She grabs my arm, leaning in close, voice back to a whisper. “I’ll be waiting up late tonight. You know where to find me.”
I jerk my arm away and walk off without another word.
I wander through the mingling crowd, searching for one face only.
Dad’s near the center of the room, deep in talks with some of the men in the gang—Fionn, Tully, and a few others. He’s in his element, cigar in hand, commanding presence radiating off him like heat.
Malcolm Langston is across the room with his wife, Ashante. She’s a stunning woman in a cream silk dress that contrasts with her dark brown skin. She looks as regal as her husband looks powerful.
They’re in polite conversation with a business associate, both of them smiling like this is just another corporate event.
But there’s no sign of their daughter.
Murmurs ripple through the crowd. People turn their heads, craning their neck for a glance.
…and there she is. Finally.
Simone Langston’s walked in.
I go still, struck speechless for one of the first times in my thirty-one years.
She’s gorgeous.
That’s the first thing I notice.
Loose dark curls fall to her shoulders, framing a heart-shaped face that has features peoplepayfor.
High cheekbones. Glittery eyes a golden hazel shade. Lips naturally full and pouty, colored a deep rosy pink that pairs well with her rich brown skin.
She’s wearing a floral cocktail dress that’s fitted to perfection—cinched at the waist, highlighting the swell of her hips, with a neckline that tastefully teases cleavage.
She looks like some regal princess.
A fucking queen in the making.
My future wife.
But as she gracefully enters the room, she doesn’t even glance in my direction. Her eyes sweep the mingling crowd, landing on her parents, on other guests and back again.
Anyone but me.
She ignores me completely.
Killian walks up beside me, whiskey in hand. I grab it from him and drain it in one quick swallow.
He raises a brow. “That bad, eh? Have at it. Turns out, the bar is bottomless.”
I don’t bother answering him. But one thing is clear: it’s going to be a long fucking night.
Dinner is uneventful.
Everyone sits down to a full-course meal dutifully served by the Beekman Hotel waitstaff. White tablecloths, crystal stemware, carefully plated entrées prepared by chefs that are probably world class.
It’s all very civilized. Very proper.
Though it’s my engagement dinner, Dad and Malcolm are the center of attention, keeping the conversation going and everybody roaring with laughter.
I’m seated next to Simone, though she still hasn’t so much as glanced at me. She seems to be otherwise in good spirits, smiling politely at something her mother says and sipping her wine every so often.
