Page 79 of Twisted Truth

“That’s so sweet,” I say, turning to Asher.

He stands and holds out his hand. “We should join the throng.”

Not,Will you dance with me?

I stand without taking his hand, rolling my eyes.

We stand at the edge of the dance floor, and he stiffly takes me in his arms. I almost snort to myself. Awkward prom couple, indeed. I haven’t danced a slow dance like this, with this much stiffness between me and my partner, since Iwasa teen at prom.

“May I cut in?” a sneering voice asks.

I turn and see Asher’s uncle, Conrad. He’s looking at us with one brow raised, and other people are noticing. Asher lets go of me and steps back.

“Of course,” he says, but his voice and eyes are cold.

Asher’s aunt steps up to dance with him, and I reluctantly step into his uncle’s embrace.

“This has been quite a week for you,” Conrad says in his same, sneering tone. “What has it been like to go from a little nobody PR grunt to New York’s new ‘it girl,’ splashed across the media?”

I bite my tongue before I can lash out a rude answer, and I take a moment to compose an appropriate one.

“It’s been a whirlwind. It’s not something I ever expected.”

“No?”

“No. As you said, on Monday I was just a little PR grunt trying to do my job.”

“And now you’re being hailed as the future Mrs. Asher Langford.”

“I didn’t write those articles.”

He chuckles. “Of course not. But you made sure that you were the one chosen to be in those articles.”

“What are you implying?”

“I’m merely noting that due to your team’s suggestions,youwere the candidate Asher selected, when he was supposed to choose one of the more . . .notableNew York society women.”

“No one was more surprised by that than I was, I assure you.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Then let’s be glad that this is all a ruse and that you are not the actual woman selected to be Asher’s wife. The Langfords don’t marry the rabble. We marry others of our own stature.”

This time, I literally bite my tongue to keep from retorting. The song blessedly ends right after Conrad’s insult, and I tear myself out of his arms like he’s shocked me. I return to Asher’s frosty side, and his aunt gives me another condescending smile.

Matthew walks up to us, blocking out Asher’s aunt and uncle. “We have some more introductions to get through,” he says to Asher. “And you need to get your shit together.”

“I’m not staying for the party,” Asher growls. “Make my excuses.” He reaches out and grips my hand. “Let’s go.”

I yank my hand out of his. “I can walk without you dragging me.”

He narrows his eyes, pissed. But of course he doesn’t speak to me. He just turns and walks away, his phone to his ear, calling for the car. And I follow after him like the obedient dog I am.

Cameras flash again as we make our way back to the car.Photographers shout for one more shot. Asher pointedly ignores them, and I trail behind him.

Once we’re in the car, I sit on the driver’s side, on the opposite bench, and stare out the window. Asher is on his phone either texting or answering emails, and we sit stiffly, ignoring one another. And I still have no idea what happened. After about twenty minutes of pointed silence, I’m growing more and more frustrated.