Page 127 of A Vicious Love

Most men in dynasty circles did not apologize for touching women they had already decided should tolerate them. Some did not notice the discomfort. Others noticed and enjoyed it.

Weston noticed and stopped.

“It’s okay,” I said quickly. “You surprised me.”

His gaze held mine. “I’ll try not to.”

This time, it came easier.

“Come,” he said, offering his arm. “My brothers are waiting. Their wives have threatened to interrogate me if I don’t introduce you properly.”

“Interrogate you?”

“You’ll understand when you meet them.”

I looked toward the terrace. My eyes found the Crow table automatically.

Marcel stood near the lower rail with Emmie at his side. Harrison sat beneath one of the striped canopies, talking to a woman in pink. Jamison stood a few feet away from them with a whiskey glass in his hand, his black shirt open at the throat and his expression dark.

My chest tightened.

He had seen me.

I knew because his gaze was fixed on the dress.

Weston shifted slightly beside me, waiting. I placed my hand on his arm. He guided me toward a different table.

That was the second unusual thing.

I expected to sit Jamison.

The same arrangement as always.

Instead, place cards near the western edge of the terrace placed me between Weston and a woman named Amara Crow.

I paused.

Weston pulled out my chair.

“You’re sitting here?” The question came out before I could make it sound less surprised.

His mouth curved. “I am.”

“I usually sit with—” I glanced toward Jamison’s table. Weston followed my gaze. Then looked back at me.

“With Harlan.”

“Yes.”

“Today you’re with St. Cross.”

I hesitated.

Maybe the seating had been changed because the event involved regional hosting. Perhaps families wanted more cross-region conversation. Ashmere events were built around business, after all. Half the point was introducing people who rarely found themselves at the same table.

That made sense.

Weston touched the back of my chair.