My father laughed politely, but his focus was on me, and I tried not to squirm under his gaze as I ignored her insult.
Mrs. Harrington noticed my discomfort and tittered, clearly pleased that they had stirred the pot. They excused themselves to go to the hors d’oeuvres table.
“I see Joe over there. I’m going over to talk to him,” my father said quietly. “Try to keep your staring at certain individuals to a minimum; we don’t want to give these vultures anything to gossip about,” he warned.
“Of course, Dad.” I forced myself to take another sip of juice to steady my hand, but like the evening itself, it had lost its sparkle.
Because they weren’t wrong — I had been watching him, and now my father had noticed, and if he had noticed, that meant Dante would have, and I really didn’t need to be the one who boosted his ego.
The crowd seemed to thicken around me, voices rising, glasses clinking. My father was already shaking hands with the next person, launching into another story — probably about Wrighton’s legacy — and I just wanted to go home. Or better yet, go to the shed and work.
I smoothed my dress with a shaky hand, forcing a polite smile, praying the flush in my cheeks wasn’t obvious.
Across the room, Dante caught my eye. Just for a second. His grin didn’t falter, not for those hanging on his every word, but something flickered there — like he knew I was struggling. Like I was an open book, and he was the only one who could read it.
I tore my gaze back to my father, who hadn’t looked at me again but whose gentle warning still rang clear in my mind. Smile. Engage. Pretend you weren’t just accused of mooning over the quarterback in a room full of donors who lived for gossip.
So I did. I let my mouth curve into the exact expression Dad had taught me, and moved around the room, answering questions about my studies and my upcoming summer internship, nodding at all the right moments. But my ears kept listening for the sound of his laugh, and my eyes flicked involuntarily to where Dante was working the room as if he’d been born for it.
I was pinned right where I didn’t want to be — between the life my father expected me to live and the dangerous pull of the quarterback I was finding it harder and harder to ignore.
Every time I caught the glint of his gaze sliding back to me, my stomach churned with equal parts fear and heat. And every time our eyes met, I could endure this evening just a little more.
Chapter 12
Savannah
I’d just managed to slip away from an endless monologue about a third cousin once removed who ‘almost made it to the NFL,’ when Dante appeared at my elbow like he’d been waiting for the exact moment I was seriously considering faking an injury. Or causing one...
“Sav.” His voice was low, pitched so only I could hear over the clinking glasses and donor laughter.
I stiffened. “What?”
“You told me I didn’t need help,” he said sharply, cutting straight to it, no smile, no charm. Just those blue eyes locking onto me as if he were calling a play, and I hadn’t caught it. “You’re wrong.”
My throat tightened. The nerve of him, cornering me here of all places. “You’re supposed to be working the room, Ten. Shake hands, smile for pictures, remember? You’ve been doing it since you got here. You’re a natural, you don’t need me.”
“Sav, play nice,” he shot back. “You think I don’t know when I need backup? You’re going to show me how to get away from these insufferable bastards with the same ease as you do, Sav. Whether you like it or not.”
Heat crawled up my neck. Half the room was watching him, not me — because of course they were — but it still felt like a spotlight had swung our way.
“Say it louder,” I murmured, enjoying the thrill of hearing his admission, while forcing my smile to remain polite and not gloating, for anyone glancing over. “Really make sure everyone here hears you admit that youneedme.”
His grin flashed suddenly, sharp and devastating, and my stomach flipped because it looked nothing like surrender. “Don’ttempt me, sweetheart. I could show them all exactly what you need.”
He leaned in closer, close enough for the scent of his cologne to mingle with the champagne fizz in the air. “You’re staying with me. So maybe stop pretending you don’t like me, and instead thank me for saving you from these boring bastards who make you look like you want to die on the spot.”
Had I been so obvious?
Before I could retort, another benefactor clapped him on the back, drawing his attention. Dante shifted smoothly, slipping back into that golden-boy act — but his words lingered, prickling under my skin as he stood beside me, his fingers lightly brushing the small of my back, keeping me close, as he made sure I didn’t use the interruption as an excuse to walk away. He hadn’t looked like he was struggling, not at all.
But itwaseasier with him there. It was maybe even... fun. Slowly, I felt myself relax. I stayed close to him, not touching, but together we worked the room. It felt strangely natural. Somehow, the fake formality of it all was more bearable with him by my side.
I was laughing at something someone said, taking a step back as they demonstrated a lunge as part of their story, when Dante turned back to my side, close enough that his shoulder brushed mine. He reached past, steadying a champagne flute a server nearly tipped, and in the process, his hand pressed against my lower back.
Too warm. Too steady. Too much.
“You should watch it,” he murmured, his mouth near my ear, his breath catching strands of my hair. “It would be a shame if this dress didn’t survive the night.”
