A raised stage anchored one end of the space, draped elegantly for speeches or performances.
The whole space felt curated and ceremonial—a place designed to remind everyone inside that money, generosity, and spectacle partied together.
As expected, there were men and women in their finest. The amount of wealth displayed in one space was enough to make me start to second-guess my appearance.
But no.
This was the point.
To drive home how out of place I was. If I made it clear that I couldn’t integrate with this world, with these people.
So I tamped down my discomfort, reminded myself that I’d literally never see these people again after this, and stepped into the room.
It didn’t take me long to spot him. It was like some part of me was attuned to him, knew exactly where to turn.
He was in all black, shirt and tie too, looking devilishly handsome as he smiled at a group of men he was speaking to.
I moved behind some tables, wanting to come up behind him after letting the men he was with see me in all my scandalous glory.
As expected, their gazes caught sight of all the skin and immediately locked in on me, following me as I moved up to the side of Harrison and slid my hand to his back.
“I was—” he was saying, but the words fell off at the press of me beside him.
He glanced over, seeing only my face at first.
There was a little gut-punch of regret at the look of surprise and genuine delight that crossed his face.
“Layna.” He breathed my name. The brush of it shivered across my skin.
I waited for the joy to slip as his gaze swept downward, taking in all of my outfit.
But I didn’t see it slip.
He’s a great liar, I reminded myself.He has no tells.
“Valentine,” one of the men—the older one with the beady eyes and slimy smile—said. “Who is your friend here?”
The way he said ‘friend’ made it sound like he imagined I was a sex worker. One who might be up to party. With all of them at once.
Harrison’s arm slid around my hip, pulling me close to his side. I tried not to think it was in response to his friend’s tone and suggestion. Like he was being protective and possessive at the same time.
“Charles, Dan, Mitch, this is my wife, Layna.”
I swear you could see Charles deflate at the information. Like he really thought there was a sum high enough for me to sleep with him. Maybe, in his world, there was.
“Your wife?” Dan, a reed-thin man around Harrison’s age, asked. “That’s news.”
“I didn’t get an invite to the bachelor party, did you?” Mitch, a middle-aged man with charmingly bouncy jowls, asked. Everything about him came off as light and fun.
“Right. Like your wife would have let you go,” Charles teased.
“I could go. So long as there weren’t strippers,” Mitch said. “I don’t need any naked ladies other than my own.”
Charles made a face that Mitch didn’t see but made me immediately sorry for Charles’s wife.
“I know the feeling,” Harrison said, pulling me a little closer, making me worry about the security of the tape that was keeping the dress from exposing my breasts. Though maybe a nip slip might help my whole mission here.
“Well, maybe if all our wives looked like yours…” Charles said.
