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Determined to prove her wrong, I walked over boldly, watching the boys freeze as soon as my shadow fell over them. Suppressing the urge to roll my eyes, I leaned down, bracing my palms against the wood as I glanced at the graphic novel spread out between them.

“Why aren’t you guys in school today?” I asked, and the smallest one—the same one who’d gasped before—flinched.

Without waiting for any of them to stammer out an answer when it was quickly becoming clear that they were terrified of me, I reached out and swiped up the comic book. When my gaze dropped to the illustration of the primary antagonist, I almost started cursing. The guy was tall and broad, with sort of messy, light hair and piercing, intensely angry blue eyes. Even his wardrobe seemed to consist entirely of dark, tailored coats with hoodies underneath.

Damn it.

Unfortunately, the fictional mass-murderer in question did, in fact, look a lot like me. I slid the book back toward them, cleared my throat, and walked back to Alicia with annoyance burning in my veins. She was leaning against her book cart now, a massive, triumphant smirk on her lips.

“Well?” she teased quietly. “What did you think?”

“At best, it’s a superficial resemblance,” I muttered. “Also, not for nothing, but his jawline is completely unrealistic. It’s worse than Johnny Bravo.”

I glanced back at the boys over my shoulder. “They should be at school anyway, not reading that trash illustrated by people who can’t even get a human face right.”

“They’re on a field trip from the middle school down the street, here on an authorized half-day,” she explained softly, her eyes still dancing with amusement. “So, cool it with the intimidation tactics. You’re going to give them nightmares and they’re children. You don’t have to make them shake in their boots just to prove a point.”

“Whatever,” I muttered, trying not to notice how much I enjoyed the sight of a smirk on her lips. “Look, I have to go to class, but I’ll be back to pick you up around four. Don’t take the train or walk home.”

“I’ll be ready,” she said, turning back to her book cart without another word.

Yeah. Okay, then. Goodbye to you too, I thought as I spun around and walked out, seeing two maintenance workers on tall ladders near the entrance.

They were hanging massive, navy-and-gold banners from the vaulted ceiling. My stomach swooped when I looked up and realized they were for Jane’s upcoming annual fundraising gala. Dread settled into my bones when I looked at the date and realized the event was only a week away.

It would be my first official, high-brow public appearance with Alicia as my wife and I’d rather attend my own open-heart surgery than spend an entire evening seeing, smiling at, and having to converse with the same hypocritical, blue-blooded socialites who’d shunned my family the second the scandal had broken—and were now shamelessly fawning over us again because of our rapid rise back into high society.

The gala was going to be a monumental test for Alicia as well. She was going to be thrown directly into the shark-infested waters of the elite. Once she experienced the outright nastiness, the fake smiles, and the suffocating pressure my life actually entailed, she’d probably realize that no amount of money was worth it.

When she realized the level of misery she’d signed up for, she was probably going to dip out of the contract and run as far and as fast as she could. Scoffing as I turned away from the banners, I marched to the doors and stepped out into the cool, fall afternoon, wondering why the idea of her leaving wasn’t as much of a relief as I might’ve thought it would be.

CHAPTER 18

ALICIA

Shopping with Tasha while I had actual money in my bank account was a wildly stupid, yet utterly intoxicating experience. Usually, our trips to the mall consisted of longingly staring through windows, checking price tags, and immediately putting back even items from the clearance rack.

Two weeks ago, even a twenty-dollar blouse would’ve meant sacrificing a week’s groceries, but that wasn’t true this time. She and I were here to shop for Jane’s gala, and while I hadn’t arrived intending to spend a ton of money, it didn’t take much for her to convince me.

“You’re a literal Thayer now,” she said enthusiastically as she shoved a stunning velvet gown into my arms. “There’s no way you can show up to Jane Thayer-Westwood’s fundraiser looking like you got your outfit from the lost-and-found bin at a music festival. You’re literally being paid to blend in.”

Chewing on my lower lip, I glanced at the gown in my arms. It really was gorgeous, but this was a high-end boutique and a quick glance at the price tag just about made my eyes water. But she’s not wrong. I have to pass as Holden Thayer’s wife. God, I am Holden Thayer’s wife.

“Yeah, okay,” I finally muttered. “Maybe I’ll just try it on.”

If I was being honest with myself, I was actually really looking forward to the fancy event. I’d never had a reason to dress up the way I would be expected to for this and the thought of getting to feel like an actual princess—or even just a well-funded, grown woman—was exhilarating.

My wardrobe consisted almost entirely of cardigans, pleated skirts, and practical flats. While I did possess a few dresses, none of them were even remotely suitable for something like this. Hell, I’d barely even passed at Jane’s informal dinner party.

There was no way I owned anything appropriate for a gala. Which meant that even if I didn’t want to buy a dress, I had to. So I might as well make the most of it, right?

Tasha grinned at whatever look I had on my face. “Oh, you’re so not just trying that on. You’re getting it, aren’t you?”

“That depends what it looks like when it’s on,” I admitted. “If it’s good, then yes. I’ll take it.”

“Excellent.” She clapped her hands, drawing the ire of an extremely snooty shop assistant, but then a calculated gleam flickered in her eyes, and when she spoke again, it was loud enough that there was no way the shop assistant wouldn’t overhear. “This is your first public event as Mrs. Holden Thayer. The first of many, I’m sure. We simply must find a gown befitting that title, and when we do, we’ll know which boutique to put at the top of our list for the future.”

Internally, I groaned, knowing exactly what she was doing, but surprisingly, it worked. The snooty shop assistant schooled her features, turning from the very picture of judgment to charm and swooping down on us with newfound enthusiasm.