Page 93 of Pucking Daddy

You've got this. Call me after.

I type back a quick heart emoji, then set the phone down.

My brother's worry has been a constant hum in my ear since the scandal broke, but tonight I cannot afford distraction. Tonight, I have to be seamless.

I check my reflection one final time.

My hair is pinned up, soft strands escaping to frame my face.

Makeup that somehow makes me look both natural and polished—a trick I learned from a YouTube tutorial at two in the morning when sleep refused to come.

The silver heart pendant from Danny rests at my throat. Not too casual. Not something I’d ever leave behind.

One deep breath. Then another.

You've handled worse than rich people and champagne, I tell myself. You've handled five-year-old twins with the stomach flu. You've handled rich employers who timed your bathroom breaks.

This is just another kind of performance.

I descend the stairs, my borrowed heels clicking against the hardwood with each step.

Jaxon stands in the foyer, adjusting his cufflinks, and when he looks up—

He goes still.

Not the polite stillness of someone waiting. The kind that looks like he’s forgotten how to move.

Or is he just acting?

Heat creeps up my neck, and I try to hide my confusion.

His reaction says I’m the sexiest woman he’s ever seen—but what does he actually think?

I’ll admit, I do feel beautiful in this dress.

But I remind myself this is all fake. The dress. The gala. The way he’s looking at me like I’ve knocked the breath clean out of him.

Then I really look at him—and my mouth goes dry.

The tux fits him like it was made for him, emphasizing broad shoulders and the lean strength underneath. His hair is styled for once, not pushed back with impatient fingers, and he’s shaved, revealing the sharp line of his jaw.

He looks like he belongs on the cover of a magazine.

When he catches my wrist, something flutters low in my stomach.

But Lily’s voice cuts through the moment, and just like that, we’re moving again—slipping into the waiting car that will take us to the gala.

The Grand Meridian Hotel blazes with light, every window glowing gold against the dark sky. Town cars line the curved driveway, disgorging couples in designer gowns and tailored suits.

Camera flashes explode like fireworks as photographers jockey for position behind velvet ropes.

"Remember," Jaxon murmurs as our car approaches the drop-off point, "Simone will intercept anyone too aggressive. Stay close to me. If someone asks about the wedding, we're planning a small, private ceremony."

"Got it." My hands are steady in my lap, but my stomach churns. "Smile, deflect, don't mention the custody case."

"And if someone brings up Rachel—"

"I've never met her. I have nothing but respect for Lily's mother. Next question."