My jaw tightened. “You took money from my family.”
He didn’t flinch. He didn’t deny it either. He simply smiled, a soft, indulgent expression that made my skin prickle.
“I think,” he said gently, “that what happened between us has taken on a life of its own. And I would hate for it to follow either of us into the future.”
I stared at him, searching for the angle, the hook. “And what exactly are you suggesting?”
“That we let bygones be bygones,” he said. “We’re adults. We’re both here tonight, successful in our own way." His gaze flicked briefly to the room around us. “Why carry old grievances when we could… move forward.”
A familiar pressure built behind my eyes. I was angry by the audacity of him.
“I’m not interested in pretending nothing happened,” I said quietly.
His smile widened just a fraction. “Of course not. I wouldn’t ask you to pretend.”
He held out his hand then, palm up, offering it with practiced ease. “But perhaps we could dance. Publicly, to show the room there’s no animosity.”
The music swelled, the timing impeccable. I realized dimly that this was the point. This wasn’t about reconciliation, it was about control. If I refused, I would look bitter. If I accepted, he would rewrite the story without my consent.
I met his eyes. “No.”
The word was calm and certain. Not loud enough to draw attention, but firm enough to leave no room.
For the first time, something flickered across his face. Surprise then amusement.
“Very well,” he said smoothly. “Another time, perhaps.”
“There won’t be one,” I coldly told him.
He chuckled softly, as if I had made a joke. “Enjoy your evening, Lydia.”
Gavin stepped away, leaving behind the echo of his presence and the sour taste of being tested.
I stood there for a moment longer than necessary, steadying myself. Kitty appeared at my side almost immediately, her instincts sharp.
“Was that him?” she asked, low.
“Yes.”
Her expression hardened. “Do you want me to spill something on him?”
“No,” I said. “Not yet.”
I watched Wickham move through the room, laughing with a donor, shaking hands, slipping seamlessly into the background. He looked untouchable.
I knew better.
As the song ended and applause rippled politely across the floor, I made a decision that felt less like courage and more like inevitability.
I wouldn’t wait for him to vanish again.
I finished my drink, set the glass down, and began to follow him at a careful distance, blending into the shifting crowd as naturally as I could.
Whatever he was doing here, I was not letting him do it unseen.
Following someone without being obvious turned out to be harder than it looked in movies.
Gavin moved with the easy confidence of a man who expected doors to open for him, pausing just long enough at each cluster of guests to exchange pleasantries before drifting on. I stayed several paces back, using the natural ebb and flow of the crowd as cover, pretending interest in floral arrangements and appetizer trays while keeping him in the corner of my eye.
