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Unfortunately, she wasn’t at Siren. She’d promised to marry a man she didn’t love, for the sake of saving her precious family name.
No amount of pep talk could stem the roaring agitation flooding her veins.
CHAPTER TWO
THE EVENT PLANNERS had outdone themselves. Potted palms, decorative screens and subdued lighting had been strategically placed around the main halls of Pennington Manor to hide the peeling plaster, chipped wood panelling and torn Aubusson rugs that funds could no longer stretch to rectify.
Eva sipped the champagne she’d been nursing for the last two hours and willed time to move faster. Technically she couldn’t throw any guest out, but Eight to Midnight was the time the costly invitations had stated the party would last. She needed something to focus on or risk sliding into madness.
Gritting her teeth, she smiled as yet another guest demanded to see her engagement ring. The monstrous pink diamond’s sole purpose was to demonstrate the Fairfields’ wealth. Its alien weight dragged her hand down, hammering home the irrefutable point that she’d sold herself for her pedigree.
Her father’s booming voice interrupted her maudlin thoughts. Surrounded by a group of influential politicians who hung onto his every word, Oscar Pennington was in his element.
Thickset but tall enough to hide the excess weight he carried, her father cut a commanding figure despite his recent spell in hospital. His stint in the army three decades ago had lent him a ruthless edge, cleverly counteracted by his natural charm. The combination made him enigmatic enough to attract attention when he walked into a room.
But not even that charisma had saved him from economic devastation four years ago.
With that coming close on the heels of her mother’s illness, their social and economic circles had dwindled to nothing almost overnight, with her father desperately scrambling to hold things together.
End result—his association with Zaccheo Giordano.
Eva frowned, bewildered that her thoughts had circled back to the man she’d pushed to the dark recesses of her mind. A man she’d last seen being led away in handcuffs—
‘There you are. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’
Eva started, then berated herself for feeling guilty. Guilt belonged to those who’d committed crimes, who lied about their true motives.
Enough!
She smiled at Harry.
Her old university friend—a brilliant tech genius—had gone off the rails when he’d achieved fame and wealth straight out of university. Now a multimillionaire with enough money to bail out Penningtons, he represented her family’s last hope.
‘Well, you found me,’ she said.
He was a few inches taller than her five feet four; she didn’t have to look up too far to meet his twinkling soft brown eyes.
‘Indeed. Are you okay?’ he asked, his gaze reflecting concern.
‘I’m fine,’ she responded breezily.
He looked unconvinced. Harry was one of the few people who knew about her broken engagement to Zaccheo. He’d seen beneath her false smiles and assurances that she could handle a marriage of convenience and asked her point-blank if her past with Zaccheo Giordano would be a problem. Her swift no seemed to have satisfied him.
Now he looked unsure.
‘Harry, don’t fret. I can do this,’ she insisted, despite the hollowness in her stomach.
He studied her solemnly, then called over a waiter and exchanged his empty champagne glass for a full one. ‘If you say so, but I need advanced warning if this gets too weird for you, okay? My parents will have a fit if they read about me in the papers this side of Christmas.’
She nodded gratefully, then frowned. ‘I thought you were going to take it easy tonight?’ She indicated his glass.
‘Gosh, you already sound like a wife.’ He sniggered. ‘Leave off, sweetness, the parents have already given me an earful.’
Having met his parents a week ago, Eva could imagine the exchange.
‘Remember why you’re doing this. Do you want to derail the PR campaign to clean up your image before it’s even begun?’
While Harry couldn’t care less about his social standing, his parents were voracious in their hunger for prestige and a pedigree to hang their name on. Only the threat to Harry’s business dealings had finally forced him to address his reckless playboy image.
He took her arm and tilted his sand-coloured head affably towards hers. ‘I promise to be on my best behaviour. Now that the tedious toasts have been made and we’re officially engaged, it’s time for the best part of the evening. The fireworks!’
