“Forty,” the old man challenges back.
“Fifty,” Brent shouts to the MC.
“That’s fifty thousand. Do I hear fifty-five?”
Please say yes. Please!
The old man shakes his head in defeat.
“That’s fifty thousand going once.”
Oh, God no. Please, not Brent.
“Fifty going twice.”
Shit. It’s happening.
“One hundred thousand.” A familiar voice rings like a gong from the edge of the crowd. Everyone’s eyes whip around.
And a pair of warm brown eyes gaze at me, before Tristan’s smile beams up at me, and he gives me a wink that says, ‘I’ve got you.’
I could cry with relief.
“Sir, the current bid is fifty-five,” the MC reminds him.
“And I said one hundred thousand.” Tristan’s voice rings clear, and murmurs sweep across the room.
“That’s, um. That’s one hundred thousand.” The MC sounds unsure, but collects himself as he says. “Do I hear one-hundred and five?” The MC turns to Brent, whose frown is as hard as stone, before he shakes his head no.
“One hundred thousand going once. Twice. Sold.” The MC hammers his gavel onto the podium, and I run off stage before my knees buckle under me.
The MC murmurs the next lady’s name as I grab a fresh glass of champagne from a waiter with a swift thanks and step out of the main ballroom.
The lobby is empty, with everyone else lingering around the auction. Even in the open room, I struggle to catch my breath.
Tristan’s here. In disguise. His voice. God, I could recognize his voice anywhere, through any disguise.
“Hi, Princess.”
From behind me, his voice wraps around me, coating me like mist. Even with the colored contacts, the wig that’s a few shades of brown too light, and the fake nose that looks surprisingly real, his voice vibrates something in the marrow of my bones I can’t separate.
“You… you’re here. I didn’t think you’d show up. I’d hoped, but...” My voice trails off with unspoken words, and Tristan’s smile softens.
He strolls over, taking long steps to close the gap between us. Without hesitation, he cups my cheek and leans lower, his lips brushing against mine before our lips seal in a kiss that has my heart thumping against my ribs.
All too soon, Tristan ends it, and as the chandelier above his head twinkles, I remember where we are and who is here. I should care, but I don’t. I don’t give a fuck who sees me kissing Tristan, because it’s no one’s business. Not even the President’s.
“I will always find you, Princess.”
The slight growl in his voice leaves me breathless as he circles his arm around me and presses a palm to the small of my back, guiding me out of the lobby, past another door, and into an unoccupied banquet hall. The chandeliers are off, but outdoor lights illuminate the room in a soft white glow.
With the shock wearing off, I can clearly see how his black suit contours every hard line of his body, from his broad shoulders to his trim hips and thick thighs.
“Why are you here?” I ask.
Tristan chuckles as he releases me to shut the door. “It was in your calendar,” he admits with a sheepish grin as he rubs the back of his neck, his suit jacket lifting with the movement. “I wanted to see you tonight.” He closes the gapbetween us as my back presses against the wallpaper. His arms rest on either side of my head, and the smoked bourbon scent of his cologne engulfs me.
“Daphne, I want to hate you. To despise you. It would make this so much fucking easier, but I can’t stop thinking about you. Dreaming about you. There’s a connection that’s bone-deep, like you’re in my DNA and make up some part of me. I can sense when you’re nearby, when you’re in trouble. Tell me you couldn’t sense it the moment you heard me tonight, even if you couldn’t see me.”
