Are you awake?
I stare at the screen, waiting after I hit send. No response. My reflection in the black screen looks like a man I barely recognize. Someone who’s losing his grip.
When a waiter passes by, I hand him the empty glass and straighten my jacket. I’ll give it five minutes. Then I’ll call. And if she doesn’t answer I already know I’ll drive back to the penthouse myself.
In the ballroom, I find Fran near the champagne tower, surrounded by admirers and cameras. When she sees me approaching, she lights up with the kind of smile that’s all teeth and calculation.
“Darling,” she says, looping her arm through mine as if we’re in sync, “finally.”
I lead her to the dance floor, because she’s right about one thing. We need to be seen together. People notice the small things: the distance between bodies, the tilt of a smile, the chemistry that sells a lie. And I’ve worked too hard to fail now.
My hand finds her waist out of habit.
She leans close, murmuring through her polished smile, “You’ve been glowering all evening. The photographers are starting to think we’ve fought.”
“They wouldn’t be wrong,” I say quietly, guiding her into a slow turn. “You knew I didn’t want you to wear the ring tonight.”
She stiffens, but her smile doesn’t falter. “You’ll thank me later. Our engagement announcement has already hit three outlets.”
“Has it,” I murmur.
“Mmm. And I might’ve let slip that the wedding will take place this spring.”
I stop mid-step. “You what?”
Fran keeps her expression smooth, though her nails dig into my arm like claws. “Don’t make a scene. Smile.”
I do, but it’s the kind of smile that would make a sane man take a step back.
She tilts her head, “Have you had any leads in Kansas City?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Well,” she says sweetly, “with our engagement becoming public, it will look odd if the press finds out that girl is still staying with you.”
That girl.
I tighten my grip around her waist just enough to make her gasp softly. “Don’t worry about Miss Miller,” I say evenly. “I’ll take care of her.”
Fran’s eyes flash. “Don’t avoid the question,” she says through her perfect smile. To anyone watching, we look like lovers whispering sweet nothings. “You’ve been distracted for weeks, Lorenzo. I’m not blind.”
“I never said you were.”
“I understand that you’ve been grieving,” she says, her voice dropping lower, “but grief doesn’t last forever. We have obligations. We can’t stop planning our wedding every time your ward bursts into tears.”
“Ward?” I echo, the word curdling in my chest.
“She’s a child you’ve taken pity on,” Fran says coolly. “Nothing more. And that means it’s time to send her back where she belongs.”
“I’ve told you,” I say, keeping my tone quiet enough to hide the ice beneath it, “you can plan whatever you like for the wedding.”
“And I’ve told you,” she hisses softly, “that I want your input.”
“Then perhaps you should marry someone more interested in playing dress-up.”
Her jaw locks, but she doesn’t miss a beat, still smiling for the watching eyes.
“My father assured me you were willing to cooperate,” she says. “He said you understood what this alliance means.”
