She gives me a sidelong glance, her lashes lowered, her pretty mouth pursed in thought. “What if there is? Will you get it for me?”
“Of course. What’s the point of having a rich husband if he can’t get you what you want?”
She lifts her eyes, and there’s a ghost of a smile on her lips. “Okay. I’ll let you know.”
* * *
For a charity auction, this event sure drips with money—the white-cloth-covered seats and tables, the glitzy, tuxedoed quartets and the liveried staff circulating around. Balanced on the staff’s hands are trays laden with fancy canapes made with the finest cheese, caviar, cream and crackers, as well as flutes bubbling with priceless champagnes, both golden and rose.
But then, people won’t open their pockets if they don’t think the occasion is special enough. You have to make peoplefeelwealthy in order for them to loosen the fists around their money.
I keep my hand at Grace’s elbow as we walk further inside. Many of the guests here came to our wedding. Their avid gazes follow us; clearly they’re curious how our marriage is going after such an unconventional ceremony. They want to decide if they should ingratiate themselves with Grace, or subtly snub her.
Grace meets their eyes with her chin held high, a small smile on her lips never faltering, like a queen facing down her subjects. My chest puffs with pride at how well she’s handling herself.
Elizabeth comes over, dressed in a chic ivory dress and emeralds. She’s one of a few in the city who set the fashion trends for the old-money elites. The sight of the green stones reminds of the stones I bought…but Grace left at home.
“Welcome. So good to see you. You look amazing! Both of you!” She hugs me and Grace, giving us air kisses. “Marriage suits you. And I love your necklace. So cute!”
“Thank you,” Grace says. I wait, hoping she’ll say more—maybe how it came from her mother, but she doesn’t add anything.
“You did an amazing job,” Elizabeth says before turning to me. “Your wife is a woman of tremendous talent. You should be proud.”
“I am.” I smile. Elizabeth never says anything negative, but she also doesn’t give empty praise.
“Please enjoy yourselves, and I hope you find something you like tonight.”
“I’m sure I will,” I say.
She fleets away to greet another guest. I stop a waiter for a glass of ginger ale for Grace. As the man leaves, my eyes collide with…
What the hell? Is thatAdam?
I squint. The sandy hair, the slightly gloomy look in his eyes—probably from losing the woman he wants to another man—and the pale complexion from spending endless hours in the office without any time off.Yup, it’s him. He’s in a tuxedo, his hair slicked back, sipping champagne. If his eyes weren’t constantly scanning the crowd, and his foot weren’t tapping the floor in anxiety, he might look like he fit in.
He abruptly turns and walks behind a crowd of men and women chatting and laughing.What is he doing here?He doesn’t make enough to be let in. Not on the associate’s salary he earns from Huxley & Webber.
I turn to speak to Grace…but she’s gone.
Chapter Forty-Four
Grace
Pulling Huxley’s head out of his butt is much easier said than done. I was going to tell him about the garnets when he asked me about the emeralds, but his brothers and their wives were around. It would’ve been too much drama to get into it in front of them, especially since they probably have no clue about my conflict with Madison. I prefer to keep that private between me and Huxley. After all, I only want him to realize Madison’s not as innocent as she pretends, not embarrass him in front of his family.
He hasn’t brought up the emeralds again, and he acts like nothing’s wrong. I feel foolish as I stand in the ballroom with his hand at my elbow. How do I casually bring them up? After we’re home, maybe?
I can ask him to help with the necklace clasp and segue into it, mentioning Adam gave me the garnets. Huxley definitely won’t react well. Then I will—as calmly as possible—compare the way he feels to the way I’ve felt every time he’s come home with a whiff of Madison’s nauseating perfume over the last few days.
I asked him to shower each night, and he’s done so without a word. But how could he not know he smells like his assistant when she must be rubbing herself all over him or something to leave her scent on him?
The only reason I haven’t exploded already is that I trust that Huxley isn’t cheating. He not only declared I was his, but hewas adamant thathewasmine, too. And showed it to me in the rawest way possible.
Besides, if he were screwing Madison, he wouldn’t be dumb enough to come home without taking a shower first to erase her scent or any makeup she might’ve left on his skin. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t grate on my nerves. He’s a smart man. How can he not realize what she’s doing? Not even my verbal smackdown at Sebastian Jewelry has put a stop to her behavior. If it had, he wouldn’t have come home smelling like her perfume in her transparent attempt to sow discord.
I don’t want to come across as a nagging or whiny wife by continuing to bring up my issue with Madison when Huxley seems determined to keep his head stuck in the sand. But damn it, Iamhis wife—with certain rights and expectations.
After I give him the taste of what I’ve been feeling the last few days, I’ll make my case that he should get rid of Madison—or at least not work with her so closely if she’s too good to just dismiss outright. I deserve that much consideration from my husband.
