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“Let’s find the bar.” Gavin reclaims my hand and leads me through the swell of elegantly dressed men and women. At the far side of the rectangular space, we locate a bar.
“What would you like?” he asks.
“You’re ordering for me?”
“I’m not running the risk that you’ll be drunk under the table before they serve the main course. If I send you to the bar, you’ll order everything on the menu,” he says.
“I would not.”
“Would you like to start with a glass of champagne?”
I nod. The heady confidence that came with his kiss begins to fade. I spot a pair of gentlemen making a beeline for us. One of the men wears a tuxedo coat with tails. But the full evening dress does little for his looks, especially when standing beside his friend. The second gentleman’s blond hair and blue eyes would probably turn more heads even if he was wearing a plain suit. But in a tuxedo, he possesses an I’m-sexy-and-I-know-it look.
Gavin sees Mr. Tails and Mr. Too Sexy For His Tux. He doesn’t steer us out of their path as soon as we have our flutes in hand. Instead, he steps to the side, allowing others to place their orders and waits for the ambush.
Two guys in tuxes is not an ambush.
But I know they are just the first to approach.
“You could kiss me again,” I whisper. “Maybe when we’re done, they’ll go away.”
Gavin takes a sip of his champagne as the ambush gains another member, a slightly older gentleman probably fifteen years our senior.
“We’re going to have to face them at some point,” he says. “I can’t keep kissing you all night.”
“I think it might be the better plan,” I whisper. “You could make out with me and then steal me away to a quiet corridor.”
“Not yet.” He looks down at me, his expression a mask of concern. “But I’ll make sure we take a break before we
sit down to dinner. Fair enough?”
I nod and drain my champagne flute.
“Gavin,” Mr. Too Sexy says once he’s within arm’s reach of us. “I heard a rumor on the squash courts today. You’re getting married?”
“I am.” He places a hand in the small of my back. “Allow me to introduce my fiancée, Kayla Greene. Sweetheart, this is Jack Rosen.”
Gavin nods to the blond ringleader. Then he turns his focus to the other gentleman. He states Mr. Tails name and profession. I play my part, murmuring generic greetings. Before Gavin’s squash buddies—and I use that term loosely as I know Gavin only plays squash to maintain business connections—ask more questions, he launches into an elaborate retelling of our proposal story. I study the other men’s expressions. They are buying every word.
Gradually, I feel my confidence return. Let them judge me if they want. Tonight, I’m the woman who Gavin Black has loved for a long, long time. It just took a gunshot for him to realize it.
The conversation shifts to business, and I excuse myself to order another drink from the bar. I can feel Gavin’s gaze on me as I wait for the server to refill my flute. On my way back to my fiancé’s side, I stop for a few zucchini chips. Then I head back to the group.
A woman, who appears connected to Mr. Tails, has joined the group. I’m steps away when I hear her say in a theatrical whisper, “You are aware of the nastiness that Alexandra is sharing online, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I’m aware. We didn’t end on good terms,” Gavin says. “But I had to follow my heart, even if it meant hurting her feelings.”
The woman nods but remains silent as if waiting for him to reveal more. I take this as my cue to interrupt.
“Sweetheart,” I purr, borrowing his earlier endearment. “We should take a look at the auction before they ask us to take our seats.”
“Not much worth looking at,” the older gentleman says. “A bunch of art this year from painters I’ve never heard of. Modern stuff.”
“I love modern art.” I take Gavin’s hand. “If you’ll excuse us.”
“What do you know about modern art?” he asks once we’re out of earshot.
“Not a thing. I was saving you from a long, painful conversation about your ex.”
