The Civic Club luncheon was held in a banquet hall downtown.
Committee members had arrived early to set up the podium and sound system, and by the time I entered through the side door, the space was already half full with attendees chatting over coffee and pastries.
It was just another event I was required to attend, but after weeks of gossip and speculation, I felt like a magnifying glass had been put on every action I took.
Ember and I had dialed things back from what they were significantly, which was in itself a major torture.
But it gave me room to appreciate how incredible she really was.
Outside of the fact that I found her body fantastic and mesmerizing, she was quite possibly the best assistant I'd ever had, and I felt confident that she could and would achieve her dream of being head of HR for the hospital or even the greater medical system as a whole.
I'd been asked to deliver a speech this afternoon about the Lightkeeper's role in upholding family values.
The irony wasn't lost on me with the situation I found myself in.
I was selling a pack of lies to civic leaders about being a man of purity and honor while screwing my assistant behind closed doors, and it made my stomach feel like a lead weight of guilt.
Fighting for the right to privacy was one thing, but standing against an archaic tradition and its standard felt impossible.
The committee had insisted that Ember attend as well.
Her presence was mandatory, they'd said, because the Hearthkeeper represented the other half of the partnership.
I figured she'd refuse after the last two public events had turned out so sour.
But to my surprise, she hadn't bucked at all.
It was like she was finally seeing the importance of this role in this community, and it made me feel grateful that she was the sort of woman who could see the benefit in uncomfortable things at times.
I spotted her near the back of the room, standing beside one of the tall windows.
She wore a navy dress with long sleeves and a modest neckline, her auburn hair pulled back into a neat bun.
She'd dressed conservatively, trying to look every inch the symbol they wanted her to be, but I could see the tension in her expression from across the room.
My heart went out to her now that I knew how badly her past had messed with her.
And it made me all the prouder.
I made my way toward her, navigating around tables and greeting people who stopped me to shake hands.
By the time I reached her, she'd plastered on a polite smile and stood a little taller.
"How you holding up?" I asked quietly. If anyone could read her like I could, they'd know she was lying before she even opened her mouth.
"Fine." Her voice was too bright, too controlled. "Ready when you are."
"You don't have to stay for the whole event if it's too much."
"Yes, I do. The committee made that very clear." She glanced around the room, her smile faltering. "Everyone's staring," she said through gritted teeth without breaking that plastic expression.
I followed her gaze and saw what she meant.
Small clusters of people were watching us, pausing their conversations long enough to judge us before resuming in hushed tones.
The whispers were bad enough on the street or at work, but here at such a small gathering, they felt more powerful, and I could see Ember's skin crawling.
"Ignore them," I said.
