Ari extracts himself from the socialite and slides into the booth across from us. “You know, most people would be celebrating an engagement. Buying rounds. Making a spectacle.”
“I’m not most people.”
“No shit.” Penn refills his glass, champagne sloshing over the rim. “You’re the poor bastard who agreed to marry Olivia Harrison for a merger. At least pretend to enjoy yourself.”
Movement catches my eye across the club.
Dark hair. Azure eyes. That same defiant tilt to her chin I saw on the cliff.
Aurora.
She’s crossing the main floor with another woman who has a dark complexion and a confident stride. They’re heading toward the bar area, weaving through the crowd. Aurora says something that makes her companion laugh, throwing her head back.
Every muscle in my body tenses.
“Hunt?” Ari’s voice sounds distant.
I track Aurora’s path, cataloging every detail. The way her dress hugs her curves. How she scans the room like she’s searching for something. The protective edge to how the other woman walks beside her. From their body language, I ascertain she’s a friend, and a close one.
They’re moving toward the VIP section.
Where Olivia sits with two other women, champagne glasses raised in some toast.
Fuck.
Aurora slides into the booth beside my fiancée, accepting a drink from one of the others. The friend she was walking through the crowd with settles on her other side. They’re laughing about something, the whole group animated and bright.
Olivia throws an arm around Aurora’s shoulders, pulling her close.
My jaw clenches so hard my teeth ache.
“What are you staring at?” Penn follows my gaze. “Oh. There’s your future ball and chain.”
“Mm.”
“And her sister.” Ari’s tone sounds knowing. “Derek’s stepdaughter. Aurora, wasn’t it?”
I don’t answer. Can’t. Because Aurora just glanced up, her eyes sweeping across the club, and for one heartbeat, our gazes lock.
Her entire body goes rigid.
Then she tears her attention away, turning back to Olivia with forced brightness.
But I saw it. That flash of recognition. Of heat.
“Interesting,” Ari murmurs.
I need to get her away from that table, away from Olivia. Somewhere we can talk without an audience and without my fiancée watching.
The question is how.
I drain my whiskey, eyes never leaving her. Even amid the club’s manufactured glamour, Aurora radiates an authentic energy. She’s trying not to look at me, but I catch the way her fingers tighten around her glass, the slight tension in her shoulders.
“I need to say hello to my fiancée,” I announce, cutting off whatever Penn was saying.
Ari’s eyebrow lifts. “Really? You’ve spent the entire night avoiding talking about her.”
I give him a look that tells him to shut up if he wants to leave here breathing, and stand, straightening my cuffs as I move through the crowd. People part automatically. My focus narrows to that table, to Aurora’s profile as she deliberately keeps her gaze averted from my approach.
