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My nerves are a mess when I walk back into the dimly lit ballroom and glance through the people mingling in small groups, checking for Bowie, because I’m not ready to deal with him yet. Not when I feel so raw and on edge, like I might come out of my skin. Just as I take out my card and start searching for my table, I see Nova—Bowie’s chief’s wife—talking to a group of women. When she spots me, a smile lights up her pretty face, and she rushes in my direction.
“Oh my God, girl, look at you!” She grabs my hands, holding them out away from my body. “You look amazing.”
“Thank you.” I force a smile, then shake my head as I take in her dress that only she could pull off. The short rose-gold sequined number looks amazing on her, especially up against her gorgeous brown skin. Then again, I have never seen her look like anything other than the model she used to be. “You look stunning.”
“I know, right?” She shimmies with her arms in the air. “When I saw this dress over the summer, I bought it on the spot, knowing it would be perfect for tonight.”
“It really is.” I look around for her husband, who is normally within arm’s reach of her. “Where’s Devon?”
“Sitting at the table with a drink. He’s in a mood tonight.” She rolls her eyes. “So how have you been? How’s my baby-king?”
“Good, growing up way too fast and driving me insane most days.”
“Boys are like that.” She laughs. “Now, you and Bowie need to have a girl to even things out.”
“That’s never happening,” I say without thinking, and her eyes narrow with suspicion.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Miranda Owens.”
“Don’t use your mom voice on me.” I glance around. “I can’t talk about it here.”
“Are you and Kingston okay?” she whispers, and my face softens.
“Yes,” I assure her, and she reaches for my hand.
“You know if you need anything, I’m just a phone call away.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, knowing that’s not an empty offer. When Bowie and I got together, she took me under her wing. I was so thankful for her, especially during the early days when dating a police officer scared the crap out of me. Then once again, right after I had Kingston, when I had no idea what I was doing and none of my friends had kids.
“I’m going to head to our table,” says a woman I don’t recognize, who approaches Nova when the music cuts off and they announce dinner is going to be served.
“I’m coming,” Nova tells her, then her eyes come back to me. “We’ll have a drink after dinner and catch up.”
“I’d like that.” I squeeze her hand, then watch her walk off.
I look down at the card in my hand, then glance through the centerpieces in the middle of each table, looking for the number that matches ours. My heart tumbles into my stomach when my eyes land on Tucker and Naomie, who are seated at the table directly next to the one Bowie and I have been assigned to.
This can’t be happening.
“I’ve been looking for you. What table are we at?” Bowie’s statement makes me jump, and my hands shake as I show him the card.
“Thirty-five.”
“Come on,” he urges me forward, placing his hand on my lower back, and my muscles tighten painfully around my bones as we make our way across the room.
I try… really try… not to look Naomie’s way when we get closer to our table, but my eyes are drawn to her anyway. She’s gorgeous—stunning, actually—and the complete opposite of me in every way, with her dark hair, sun-kissed skin, and model-thin frame. The kind of woman I know Bowie dated before me.
When her gaze catches mine and her lips press into a thin line like she’s upset to see me here with my husband, I drop my eyes to my feet and focus on breathing.
As soon as Bowie and I reach our table, he introduces me to the people we’re sitting with as his wife, and I smile appropriately, feeling like a total fraud. Maybe I’m going about this all wrong. Maybe I need to just rip off this Band-Aid and get it all over with.
Picking up my water, I glance over at Tucker and find him with his expression blank. I can only imagine what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling right now. And I despise that, because of me, he’s been forced to pretend things are normal when they most definitely are not.
CHAPTER FOUR
tucker
When I met my wife, I was stunned by her beauty, impressed by how intelligent she is, and naive enough to believe she was real.
Four years later, the blinders are off.
Picking up my glass of scotch, I take a drink and let the burn from the amber liquid wash away some of the anger sitting in my gut.
