid their taxes and let the government distribute money to those who needed it. Sometimes we placed a coin or two in a beggar's cup or for a good cause, but charities like the ones in the US simply didn't happen on the regular. You could go a lifetime without attending one and no one would frown.

"Stop tapping your fingers." Chris gripped my hand and pinned it to the leather seat.

We battled for a while, but his hold wouldn't budge. I slumped back against the car seat and stared through the opaque privacy screen. "But I'm nervous."

"I'm sure Tom wouldn't mind dropping you off."

I gave Chris a flat stare—one meant to shut him up for the rest of the night. He'd dropped several hints of my blatant attraction, making more than enough fun of me. I hadn't acknowledged a single thing, of course, but he saw right through me.

"You've promised to introduce me to your boyfriend for ages now. Tonight it's happening." At least I could use that as a perfectly viable reason for wanting to tag along. It wasn't untrue. Chris had mentioned Dante too many times to count—almost to the point where I practically knew the guy. If Dante was half the man Chris made him out to be, he was worth a few seconds of my precious time. Apparently Dante would be around for a bit between tour dates, so maybe we would finally get the chance to know each other.

"You'll meet him, don't worry."

"I'm not worried. I'm never worried. That shit gives you wrinkles." I snatched my hand from his grip while he was distracted—thinking about Dante most likely. Chris always got this dreamy look in his eyes when he mentioned his boyfriend. It was rather cute, and I couldn't wait to see them together.

"Then stop fidgeting with your bow-tie. You're making me nervous."

Letting my hands drop to my knee, I made a conscious effort to look unaffected. I had taken plenty of acting classes in Sweden. In fact, acting was one of my secret weapons. No one on this side of the Atlantic knew of my talents, and until I actually made an effort to score a role, I would stay silent. Failed attempts were embarrassing.

I put on my best face and smiled. "I'm a cool bean."

"Jeez, you pick up the weirdest expressions." Chris checked something on his phone as if he were done with our discussion.

I was about to say something when the car slowed to a smooth stop. Tom sure knew how to drive a car, and hopefully he knew how to handle other kinds of rides. Perhaps it was time to stop my seriously stalkerish thoughts, but I was having too much fun, and besides, I didn't really mean anything by it.

Peering out the window, I caught sight of a massive entrance with pillars and everything. A red carpet lay snug on the steps, surrounded by white fences. Flashes went off in quick succession as a couple ascended the steps.

"Chris..." I couldn't stop staring.

"Yeah."

"What the hell. You didn't tell me there'd be photographers and shit."

He shook with compressed laughter. "Guess I forgot."

My palm landed with a slap on his upper arm. "Forgot? Right."

"Hey, you wanted to join. I got you a ticket. Wouldn't hurt you to be grateful for a change. Besides, you're pretty enough for the cameras."

I gave him another flat stare. "Of course I am."

A guy dressed to the nines opened the car door for me, and for a moment I could only gawk. The bell boy wore a better suit than I did—not fair. Swallowing my doubts, I got out and tried to feel as cool as I looked. If I were to embody the suave, young heir with his pockets full of money, the least I could do was ignore the cameras with the right kind of self-assured indifference.

Chris stepped to my side, tense from head to toe.

"So, you brought me to hold your hand?" I taunted.

The look he threw me was enough to silence the rest of my speech. He was actually nervous, and a friend didn't make fun of a friend when the stakes were high.

"Are we going inside?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"So, Tom isn't coming?" It was silly of me to assume that the chauffeur would join us, but to my surprise Chris actually nodded.

"He's getting Lara and Dante from rehearsals. They'll join us."

Chris was shaking at the knees, so I decided to make some small talk while subtly steering him up the steps. "Lara is his manager, right?"

"I must have told you a hundred times already." He flinched as a flash went off right beside us.

"Well, keep talking." We continued to walk past the crowd of photographers. At least none of the journalists tried to coax some kind of statement out of us. That would have been awkward since I didn't even know what this charity was for. Hopefully for a worthy cause—but not too worthy since I didn't have any cash to spare.

