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Even from here, I can see the way his eyes darken, his jaw clenches, and I flush. I smooth the dress nervously with one hand, then start down the stairs for something to do other than stare at him. I’m like Cinderella descending the steps to the ball, all eyes on me. It’s Connor’s eyes, but the way they stay pinned to me has me feeling like a fucking queen.
As I reach him, he takes my hand, helping me down the last few steps, and I let him. His hand is warm in mine, and he leans down, kissing my cheek.
“You look stunning.”
He brushes his thumb against the back of my hand, and I blush even deeper. My skin is warm, and I stare at the ground briefly. This is weird, but nice.
“Thank you. You clean up pretty well yourself,” I tell him, meeting his eyes again, and he grins.
We are lost in each other for a time before he steps back, separating us.
The ride to the gala is quiet. I think we are both dealing with thoughts contained in our own heads. I know that the secrets I’m keeping are eating me alive.
“You’ll be fine with riding home by yourself?” Connor asks.
I glance over at him, unsure of how to answer.No. Yes. I’m used to being alone. I want you with me. Don’t go to the club tonight. Don’t do what you are planning.
But I know he’s too far gone. He must go through with this and risk everything.
“Yes. You’ll be safe?” I ask.
He reaches for my hand, squeezing it once. “I’ll try.”
I guess that’s all I can ask for.
We arrive at the gala, and one of the guards, Jimmy, exits the driver’s door to open mine. Instantly, flashes from cameras are in my face, and I reach up to shield my eyes. Paparazzi. I almost laugh but catch myself at the last minute.
Connor’s hand settles on my lower back as he exits behind me, and then there’s pressure as he pushes me forward, escorting me toward the door. It’s chaos while we’re on the proverbial red carpet. Or Heywood’s version of it.
Finally, we enter the large hotel and make our way through to the ballroom, where people mill about in the low lighting, holding drinks, making small talk, and nibbling on hors d’oeuvres.
The room is filled with a low hum as hundreds of people chatter, and I sense eyes on Connor and me as we walk in. If I could see us, I’d say we make a striking pair. The way people’s eyes linger on us confirms my thoughts.
Connor snags champagne for me and a cocktail for him from a passing waiter’s tray and hands me the tall glass. I want to down the whole thing, but I sip it instead.
I’m introduced to people whose names I forget as soon as I’m whisked away. I briefly talk to Vincent, Antonio, Paul, and William. They don’t look happy to see us. They don’t mention the after-party at Dahlia’s to Connor. It’s probably a good thing. I meet politicians, millionaires, billionaires, Society members, and countless others. By the time we step in front of a small group of people, my head is spinning, and I’m on my third glass of champagne.
I really need to slow down.
“Wryn, I’d like you to meet some old friends of mine,” Connor says.
Three couples all stare back at me. At least some of the women look nice. A shorter blonde one smiles at me, and I smile back.
“This is Bodhi and Trixie,” he says, gesturing to the blonde and the man behind her.
He’s identical to the man standing next to him. Twins.
“Brock and Peyton.”
I smile and shake hands, introducing myself.
“And finally, Corbin and Landry.”
I greet the last couple.
Connor puts his hand around my waist, pulling me into him. “This is my wife, Wryn.”
“Heard you got married. Thanks for the invite to the wedding, asshole,” Bodhi says, the grin on his face letting me know he’s not serious.
