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His touch so soft compared to the story his face tells.
The shutter goes off, and my eyes widen. I didn’t smile.
“You miserable fuckers,” Elliot quips, walking from the entrance and back into the entertainment room.
“Smile, sunshine. You can’t hate me that much…” Lance leans in a little closer, his lips dusting my ear and making my head curl in toward him. “Considering you wore the dress I picked out for my bitchingwife.”
I suck in a rush of air.
I’m mortified. This is mortifying. I knew he’d be at the gala. Not at my brother’s now, but I was well aware he would be at the event and would see me in the dress.
“I wore it for myself, not you,” I confirm.
“That’s exactly what I told myself this afternoon as I lubed up my cock and tried to attach the fake dick you bought for me—we’ll both pretend it’s the truth.”
I snap my head up to look at him. “You tried it?” I shake my head. “Wait, it didn’t work?”
His lip twitches, but it doesn’t transform into anything more. A painful mask slips back into place as our eyes lock. “Something like that.”
I want to peel the mask off and see what’s underneath. See the smile that lurks—
“Think I got the shot… among other things.” Charlie’s voice pulls me out of the moment, and I step away, noticing it’s only the three of us in the foyer. “He’s getting a drink.”
The fact Charlie feels the need to reassure me that my brother didn’t witness whatever that was, sets alarm bells ringing in my mind.
My face burns and I open my mouth to explain, but explain what?
“Scar, it’s good. You’re all good,” Charlie tells me, stepping forward and passing Lance Mason’s phone.
I frown and stand like a lemon as Charlie leaves the room. Lance starts doing something on Mason’s phone, and curiosity gets the better of me. “What are you doing?”
I peer over his arm and watch as he goes to the deleted images and erases the first picture, a picture of us that I can barely make out.
Good. I don’t ever need to see that scene played out again.
He locks the phone and hands it to me, walking off in the direction of the kitchen. “You look good, wife.”
FIVE
Scarlet
Mason took my hand and guided me quickly into the gala when we arrived, not stopping to speak to anyone and refusing to stop for pictures. I’m sure it’s because he wants to protect me in some kind of big brother way, but I can’t help but feel a pang of sadness as we pass the long lenses of cameras and step into the event. All of the photos of Mum and Dad at the Hamilton Gala were taken by the photographers outside, and I won’t get one like that for myself tonight. Maybe it’s why Mason had us take photos at home.
“Stay close tonight,” he says, leaning down and muttering into my ear.
I squeeze his hand and give him a pointed look.
“Behave, and I’ll let you go.” He smiles.
I’d never admit it to him, but having Mason by my side and not wanting to let me go makes something deep inside of me soar. It makes me believe he cares about me.
“Piss off, Mase—”
I get a nudge in the back from Charlie, cutting off what I was about to say. “Scarlet Lowell? Are my eyes deceiving me?”
I plaster on a smile as I turn to face the gentleman nearing, who quite clearly knows who I am.
Mason leans in again before he can reach us. “Old man Hemmings and his son Cooper. Both cunts.”
