“Get a room,” Liam grumbles. “Tell me, Cora, how do you feel about meeting Tawny tonight?”
I groan.
“Who is Tawny?” Cora looks at Liam.
“Xander’s ex-almost-fiancée.” The fucker finally puts his phone away.
Cora’s eyes flicker to me, and then she leans forward, her attention fully on my brother. “Tell me, Liam,” she mimics him. “How do you feel about being the asshole in the room?” She gives him her brightest fake smile.
“Actually, I don’t mind it at all.” He shrugs, but I don’t miss a glint of approval in his eyes.
Cora swings her hand around my shoulder and plays with the hair on the back of my neck. I love when her fingers mindlessly swirl there. “Well, at least I can be sure I married the right brother.”
The ballroom gleams with candlelight and polished glass. Crystal chandeliers hover above, their sharp glitter catching on every sequin, every diamond, every artfully highlighted cheekbone.
Classical music hums in the background, smooth and stately, but it’s all white noise to me.
I glance at Cora, radiant in a chocolate gown thathugs her as if it were stitched by lust itself. Her hair is pinned up, with a few defiant curls loose by her neck.
When I saw her earlier in the room, my heart stopped and restarted in some disjointed rhythm that doesn’t seem normal, but it feels right.
I wanted this woman the minute I laid my eyes on her. Then later, the thrill of the chase played a role—I enjoyed her sass, and loved that she was resisting.
Somehow, she grew on me. I wasn’t exaggerating when I told her she made me a one-woman man. I wasn’t lying when I told her I loved her.
I only wish we had started differently. Without the false arrangement hanging over our future.
The crowd parts as we make our way into the heart of the room. Lottie and Mom flit between guests like they own the place.
With many eyes on us, I introduce my wife to several people, and greet even more. It’s a whirlwind of small talk and pleasantries, and Cora handles every introduction with quiet poise and quick wit.
An art I mastered a long time ago, but it feels different with her by my side. Less pretentious?
She leans in, her voice barely audible above the music, when we finally have a moment alone. “The golden boy returns. How does it feel?”
“I’m no longer the golden boy.”
“Based on the reception line we just got, I beg to differ.”
I smirk. “I burned that title to the ground years ago. They’re all tripping over to meet you, dear wife.”
She beams. “I always wanted to be the talk of the town,” she says with sarcasm.
I laugh. “Careful what you wish for. Do you want to take a break and find a corner to make out? I know a few nooks around here.”
She runs her fingers down my arm, sliding into my hand like she was always meant to be held by me. “I don’t even want to know why and with whom you discovered those nooks.” She pretend-glares.
“I still can’t wait to take that dress off,” I whisper in her ear, her laughter spreading inside my chest.
When I lift my gaze, my spine straightens.
Sterling Stone.
Silver-haired, impeccably dressed, hands clasped behind his back like he’s already halfway through a keynote speech, he gives me a curt nod.
The last two years apart haven’t dulled the steel in his posture, or the cool precision in his eyes.
I consider pretending I didn’t see him, but he starts toward us.
