Page 45 of Discretion at Its Finest

“He’s three.”

“I remember those days. I was so tethered to my baby… everything revolved around him. Enjoy him at this age. Mine must’ve hit puberty early because at seven, he’s already too much like his father, too decisive and stubborn already.” She shook her head, and I smiled softly. “It happens in the blink of an eye. One second, they’re attached at the hip. The next, they start pulling away little by little. Wanting to be their own person. It’s terrifying, really… watching them stop needing you in the same way.”

Her voice was calm, but there was a faint edge beneath it. A hollow ache. One I recognized well enough in the absence of Gregory in Eugene’s life and my increasingly busy schedule.

“I feel like I’m already losing time,” I confessed, swirling the champagne in my glass. “I used to be there for every bath, every bedtime. Nowadays… I’m just… slipping in between the cracks.”

“You’ll find your way through. Even if it takes time. They’ll love you even more because you still try.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. The wives to these billionaires and the mothers of their heirs have no choice but to be the glue to it all. God knows these men wouldn’t be able to do it without us.”

“Don’t let them hear you say that,” I said with a small laugh. “If they’re anything alike, their egos won’t tolerate it.”

She grinned, lifting her hand as if zipping her lips and tossing the invisible key. And for a fleeting moment, I felt like I wasn’t the only woman in that room carrying too much. She seemed to carry whatever weight she had on her shoulders better than I did, and I envied her in that moment because of it.

My smile lingered as I tilted my head. “I didn’t catch your name.” Holding my hand out to her, I continued, “I’m Genevieve.”

She looked at my hand for a moment before slipping hers into mine. Her grip was warm, her manicured hands soft but firm.

“Eleanor,” she said, then added with a faint, genuine smile,“Eleanor Russel.”

Chapter nineteen

Reid

Ishould’ve stayed away.

I told myself those same words as I walked down those stairs, away from her tears and away from her hand that burned mine when I touched it. Repeated the lines over and over as her scent filled the car.

Told myself again when I saw her across the ballroom, bathed in low gold light, glass of champagne in hand, smiling with a woman who I’d recognized but whose face I couldn’t put a name to.

But that didn’t matter.

What mattered was her, standing there in one of the dresses I picked specifically for her, the one I touched with my own fingers just hours ago. My eyes fixed on the way it hugged her shape, caressed her body in ways my hands only ached to.

And she wasstillperforming. Still putting on a fabricated smile, still hiding behind her practiced calm like it was her armor.

I hated that she still made my blood burn hotter than anything else in this world. That the sound of her voice made my handstwitch as they remembered the weight of her hips, the way she begged the last time and every time I touched her.

Going over to the bar, I ordered another whiskey on the rocks. It was stronger than my first, but the burn in my chest had nothing to do with the alcohol in my system.

My eyes tracked her across the ballroom despite my mental protests. Just beyond the cluster of socialites and faux philanthropists, she was laughing, the woman she’d been conversing with long gone. In her place was a man. Standing far too close, saying something that made her giggle behind the rim of her champagne glass. Even in the bustling ballroom, I could hear her through the fog. I’d heard that laugh before. It was soft, light… real. It used to be mine.

I clenched my jaw and set the glass down harder than I meant to.

The man’s hand lifted as he spoke, his gestures animated and smug. Trying too hard. Probably some fucking jackass with a half-inflated ego and no idea who he was smiling at.

My fingers curled around the edge of the counter beside me. I didn’t realize how tightly I was gripping it until I felt the ache in my hand.

I wanted to move. Close the distance. Watch him wilt beneath the weight of who I was and who she really belonged to.

But I didn’t.

Every time I let my control slip around her, she found a new way to hate me for it.

And for whatever reason… I needed her to hate me a little less. At least for the night.