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“How long before she figures out what a selfish asshole you are? You think getting married is going to make anyone believe you’ve changed?” She smirked. “Not likely, Satan. Probably not ever.”
Bile rose up my throat as I watched her walk away, back to the poor son of a bitch who had married her. Pushing off the marble column, I headed across the room. Sydney stood next to her assistant and a tall Asian guy with tattoos on his neck barely hidden under a royal blue suit that looked straight off the runway. Our eyes met and she turned her back to me, exposing an abundance of naked flesh from the waist up. I nearly ran face-first into a group of people. It brought a smile to my face. As much as she fought it, the ice princess had a thing for me. Good. Because I had a thing for her too.
Chapter Thirteen
Sydney
A heavy arm landed around my shoulders. Scott pulled me close while I pushed him away, struggling to put space between us. Eventually, I had to give up or risk making a scene.
“Miller, right?” Scott said, thrusting out a hand. “Good to see you again.”
“Really?” Miller said, tone dry, expression more than a lot suspicious. Meanwhile, I chewed on my bottom lip to school a smile. Last thing I wanted to do was encourage Scott to do…whatever he was doing.
“Yes, really.” Scott’s outstretched hand shifted to Paul who stood next to Miller. “Scott Blackstone, Sydney’s husband.”
Miller’s hazel eyes narrowed as he scrutinized my husband. He wasn’t buying the husband-of-the-year act for a minute and looked like he was seconds from calling Scott out. I shot him a don’t even think about it glare. Every member of the board of directors was here and watching us closely. Meanwhile, Paul smiled, amused by Scott.
“Paul Smith, Miller’s husband.” Paul shook his hand.
“You guys mind if I steal my wife away?” It wasn’t a question. Scott intended to do whatever the hell he wanted (as he always did) and we all knew it. “We have something to discuss.”
“We have nothing to discuss.”
“Of course we do, Sunshine. Like…what the names of our five little Blackstones will be. I’m drawing the line at Thanos, so don’t get any ideas.”
Obligatory eye roll coming. And yet if I wasn’t still smarting from his mistreatment of me, I’d probably be hiding a conspiratorial smile. “You’re in luck then because there won’t be any little Blackstones––”
“Fine. Evans-Blackstones. You feminists and your labels.” He smiled, one of his pregnancy-inducing, dimpled ones, and I’m sorry to say that I succumbed like all the rest. I felt it between my legs and just about everywhere else, which then earned him a jab to the ribs. The grunt that came out of him was equally satisfying.
“Nice to meet you, Paul. Excuse us, guys,” Scott said as he began to tug me away.
“Only if you return her unharmed,” Miller shot back, all pretense of humor gone.
It sucked all the fun out of the last exchange. I watched Scott sober immediately, his face shifting to his customary default neutral. “Promise,” he replied, as serious as I’d ever heard him sound. Then he guided me away.
“Ladies and gentlemen––” Frank’s voice rose over the din of the crowd, the sound resonating against the marble walls, the shrill of an amplifier at the tail end of it. The announcement stopped us in our tracks.
Standing in the middle of the dance floor in a crisp tux, holding a mic in one hand and the opposite arm wrapped around Marjorie’s slender shoulders, Frank looked larger than life––like the magnate he was.
“Thank you all for coming to help celebrate something I never thought to witness in my lifetime…my impending retirement.” Chuckles from the gallery. “Oh, and some of you may have heard that my son’s a married man.” The band hit the punchline with a drum roll and Frank smiled broadly. “He married one of my favorite people in the world.” Gaze searching, the crowd parted and he found me. Our eyes locked. That’s when I understood what he was silently imploring…you promised. He raised his champagne flute and nodded.
“Raise your glasses, folks. I paid a mint for the Cristal so let’s not let it go to waste…” Everyone obediently acted in accordance. “To Scott and Sydney.”
“To Scott and Sydney,” all three hundred (give or take) people in attendance joined in. Everyone other than me and Scott.
“May you have as happy a marriage as Midge and I have had.”
I felt like a fraud, my conscience dragging me down, and gave Frank a wobbly smile. I could feel Scott’s attention on me, searing the side of my face, and glanced up to find a speculative look on his. I was the last person on the planet to get weepy and right now I was near to crying, something I hadn’t done in decades. Over a fake marriage I wanted less and less to be a part of? It didn’t take a genius to sense that something felt seriously off. It wasn’t adding up for him and I could see he was working hard to figure it out. It was only a matter of time before he did.
