Page 3 of The Billionaire Invitation

Christian dying six months ago had shattered all their hearts.

She kept her eyes on strangers in the room instead as she spoke about him. She talked about how honored Christian was to serve his country as a combat engineer, how he’d lost his right leg below the knee in an IED explosion three years ago. And she layered that into how much Refurbs for Vets, the charity hosting this event, had helped him during some of his darkest hours.

She also mentioned relevant information for the audience of veterans and their families. Like how he’d learned to walk on a prosthetic limb—a shared struggle for many attendees tonight. And how RFV had given Christian back his independence post-surgery, thanks to a house remodel that gave him plenty of room to move. Not to mention psychiatric support—from traditional couch to equine therapy.

All of which had been provided by RFV.

But while she was here to talk about her brother earnestly and respectfully, she also kept many stories tucked close to her heart. Like the way he couldn’t remember a joke even two minutes after hearing it. Or how he never outgrew his love for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. And his determination to streak on Soldier Field during a Chicago Bears game—he’d succeeded.

“As my brother used to say…” She’d reached the end of her speech, but her words trailed off as her gaze snagged on a familiar figure at the back of the room.

His was a shape she knew by heart.

Dante Crane was half in shadow, one elbow on the table, glass in hand. He was wearing a jacket and tie and staring through her with eyes the color of black coffee. She couldn’t see them from here, of course, but like the shape of him, she also knew those irises by heart. She’d stared into them plenty during the three years they’d dated.

“A-as my brother always liked to say,” she repeated, forcing a smile, “‘We’re here for a good time, not for a long time.’ Thank you.”

She dipped her head as people stood and applauded. The emcee met her on stage, leaned in and thanked her, and then took over the microphone.

She fought to hold her composure as she stepped from the stage, not wanting her parents to notice she was shaken. She didn’t want to worry them. They would assume the cause was speaking of Christian rather than the shock of seeing the ex she’d thought she’d never see in person again.

“That was incredible, Adella.” Her mother was the only person alive who called Honesty by her first name. She had been adamant about it. I gave my only daughter a beautiful name, and I will use it.

“Really incredible,” her father echoed.

“Thank you. I’m glad you were both able to be here.”

“So are we, but now I’m tired and we’re going home.” Solana, a shorter and plumper version of Honesty, had always been frank. “We’re up past our bedtime.”

“Speak for yourself,” her father argued. “I’m bound for the recliner and the television.”

“No need to stay.” Honesty kissed their cheeks, the sadness hovering between them evident. It was like losing Christian had left a presence instead of a void.

She’d been angry at first. A blast had taken Christian’s leg three years ago but had spared him. And then a routine surgery to address nerve issues in his limb had killed him. She would have loved to blame a human being, but the fault lay with a stray blood clot. None of them had seen it coming. A casual Wednesday afternoon had morphed into a date none of them would forget.

As Honesty walked with her parents toward the exit, a few guests thanked her for her brother’s service. She’d had to learn how to receive that. After all, she had Christian’s “service” to thank for him not being here. But now, as one man lingered, telling a story about his son who had died of his injuries, she focused on the love of a father who missed his son.

Once her parents had been ferried off to their sedan, Honesty let go of her own dream of going to her cozy city apartment and kicking off these damn heels. She could use a drink. If ever there were a night for a cocktail, it was this one.

She pretended to scratch her neck as she checked the room for Dante. He was no longer at the table where he’d sat during her speech. Which meant he could be anywhere. Hopefully she’d down at least one drink before having to face him.

The theme music from Jaws hummed menacingly in her head.

“White wine, please. The driest one you have.” She dropped a tip into the jar.

A male bartender with red hair and a million freckles dipped his chin in affirmation.

There had always been a possibility of her path crossing Dante’s again. He lived in Los Angeles, not on the moon. Plus, Refurbs for Vets was Elijah Crane’s venture. When Christian had shown her the brochure, she’d clocked the Crane name and had nearly swallowed her tongue.

Christian had met Dante in passing a few times, but if her brother had remembered the surname, he’d never said. She hadn’t brought it up either.

After she and Dante had broken up, she’d cried in private and downplayed the breakup to everyone. Her problems had paled in comparison to her parents worrying about Christian being overseas in enemy territory. Her broken heart was child’s play when weighed against roadside bombs.

She sipped her wine. The well-dressed crowd appeared to have money to burn. She doubted a single other woman here tonight had rented the runway like Honesty had. She hadn’t been able to stomach spending eight grand on a dress she’d wear once.

“Looking for someone?” a smooth, elegant voice asked from just over her right shoulder.

Goosebumps crawled along her bare arms. She warned herself not to face him, not to expose herself to his handsome face and coffee-colored eyes up close. But then she turned around anyway.