This wasn’t my usual scene at all, the polished mahogany and quiet power, but tonight, I was on Cloud Nine to be here.
My black dress was sleek and classic, my heels the exact height that saidyes, I can run in these, but I prefer to make men nervous instead. When Dad offered me his arm at the entrance to the dining room, I took it, basking in the rare glow of his attention.
It really didn’t happen often. I loved him, but he’d been distant since Mom had died, and with six older brothers, affection wasn’t exactly a currency we had ever earned easily.
But tonight, he’d smiled at me when I’d come downstairs. In the car, he’d asked about my week. He’d even told me Ireminded him of my mother in this dress. And I was soaking it all up like sunlight.
We sat at his usual table, surrounded by Dad’s friends, all of them men with silver hair and expensive watches. They talked business, golf, and whatever else they considered riveting, and I smiled, nodding in all the right places even if I wasn’t really listening.
Honestly, I was just happy to be here.
As I looked around the dining room, pretending not to be as bored as I was, a stunning, dreamily handsome man suddenly appeared in my field of vision. I blinked hard a few times, but nope. He didn’t turn away or veer off to another table.
Somehow, it seemed he was headed directly for us. Tall and striking, he wore a perfectly tailored suit that went great with his face.
“Mr. Westwood,” he said when he reached us and my dad got up to greet him. “It’s an honor.”
I nearly fell off my chair. He had a British accent, his voice as smooth as velvet. It sent a shiver straight down my spine.
Dad smiled. “Charlotte, this is Gregory. Gregory Van Allen. His father, Viscount Van Allen, and I go way back.”
Viscount Van Allen. Of course. Because why fall for a normal man when I can immediately lose my mind overroyaltywith cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass?
“It’s my pleasure,” Gregory said, reaching for my hand. He didn’t shake it, he kissed it, his twinkling honey-brown eyes warming me all the way through when they held mine.
His mouth curved into a devastating smile that could slay a girl’s demons and make her forget her own name. My brain short-circuited.
Dad waved him into a chair. “Join us, Gregory.”
As he sat down, the other older men disappeared one by one, probably drifting off to find seats someplace where theycould keep talking about golf instead of tea parties. Gregory kept smiling at me, immediately launching into a conversation.
Well, not so much a conversation. He talked and I mostly blinked at him, dazzled by the sound of that dreamy accent and the way his eyes never left mine.
“Charlotte.”
My heart stuttered at the sound of my brother’s voice.
When I looked up, Alex stood just beyond our table, his expression tight. Beside him was a man I hadn’t seen in months. A man whose sudden presence here was extremely unwelcome. Especially right now.
All six and a half feet of Trent Shepard with all his tanned skin and sun-streaked hair stood with my brother, his shoulders built like sin and his thumbs hooked into his belt.
Of course he’d show upnow, in a place where I was pretending to be effortlessly charming and definitely not the girl who’d been humiliated under a damn sprig of mistletoe six months ago. The smile I’d been wearing for Gregory Van Allen, the swoon-worthy viscount, or duke, or whatever his title was, faltered the moment Trent stepped toward our table.
Memories hit like a bad highlight reel.The Christmas party, the mistletoe, his smirk, and his low, southern drawl cutting through the laughter. Those words, ringing with finality. “Not gonna happen.”
Yeah, well, apparently it was happening now. My stomach dipped as Alex and Trent kept moving toward us like they’d been invited. They both looked impeccably polished, Alex in his usual immaculate suit and scowl and Trent in a crisp shirt that somehow managed to look wrong in a room full of men who probably used the word “bespoke” unironically.
Alex clasped Dad’s shoulder, exchanged a few words with him, and then, because fate enjoyed humiliating me, slid into theseat beside Dad. Trent took the available chairbetweenGregory and me.
“Douglas,” he greeted my father with a friendly smile, reaching across the table to shake his hand. “How’re you doing?”
“Trent.” Dad chuckled warmly, like he’d rediscovered a long-lost son. “This is a surprise, boy. When did you get into town?”
“Just this morning,” he said lazily in that drawl that still haunted my freaking nightmares. “It’s good to be back.”
I clutched my champagne flute like a weapon, trying not to snap the stem. Trent monopolized my dad’s attention and Alex started talking to Gregory. Eventually, Trent leaned in to hear Alex better, crowding my space, his broad shoulder brushing mine.
The scent of him, sun, leather, and something woodsy, hit my nostrils on my next inhale. I couldn’t lie to myself and pretend the asshole didn’t smell good, so I edged away on my seat, only for his boot to scuff my heel.