Chris sped up. "Lara is Dante's sponsor, but I think she's more like a second mother or something, or maybe his only mother since his real one is a total bitch."

I didn't remind him of the fact that one or two keen ears might have heard that. Glancing at the row of people behind the fence, I saw none who looked at us with any interest. I was almost offended. Sure, we weren't famous, but we were definitely way hotter than the others around us. Two fine specimen who would grace any event we attended. These photographers had no taste, obviously.

The tall double doors stood wide open and a hostess greeted us with a sickly sweet smile. "Welcome gentlemen."

Chris dug through his pocket and managed to find a piece of thick paper with lots of golden swirls. He gave her the invitation and pointed at me. "He's my plus one."

Her eyelashes fluttered with uncertainty, but her lapse didn't last for more than a second. "Of course, Mr Heron. You'll find refreshments and beverages in the blue room."

Two steps later, I couldn't hold my tongue anymore. "Seriously? You took Dante's ticket? Are we sneaking in?" I loved breaking the rules. This was shaping up to be a fun night already.

"Yeah, it was the only way to get you in." Chris appeared a bit more bothered about the situation. Maybe that was the reason he'd been nervous. Poor guy. He was too nice.

Candles flickered along the walls, and it struck me as odd to have candles displayed in the middle of summer. Hopefully they had some decent air conditioning, otherwise I'd be flushed from the heat in no time. Women had it easy in their gowns compared to us. Suits were inconvenient attire when the temperature rose above 20 degrees. Yes, I still counted everything in Celsius. Fahrenheit was complete bollocks and made no sense whatsoever.

"I hate arriving before Dante," Chris said, wiping his palms against the black fabric of his suit.

"Hate is such a strong word. There should never be hate. Hate is foul. Come on, let's get a drink." Under different circumstances, I would have slung my arm around his back, but I had a feeling that wouldn't be appreciated among this posh crowd. I had seen a couple of upturned noses already. Given a drink or two, I'd be more inclined to make fun of them for real.

"You're one to talk. Your rants are renowned."

"I only rant about unimportant things. There's a difference. Like, of course I'm allowed to hate that Americans can't make proper pancakes."

The room we entered was definitely the blue room. The pastel blue walls and light silk curtains gave off a classy vibe, accentuated with golden ornaments and crystal chandeliers. Tender tones of classical music played in the background, setting the stage for the finely dressed ladies and gentlemen who held their backs straight, not one hair out of place.

Sometime later, a waiter walked by with a tray, stopping to hand us two glasses of sparkling wine. Perhaps it was real champagne considering the sheer ostentatiousness of this place and its guests. Grinning at Chris, I downed the wine in one go. Someone had to fire up this party.

"Dude, you're not supposed to do that."

The waiter hadn't gone far, so instead of replying, I caught up with the guy, winked and stole another glass. I received a surprised stare in response which quickly morphed into amusement. The guy had nice eyes, but he wasn't my type. His mouth was a bit pinched as if he pursed his lips too often. I recalled a British saying about having a stiff upper lip. The thought almost made me laugh out loud. Some expressions were silly and made little sense.

We loitered around the other guests, sipping drinks and talking shit while we waited.

"My aunt would freak out if I brought her to something like this," I said. Helena had always wanted to use the only expensive designer gown she owned. I wasn't even sure why she had it. Perhaps she'd been at a fancy wedding sometime before I moved in with them.

"Next time she can have my ticket," Chris replied.

"Sure. Are you paying for her flight as well?"

"You can pay for her flight."

"Like hell I can. I don't have enough money to feed myself."

"That's because you're spending all your money on clothes."

"Well, duh, I have to buy new ones because I keep shrinking."

"There, there." Chris patted my shoulder, wearing a smirk which revealed that he didn't feel sorry for me at all. It was a good thing he understood when I was joking. It might have turned uncomfortable otherwise.

