It was that stupid party Angelo Bronte had invited Dutch to, And Arthur could hardly think of going without you on his arm. So, there you were, sitting next to your ‘date’ in the stage as Dutch and the other men laughed and talked.

“Think of it as.. You’re my lapdog for the night.”

He mocked, his blue eyes scanning your expression as he smirked, raising his brows. All you could think of was how dorky he looked in a fine tailored suit, and you in that just as dandy getup.