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I’d blushed.
Exhaling, we paused at the top of the stairs, and I used that moment to yank myself out of my thoughts and back to reality. Carter ignored reporter questions to jog up the steps to my side. He laced his fingers with mine, nodded politely at the door man and eased us through.
In the elevator, Dillon realized one of the straps on my shoe hadn’t fasten properly. He hunched down to adjust it, and by the time we stepped into the din of the fancy event, I looked put together again.
Dillon didn’t release my arm or leave my side.
This was the kind of society my father wanted me to marry into. He hadn’t cared if it made me happy or not—he was willing to use me to elevate himself.
Crystal chandeliers, champagne and expensive wine flowing as instrumental music played needlessly in the background.
The chatter was so loud, I had to pause and hold my breath to hear the music.
“This is Seema Lipson.” Carter was saying as I shook myself back to reality. “My partner.”
The man extended a strong hand toward me which I accepted, shook twice and released.
I smiled.
“Ms. Lipson, it’s lovely to meet you.” He told me. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.” I cocked my head to the side. “And please, it’s Seema.”
We moved through more of the night and each time Carter introduced me, I saw how proud he was to be able to tell everyone I was his. He didn’t care that I was a little chunkier than most of the other women in the room, that I hadn’t chemically straightened my hair.
He smiled and walked a little straighter when he told someone who I was to him and I couldn’t stop the blush to heat my entire face.
At one point, he was dragged into a conversation and Dillon decided to walk me. He snagged a glass of wine from a passing tray and handed it to me, before stopping to get a bottle of water from another.
“Dillon!” A teenage voice called.
She popped up out of thin air.
I frowned—she was probably barely fifteen, yet she was wearing entirely too much make-up with a dress cut so low, if she leaned forward, I could probably see her nipples.
How did your mother allow you out of the house like that?
Clearing my throat, I paused with Dillon as he gave her a barely there hug and stepped back.
“Who’s this?” She looked up at me.
Rude.
“This is my mom.” Dillon told her.
My heat soared.
“Your mother is white.” The girl pointed out without a second thought to how that would make me feel.
“I didn’t saymother.” Dillon wasn’t impressed. “I saidmom.”
“What’s the difference?” She asked.
“Have a good night, Brianna.” Dillon set the half empty bottle on a nearby table. “Mom, let’s go.”
Offering the stunned girl a small smile, I allowed Dillon to lead me away.
“Mom?” I asked.
