We sauntered toward the gala, pausing for pictures every few feet as people shouted Leshing's name to get his attention. Edward looked dashing in his tailored suit, his blond hair slicked back and his arm curled possessively around my waist. You'd never think he'd been in a hospital bed just a few days ago, covered in burns.
“You're doing great,” Leshing whispered to me as he nodded to one of the reporters.
“I worked for the President, darling,” I drawled. “This is not my first press gauntlet.”
“Of course, it isn't.” Edward glanced at me and grinned.
“Mr. Leshing, who's your date?!” a reporter shouted.
“This is my girlfriend, Amanda Redding,” Edward gave them the fake name we'd decided on.
If anyone looked me up, they'd find information on a wealthy socialite, recently arrived in America from Italy. Some very talented D.H.S. agents had even set up social media accounts for Amanda that went back several years, saturated with pictures of food, expensive stores, and selfies galore. I didn't even have to pose for all the selfies; I just sent them a few shots, and they adjusted them.
“Girlfriend?” the reporter pounced on that. “This is the first time we've seen her.”
“I don't share everything with you, Miranda,” Leshing teased the reporter.
I lifted a brow at Leshing and while I was turned to him, he kissed me. Just a press of lips on lips, but I was startled by it, and also relieved that my kishanos were in another room. And Braxis. Dear Danu, what would Braxis have done if he'd seen that?
I had known that things would be tricky with Braxis, but I hadn't expected such blatant overprotective behavior. I suppose I should have. He was a Bleiten and had also vowed to protect me. Bleiten men, at least the warriors, tended to be alpha in the extreme. A step away from chauvinism. Alphaism, if you will. But a Bleiten male in love... that was chest pounding, teeth baring, bloodletting territory.
And Braxis had gone to his knees for me.
“Amanda?” Leshing prompted.
I blinked. Right, that was me. “Yes?”
He lowered his voice to ask, “You okay? I'm sorry about the kiss. I thought it would help to sell our ruse.”
“Oh, of course, darling,” I drawled. “Just don't let my husbands catch you doing that again.”
Edward cleared his throat nervously. “Thanks for the tip.”
I grinned and offered, “We can still dance. Just be careful where you put your hands.”
Leshing laughed brightly as he led me past the reporters. Cameras flashed rapidly, their lights chasing us into the ballroom.
Round tables spotted most of the ballroom with a small dance floor and stage at one end and a bar on one side. The palette was black and white, with tall vases full of lilies serving as centerpieces. I frowned at the choice of flowers. Lilies? Don't they represent death? Despite the morbid flowers, I had to admit that the neutral background made the guests stand out, their finery flashing beneath the lights. With his snowy white hair and black suit, Cyprian should have been the only guest to blend into the scenery, but the Faulin Master of D.C. always stood out no matter where he was or what he wore. Instead of blending in, Cyprian's undeniable allure and magnetism made it appear as if the ball had been decorated to match him. He caught my gaze from where he stood amid a huddle of people, including Malik, Kyrian, and Braxis, then winked at me. I grinned back.
And that man had worried about being a good father. I'd been amazed the first time I learned about Cyprian's insecurities. He presented such a confident picture. But he'd been born a slave and had suffered indignities that sometimes haunted his dreams and sent him into my arms in the middle of the night, shivering and crying silent tears. There would always be a scar of slavery inside him—the words of worthlessness seared into his mind by his old masters. But he had risen above their abuse and become this shining creature. A strong, beautiful man. What better role model could a child have? I couldn't wait to hold his baby in my arms and see Cyprian's eyes fill with wonder and love.
“This way, Amanda,” Edward said, catching my attention again.
Leshing led me to a table but only to drop off the programs and the swag bags they'd given us at the door. Then we were off to the bar, where he ordered us pirouettes—one of the gala's special cocktails. We strolled through the room holding hands and sipping our elaborate drinks but we weren't alone for long. Within minutes, we were surrounded by his colleagues—and I mean colleagues as in members of the same social class, not fellow employees. In other words, I was surrounded by millionaires.
Not that they impressed me. I was married to some of the wealthiest men in all the galaxies. To put that into perspective, simply look up at the night sky. Every star you see is a sun with planets orbiting it. Not every planet boasts intelligent life, only about a third. But that is still a hell of a lot of galaxies. Malik and Everan, if not the Rians, were on the top ten list of richest men in all of those galaxies.
So, no, these men didn't impress me.
“A little bird told me you're from Italy,” one of the millionaires said. I think he did something with software.
“I lived there for the past ten years,” I said with a lifted brow. If this man knew my backstory already, it meant he'd been googling me as soon as Leshing had spoken my name to the reporters. Interesting.
He started speaking Italian to me, a glimmer in his eyes telling me it was a test. Roughly translated, he said, “I'm surprised that you've kept your American accent over ten years.”
I responded in perfect Italian with, “I know many languages, but I never allow them to influence each other.”
The man blinked. “How many languages?” he asked in English.
