Elina's POV
The grass squished under my heels, soft and traitorous, and I clung to Isaac's arm tighter as that big shot's voice rang in my ears.
“Waddle like that all day, you might as well change into a ball boy uniform." His buddies snickered, their champagne flutes glinting in the sun, and my cheeks burned hot.
I forced a laugh, thin and shaky, but it was like swallowing glass. My dress hugged me too tight, and the six-inch stilettos wobbled with every step. I felt like a doll on display—pretty, useless, sinking.
They were still chuckling, sprawled across the golf course like kings. One—a guy with slicked-back hair and a gold watch—leaned forward, smirking.
“Nice accessory, Castro. Does she fetch your clubs too?"
Another, older, with a cigar pinched between his fingers, nodded