"I'll tell Dante he has a very unsympathetic boyfriend."

Chris only smiled. "They should be here soon." He had barely finished the sentence when an even wider grin split his face. He disappeared in a flash, walking toward a guy that would have made me turn my head, not once, but twice. Go Chris, I mouthed in silence. Hot boyfriend alert.

I had seen plenty of pictures of Dante, but they somehow failed to capture all facets of him. He was taller than Chris, commanding a certain energy that was difficult to describe, and his dark hair and pale eyes stood in such remarkable contrast that I wondered if he wore some kind of colored contacts. Chris waved at me to join them.

"I've told you about Joachim," he said to Dante, his eyes warm with affection.

Dante offered his hand. "It's nice to meet you."

"Good to see you too. Chris has told me everything." I glanced at Chris and caught his shocked expression. Dante took it in stride, however.

"Chris says you're from Stockholm." His gaze was oddly intense as if the question held a lot more than it actually did—some kind of hidden meaning perhaps. I wondered what it was.

"Yeah. I'm from Stockholm."

"It's a nice place. Nicer than here."

This time, I definitely caught a deeper meaning. He was asking something without asking. "Guess all cities lose their appeal after a while."

Dante let out a soft 'hmm' which woke up his boyfriend. Chris turned to me with interest. "You actually never told us why you came over here."

"Boring topic and not fit for a fabulous night such as this." I raised my glass. "I mean, I hope there will be dancing, otherwise you've totally ruined my night again, Chris."

"You wanted to come, remember?"

I waved off his statement. "Nonsense. You tricked me into coming, and we both know it. Now it's up to you to show me a good time."

He knew I wasn't serious, and apparently Dante picked up on that as well. Both of them were smiling and finally raised their glasses to drink. While they were distracted I stole another glance at the doorway, getting slightly impatient and worried that Tom had decided to stay in the car all night. That would be a real bummer.

My mouth fizzled with bubbles when suddenly I forgot how to swallow. Tom made his entrance—and what an entrance it was. Perhaps no one else noticed, but Tom stood his ground among these suits even though I was pretty sure his yearly salary paled in comparison to their monthly ones. Not that I cared about money. Finding some kind of sugar daddy was at the bottom of my list. Besides, hot stuff was sugar with or without money in the bank.

Damn, he's hot.

He strode toward us, and in a rare bout of insecurity, I decided that the painting on the wall was the most interesting piece of art in the entire world. It showed a bland landscape dotted with blue flowers.

"You're not rid of him yet?" Tom said, arching an eyebrow. Okay, maybe I was looking.

Chris' gaze traveled between me and Tom. "No. We're stuck with him for tonight."

"I'm not babysitting."

I gasped. "I'm older than Chris." I'd never been more offended in my life. Okay, maybe that was a lie—but still. Chris and Dante didn't seem to care. They were smiling like the idiots they were.

Chris patted my shoulder. "Don't mind him. He's like that. And he doesn't really mean it."

"Of course I mean it," Tom replied, but there was this slight lilt in his voice that told me otherwise.

Sarcasm. Hah! I knew that language.

"Well, don't worry, Daddy. I'll stay out of trouble."

I think Chris choked on his wine while Dante regarded me with renewed interest. Tom, however, snatched a glass from a passing tray.

"I'm not driving tonight," he said and took a long gulp.

"You want to explain that to Lara?" Chris asked.

The killer gaze would have made my knees weak if it had been directed at me. "Fine," Tom said and gave the glass to me.

I stared at his retreating back, wondering if I was supposed to feel like a server. I sipped the drink anyway, smiling as it burned down my throat.

A/N I love fan art!!! Thank you Anonymous78912 you're a genius <3 

Keem 'em coming folks! I usually post them on here as well as my Facebook page (you should totally check it out, btw) and occasionally my forgotten homepage (where you can subscribe to get important news and stuff).

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