Page 139 of Unbreakable Thread

She rolls her eyes. “No one.” But there is a glint in them, traveling around the ballroom. No doubt, finding the man who walked out on her. She didn’t say much when she and I went to get our hair and nails done. She just said she gave him some words and walked off at dinner.

I hum, taking the glass of water from the server. The cold, icy water trickles down my throat, calming my nerves, though I don’t know why. My grandma was a superstitious woman. From what I can remember, she was a big believer in listening to her gut instincts. Maybe I should. My nerves ball in the pit of my stomach.

Xander saunters over next. He carries himself with practiced nonchalance, but something lurks beneath the surface. Those familiar with him recognize the predatory edge to his smile, the way it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His smile is not for Lana; it’s for Toby.

A dangerous smile.

“How are you feeling?” Max asks, rubbing my belly.

“Better.” I do feel much better. Maybe it’s the anxiousness of the loud music and crowds.

His hand slides down to my thigh. He squeezes gently. “Good. If you don’t feel well, we can leave.”

I give him a nod and turn to Lana. “Thank you for assisting Max and helping him find someone to hire to decorate.”

She takes my hand, staring at the engagement ring. “It’s a beautiful ring. I’m so happy for you two.”

Ten servers in crisp white shirts and black aprons emerge from the swinging kitchen doors in perfect synchrony, each balancing oval trays laden with steaming plates. They fluidly move between tables with practiced precision, bending at the waist to deliver aromatic dishes that leave trails of savory scent in their wake.

“They’re serving dinner first, then the fights start.” Max points to two rings in the far corner I hadn’t noticed. “It’s an amateur fight; all bets go to the foundation.”

Yes, of course, Drake has to fight.

On the opposite side is an open space. The polished white marble floor, veined with threads of silver and gold, mirrors the extravagant crystal chandelier hanging above, its hundreds of tear-shaped pendants catching the light and scattering tiny hues of color across the glossy surface, like fallen stars. A woman dressed in an elegant white dress plays the piano with a beautiful sway as her back bows. Her fingers move at a fluid speed.

Max twists to catch my gaze. “Do you want to dance?” he offers, not a demand like months ago, but it seems like years have passed.

A smile draws on my face. He’s not one for dancing, but he’s good at it. “You’re not much of a dancer,” I tell him.

“No, but with you I am. If it puts a smile on your beautiful face, then I’ll do it.”

I place a hand on his broad chest. “I’ll save you the trouble. We can eat, and if you’re up for it, we can dance later. My feet are a little swollen.” My hands and feet have been swelling for the past few weeks and will continue to do so for the next four months.

He taps his thigh. “Let me take care of it.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “We are here with tons of people and food at the table. I’m not taking my heels off.” It was probably not a good idea to wear heels. Not probably. I shouldn’t have.

“Why? Do your feet stink?”

“No…well, I hope not. They might be sweaty.” I laugh some more.

Max only grins. “You’re pregnant. I think you get a free pass.” He scoots my chair inward so the white silk tablecloth covers my feet. Then he slides my one foot on his meaty thigh.

Slowly, he removes the heel, and his thick fingers work magic, thrusting deep into my soles. I want to cry in pain, then sigh in relief. A waitress slides a warm plate in front of me, then leaves one for those at our table. The only one not here yet is Drake; he must be somewhere getting ready. The steam of herb-roasted chicken, a baked potato topped with butter, sour cream, and chives, and a warm roll make my stomach do somersaults. I hadn’t realized I was this hungry.

“It tastes good.” Lana cuts into her moist chicken. “It’s not even dry.”

Toby nods, doing the same. “I agree, but it could use a bit more seasoning and larger portions.”

Before setting my foot down, Max slips my heel on, then works on the other foot. Damn, it feels good, even better if I were home soaking in some Epsom salt. “Go on, eat.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

“Better?” he asks, setting my foot down.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Anytime.” He scoots his chair back and whispers, “I’m going to wash my hands real quick.”