“That’s what I like to hear,” Mrs. Harrington pronounces, satisfied. “Steady is exactly what one needs in a wife.”
A sudden ripple of murmurs spreads through the nearby tables, interrupting the mothers’ conversation. I follow their gazes toward the entrance of the terrace, and my heart clenches painfully when I see the cause of the commotion.
Chase has arrived.
He stands at the top of the terrace steps in a tailored navy suit that hugs his athletic frame, the afternoon sun catching in his perfectly tousled blond hair. In his arms, he carries an explosion of red roses—several dozen at least—bundled in elegant wrapping. The sight is so over-the-top gallant that a collective “aw” whispers through the crowd. Of course he’d make an entrance like this, crashing a ladies’ charity tea, unannounced, just to remind everyone what a devoted fiancé he is.
Around me, women exchange delighted glances.
“Oh, isn’t that sweet?” someone gushes at a nearby table.
“Young love!” titters another.
My spine goes rigid. He wasn’t supposed to be here; this event was meant to be just us women. I fight to keep the shock off my face, hiding it behind a veneer of pleasant surprise. Inside, a cold dread pools in my stomach. Chase is never anywhere without a purpose.
He descends the steps with an easy smile, heading straight for our table. The roses in his arms look freshly cut, vibrant and blood-red. I force myself to stand, because when your fiancé approaches, you stand and greet them. It’s what’s expected. My chair scrapes lightly on the stone terrace as I rise.
“Ladies,” Chase says warmly as he reaches us. His voice is the perfect blend of courteous and charming, carrying just enough sincerity to seem real. “Pardon the interruption. I heard a rumor that all the most beautiful women in the city were gathered here, and I couldn’t stay away.”
Mrs. Harrington practically glows at the compliment, and my mother brings a hand to her chest in playful flattery. “Oh, Chase, you charmer.” My mother laughs. “We didn’t expect to see you this afternoon.”
He leans in and kisses my mother’s cheek, then his own mother’s, offering each of them one of the rose bouquets he brought. “For two radiant ladies,” he says, grinning as he hands them the flowers. They fawn over the gesture, exclaiming how thoughtful he is.
Finally, Chase turns to me. The brilliance of his public smile doesn’t falter, but I catch the steely glint in his blue eyes—a warning. I brace myself and manage to keep my own smile plastered on.
“And of course, these are for my beautiful bride-to-be,” he declares, presenting the largest bundle of roses to me with aflourish. The blooms are velvety, their cloying scent already overwhelming my senses.
The eyes of every guest on the terrace are on us now. I’m keenly aware of how this looks: Chase Harrington surprising me with roses in front of a crowd of society women, kissing my cheek as I juggle the extravagant bouquet. He’s staging a scene for their benefit, and he’s very good at it. Theoohsandahhsaround us swell.
“Thank you,” I murmur. My face aches from smiling.
Chase steps closer, an arm snaking around my waist possessively as he turns us slightly, giving the onlookers the perfect angle for their phone cameras. I hold the roses, doing my best to look the part of a delighted fiancée instead of a cornered animal.
He dips his head, ostensibly nuzzling affectionately near my ear. To anyone watching, it’s a tender moment, but I feel his hand at the nape of my neck, fingers brushing the stray hairs there, and the touch sends an involuntary shiver through me.
His lips barely move as he whispers, “You’ve been so good today.” His thumb grazes the base of my throat, just above my collarbone. “I have a reward for you tonight,” he adds in a low murmur.
My breath hitches. A reward.
Around us, the collective swoon of the guests is palpable. “Young love,” one of the ladies sighs to her companion, clasping her hands over her heart at the “romantic” whisper my charming fiancé is giving me. I catch a few dreamy-eyed smiles directed our way, as if we’re the lead couple in some fairytale.
I swallow back the bile rising in my throat and tilt my face toward Chase’s, letting him brush a chaste kiss against my cheek for show.If love sounds like a threat, you just smile prettier.So I do... I smile like I’ve never been happier.
Chase pulls back slightly, pleased. Then, he takes the heavy bouquet of roses from my arms and passes it off to a nearby waiter, before pulling out my chair with an exaggerated flourish. “May I join you for a moment?” he asks the table at large, as if he hasn’t already invited himself.
“Of course, darling,” my mother says, utterly charmed. Mrs. Harrington is practically floating with pride at her son’s display. They scoot over to make room as Chase settles next to me. His arm drapes along the back of my chair, fingers grazing my shoulder. To anyone watching, it’s a casual show of affection. To me, it feels like a cuff locking into place.
The charity tea resumes around us, though now the energy is twice as charged with Chase’s presence. I keep my hands folded in my lap under the table, squeezing them together until the nails leave crescent imprints in my skin. It’s the only outlet I have for the adrenaline still pulsing through my veins.
Chase remains glued to my side as the conversation turns to the charity’s cause—some holiday fund for underprivileged children. He contributes smoothly, offering to donate a luxury spa package for the silent auction at the engagement gala, and complimenting the committee on today’s lovely event.
He knows how to play the crowd. His smile is easy, his remarks witty but respectful.
The women eat it up, laughing at his little jokes, swooning when he casually mentions how he just couldn’t wait until this evening to see his fiancée.
I nod and smile when appropriate, the very picture of a serene partner by his side.
“You two make such a stunning couple,” one society matron gushes across the table. “Truly a perfect match.”
