“I want it in two hours,” he states.
The voice on the other end is feminine and gushing.
“Good,” he says, then disconnects.
He sends a quick text.
“Are you going to call her?” I ask.
“No. I made arrangements for Ruiz to take them to a spa. Massages and whatnot.”
He must read my surprise.
“You are right. Tianna loves us. We need to be worthy of it. She gave me everything. The least I can do is make sure she isn’t sore or ill-rested.”
I bite my tongue and just say, “Good idea.”
He nods and strides out of the office.
Shaking my head, I go back to the numbers and budgeting.
Chapter one hundred sixteen
Christianna
The past week has been a whirlwind of rehearsals and final touches for the dinner. I have never been so pampered nor so sleep-deprived.
Now instead of being one of many with the orchestra, I am front and center.
I don’t plan where to stand, but I end up there anyway. Between them. We decided not to hide our relationship and this is as public as it gets. Erik’s hand is laced with mine, warm and steady. Remy’s arm rests around my shoulders, his palm firm at my upper arm.
The room hums with polished conversation and expensive perfume. Crystal glasses. Quiet money. We have been here chatting with patrons for the last hour. As we chat with our box holders, a persistent chill running down my back.
Maintaining eye contact with the bank president in front of me is becoming difficult. Someone is watching me, and the energy is malevolent. Remy absently rubs his hand up and down my arm as he feels my flesh pebble. I glance at Ruiz. He isjust across from me, watching the room. I follow his gaze to a group of women near the bar. They have mean girl energy and I catch one pointing our way before she sees me looking. I force my attention back and murmur politely as the man and his wife break away.
A woman breaks off from the group and approaches, bedecked in jewels. Older, probably fifties, with hair she probably thinks is platinum blonde but which looks gray against her sagging jowls and overdone makeup I suppress an eye roll. She is whispering to her friend as she approaches and I feel my stomach tighten at the disdainful look on their faces.
“Well,” the first woman says, eyes flicking over the three of us. “This is… interesting.”
Erik ignores them. I need to learn how to do that. Her gaze lands on me. She tilts her head, lips curving. “I suppose at least you’ll always know who the father is.”
“My mother is blonde with blue eyes,” Remy says calmly.
Her brows lift, unimpressed. The familiar heat rises in my chest, but I don’t let it turn sharp. I meet her gaze. “My grandfather was Black.”
Her mouth opens, just slightly. Erik turns his head then, fully facing her.
“You should be embarrassed,” he says evenly. “You said that casually. Publicly.”
There’s a muttered, “Charles is going to go through the roof when he finds out,” from someone in a nearby group, followed by nervous titters.
“Oh, please,” she scoffs. “I didn’t mean anything by it. People are so sensitive now.”
“You are an embarrassment,” Erik replies. The woman beside her stays silent. Watches. Says nothing.
“Do you know who my husband is?” the first woman snaps.
“Yes,” Erik says. “And he will not look kindly on being barred permanently from our events and properties for cause.”
