Belle shakes my friend’s hand. “Yes, and I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”
Clarice throws her head back and laughs. “She’s already got your number, Wick. I’ll catch up with you later. I have some good stories to tell about Wick, but for now, I have to go say hello to a hundred people.”
“You’re welcome to avoid us the rest of the night,” I call after her.
“Would not eventhinkof it,” she sings cheerily.
The warm greeting has put some pink in Belle’s face, so I decide to endure any embarrassing story Clarice may share about me.
“Not so bad,” I say quietly.
“Clarice seems great but look out ahead. The luncheon group is gathering, and they don’t look happy to see us.” Belle nods toward a bevy of ladies that are about to descend on us like a cloud of locusts.
Chapter Twenty-One
ANNABELLE
This is the last thing I want to deal with right now. We barely made it past my sisters without an issue, but I have to say, it felt nice leaving them behind. They’re stuck on the outside peering in. That's exactly how I've felt about my family all my life. It’s usually not in my nature to revel in these things, but my sisters are mean girls. It’s nice to see them get a taste of their own medicine and understand what they put me through.
I glance over to Charles, who is glaring ahead at the women from the luncheon group. Warmth blooms in my chest. He's madder at them than I am. He’s actually mad for me.
No one has ever been protective over me the way he has. As sweet as it is that he's pissed on my behalf, I don't want to cause a scene that could hurt his reputation, but I'm not sure how to stop it. Charles doesn’t look like the type of man to allow any sort of disrespect to slide.
“Charles.” I touch his shoulder. “Should we just go?” This is Clarice’s event, a friend of his, and I don’t want to cause issues for them either. I’m sure we could handle this matter at another time and another place.
“We're not going anywhere.” He turns slightly, his hand cupping my cheek. “Unless that is what you want, but we're not leaving because of them. A bunch of fucking bullies that are about to learn their place.” My eyes widen, not sure what that means fully, but I have an idea. “They all but asked for this.”
I don’t get a chance to respond before he’s pressing his mouth to mine in a deep kiss that makes me momentarily forget about everything else. When he lifts his head and stares down at me with a warm smile, his eyes are soft.
“I take it you’re okay with PDA.” I let out a small laugh.
“Yes, and I want everyone to know who my beautifully brilliant wife is.” He gives me one last kiss before grabbing my hand, then tucking my arm into his, leading me toward the group of elite mean girls whose focus is all on us.
It’s stupid. Why do they care who we are or how we got here? The only reason is because they want to demean others in a twisted way to make themselves feel better about their own lives. Charles gives me a hand-squeeze as we come face-to-face with them.
“What are you two doing here?” Caroline Winthrop snips, her chin held high with confidence and dismissal. I’ll never understand why grown women choose to act this way. Especially toward other women.
“If I were you, Mrs. Winthrop, I'd tread very lightly,” Charles warns. Disgust shows on her face that Charles would dare speak to her.
“Who do you think you are?” She steps closer. I find protectiveness inside of me roaring to life, and I take the same step toward her, making her brows rise in surprise.
“As of this morning, I'm the man who owns the controlling shares of Marbel.”
“What are you talking about?” Her shoulders drop a fraction; that smugness she carries is not so thick.
I don't have a freaking clue what Marbel is, but it’s obvious Caroline does.
“I'm sure you thought tonight might be a bit of a celebration. That hole your husband has been trying to crawl out of is not so bottomless anymore, but I can change that.” Caroline opens and closes her mouth, but no words come out. The ladies around her glance at each other. You can feel the nervous energy that has now taken over among them.
“And, Mrs. Berch. How is your riding coach doing? You were with him just last night.” Panic falls all over her beautiful face.
“Mrs. Timberline.” He swings his attention over to the brunette with stick-straight hair and shiny red lips. “Your husband failed the bar three times.” Charles shakes his head.
“He eventually passed.” Mrs. Timberline says it defiantly, but there is hesitancy to it.
Charles smirks. “But did he?”
The woman swallows.
