I should look away, should give them privacy. But I’m frozen, watching as Kade’s free hand trails down Milo’s chest, over his ribs, coming to rest at his belt buckle.
“We have maybe five minutes before someone notices we’re both gone. Tell me how you want to use them.”
Kade pulls Milo’s zipper down with his teeth, and the purely masculine sound Milo makes goes straight to my dick, despite my confusion about watching two men together.
I’ve never... I mean, OCK doesn’t care who you fuck, but I’ve never been with a guy. Never really thought about it. But watching Kade’s obvious worship of Milo, the way they touch each other like they can’t get close enough?—
It’s hot. Undeniably, confusingly hot.
I should leave, should give them privacy. Should?—
Movement in my peripheral vision makes me tear my eyes away from the scene before me.
A flash of emerald green disappearing into a door further down the hallway.
Mara?
TWENTY-EIGHT
MARA
Too much. Everything is too much. The dinner, the speeches, my father, my mother, the cameras, the eyes, everyone watching, everyone judging, everyone expecting me to be perfect …
And the questions. God, the questions.
Where’s Chase? When’s the wedding? Have you heard from him? Are you worried? Does the President know where his future son-in-law is?
Question after question. Smile after smile. Lie after lie.
“He’s traveling for business.”
“We weren’t the best match after all.”
“No, I’m not worried.”
“Everything’s fine.”
Everything is not fine. Chase Harrington is dead—frozen in pieces in the OCK basement. Killed by the man I love because Chase murdered his sister, and I’m supposed to stand here in this emerald dress and smile and pretend we broke up amicably.
And I can’t tell anyone—can’t break character. Can’t let the mask slip even for a second because if I do, if anyone sees the truth, it’s over.
But the questions keep coming, and my answers keep getting thinner, and I can feel myself cracking under the weight of maintaining this lie.
Mrs. Porter cornered me by the dessert table. “Dear, you must be so worried about Chase. It’s been weeks since anyone’s seen him.”
“He’s very private about his business dealings,” I said.
“But surely he’d want to be here tonight, for your father’s inauguration.”
“He sent his regrets. Prior commitments.”
“How strange. I heard his father doesn’t know where he is either.”
And that’s when it hit me. They’re not just making small talk, they’re fishing. Trying to figure out if I know something—if the President’s daughter is somehow involved in Chase Harrington’s disappearance.
I excused myself, mumbled something about the ladies room, and fled down the service corridor before anyone could stop me.
Now I’m here, in this dark room, hands shaking, thoughts racing, and I can’t make it stop. Can’t slow down. Can’t catch my breath.
