Page 151 of Top Shelf

Lucian’s mouth curves, and I realize instead of taking in the venue, he’s been studying me. “Attagirl,” he whispers into my ear.

“Ready to head inside?” Ronan asks. His hand settles briefly at the small of my back as we move toward the entrance. Silas walks on my left, his shoulder brushing mine every few steps. Lucian drifts to my right, hands in his pockets.

Inside, the ballroom is exactly what I would expect from a political fundraiser. Expensive flowers. Crystal chandeliers. Waiters with silver trays. People laughing too loudly at jokes that probably aren’t funny. Everyone dressed in black, navy, champagne, and pearl, as if color itself would be considered poor breeding.

My emerald dress suddenly feels louder than it did outside. For one terrible second, I imagine my mother’s expression when she sees it.

“You’re stunning,” Ronan murmurs, as though reading my mind. His mouth twitches as a blush creeps over my cheeks before redirecting his focus. His eyes scan the room with practiced ease. I can almost see him cataloguing donors, exits, his mother’s staff, photographers, possible landmines.

“Incoming,” he warns. I follow his gaze, spotting his mother as she weaves through the crowd in our direction. Ronan’smother is beautiful in the untouchable way political women often are. Perfectly styled hair. Elegant navy gown. Diamonds at her throat. A smile that looks warm from a distance and terrifying up close.

Senator Elise Sterling moves through the crowd like she owns every handshake in the room. For all I know, she does.

“Ronan, darling.” Her voice is smooth enough to frost glass when she stops in front of our little motley group.

Ronan steps forward, polite smile already in place. “Mother.”

She kisses his cheek, then looks past him.

“Miss Winslow,” she says warmly. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you, Senator Sterling.”

“Elise, please.” Her smile holds before she flicks her gaze to the others. “Boys, a pleasure as always.”

Her eyes return to Ronan, and she doesn’t wait for either Lucian or Silas to respond before she says, “Darling, can I borrow you for a moment? I want to introduce you to the Fendleys’ daughter.”

“Mother,” Ronan hisses. “I told you I’m here with Wren. I’m not interested in meeting whatever politically-advantageous match you’ve set up tonight.”

Smiling tightly in my direction, Elise continues to push. “I’m sure Gwendolyn won’t mind, dear.” She looks at me expectantly.

“Oh. Uhh…”

“No, Mother,” Ronan cuts in more firmly this time. “I’m not just here with Wren; I amwithWren. We’re dating.”

Welp. Kill me now. We barely made it ten feet inside the building before the conversation ofhow many men is Wren sleeping withsurfaced.

His mother would look less surprised if her son had just announced he was giving up an NHL career to join the circus.

“You’re—”

“Dating. Yes,” Ronan finishes for her when she seems incapable of vocalizing the word herself.

She allows herself only a moment of shock before she composes herself impressively well. In the blink of an eye, any emotion is wiped from her face, that perfected politician expression sliding into place.

“Dear.” She glances my way before focusing back on her son. “You can’t possibly expect this to last. She’s a Winslow. No offense to your family, dear. I am very good friends with your mother,” she tacks on to me, “but son, you have signed a contract to play for her family’s team in the fall. You can’t possibly think it is acceptable to date the owner’s daughter.”

Ronan’s expression goes glacial. Beside me, Lucian’s jaw flexes hard enough to make me nervous. Silas is unnaturally still.

Three different reactions. One message.

Ronan glances sharply around, his voice surprisingly restrained when he says, “Now isn’t the time or the place to discuss this, Mother.”

“No,” she bites back sharply. “That would have been earlier in the week when I met you to discuss tonight, and all you had to tell me was that you were bringing yourfriendswith you.” She gestures toward Silas and Lucian, who are standing like sentinels on either side of me. Silas’s hand is in mine, which of course his mother doesn’t fail to notice. Along with the fact that Lucian’s arm brushes my shoulder. They are both standing too close to me.

Her eyes narrow to slits, and I can practically see her brain connecting the dots before her eyes go wide.

“Ronan,” she hisses in a tone that is either outrage or disbelief. Most likely a combination of the two. Between gritted teeth, she spits out, “What exactly is the…nature…of your relationship withMiss Winslow?” Her teeth grind, and she blows out a breath before she tacks on, “Please don’t tell me it is what I think it is.” She indicates the three of us.