“Incredible,” he said. Yet as his eyes returned to her, his expression softened—a shift, barely perceptible, but there.
“It’ll have to do,” he said finally, his voice low and resigned. He straightened his jacket, then wordlessly held out her coat. She slid into it, and for a second, he didn’t let go, his hands resting heavily on her shoulders as they both stared at their reflections in the mirror. It was a silent acknowledgement of the charade they were about to walk into. He glanced at the door and said, “Let’s go.”
The ballroom was a dazzling spectacle, awash with twinkling chandeliers, gleaming champagne flutes, and guests who seemed to have been born in designer couture. She adjusted her hair for the fifth time, fingers lingering as she tried to find an expression that felt believable.
The sunflower ring flashed defiantly under the lights, a bold statement of rebellion sparkling on her finger.
“Relax,” he said quietly beside her, his tone even but low enough that only she could hear it. “You’re fidgeting.”
“Some of us don’t spend our evenings parading through events like this,” she said, tilting her head just enough to maintain a pleasant expression for the passing couples who glanced their way.
“Keep your expression pleasant,” he said, his lips barely moving. He’d been doing that all night—talking without breaking his polished exterior. It was maddeningly effective. “And remember, you’re madly in love with me.”
“Madly,” she said, taking a sip of her champagne. The bubbles fizzed against her tongue, which was nice because it distracted her from how close his arm was to hers. He kept hernear his side all evening, his hand resting on the small of her back whenever anyone approached. It was so effortless she could believe he didn’t hate every second of this.
“Here they come,” he said suddenly, his voice tightening. His attention flicked toward an elegant couple weaving through the crowd. Even before they reached them, she knew who they were.
Eleanor Beauchamp moved with effortless poise, her sharp eyes fixed on them, intense, missing no detail. Beside her, Andrew Beauchamp strolled with casual authority, his expression kind yet measured, as if his full appraisal of them was complete before he even spoke.
“Showtime,” she said under her breath, her fingers curling instinctively around the delicate stem of her champagne flute.
“Devney.” His voice was firm, pulling her focus before the Beauchamps arrived. For once, there was no sharpness—only a calm, unwavering certainty. Almost reassuring. “You’ve got this.”
And with barely a moment’s pause, as Eleanor and Andrew stopped before them, she embraced the role with a sudden, natural confidence. “Mr. and Mrs. Beauchamp! What an absolute pleasure.”
“You must be Devney.” Eleanor’s voice was a perfect mix of intrigue and decorum. She extended her hand to Ronan with genuine interest. “And you must be Mr. Wilder. Eleanor Beauchamp. Andrew has been looking forward to this conversation.” She glanced between them with curiosity. “And what a lovely companion you’ve brought.”
Devney hadn’t said a word when Ronan stepped in. His tone was decisive but not harsh as he said, “She is more than my companion.” He reached out to take her hand. “She’s my fiancée.”
“Congratulations,” Andrew said before shaking his hand. Then he turned his attention to her. His expression waspleasant, but the calculation behind it was hard to miss. “So, how did you two meet?”
She was prepared for this. “Ah, the classic question,” she said, buying a moment with another sip of champagne. She glanced up at Ronan, who gave her one of those maddeningly neutral expressions—just enough movement to say, Go on, let’s see how you spin this. Somehow, what they had planned didn’t seem to fit the bill, so she improvised.
“Actually,” she said, laughter slipping out as she spoke, “it’s more of a sitcom than a fairy tale. We first met when I started working for him. Strictly professional, of course. But after spending long hours together, putting out corporate fires, and navigating his unique approach to teamwork, the dynamic sort of evolved. Against all odds.”
She glanced at him, eyes twinkling. “Somewhere between crisis management and coffee runs, we realized we were more than a capable duo. And, well…” She shrugged, as if the rest were obvious. “On our first official date, I drenched his immaculate white shirt with a full glass of merlot.” She tipped her head toward him with a cheeky grin.
Eleanor’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
Her grin turned shameless, mischief bright in her eyes. “Oh, absolutely. And then there was the time I accidentally locked us out of his lake house in the middle of winter. We had to spend the night in the boathouse until the locksmith could make it out the next day.”
A burst of laughter escaped Andrew as he looked at Ronan. “Sounds like you two have had quite the journey.”
Laughter bubbled around her as she said, with a playful wink at her “fiancé,” “And yet, despite all these mishaps, he still proposed to me. Can you imagine? He actually wants someone who brings this level of spontaneity into his life.” Her laugh ranglight and easy, but when she glanced at him, her expression softened.
Andrew chuckled. “Well now, it certainly appears she keeps you on your toes, Ronan. That can’t be all bad.”
“She’s worth it,” he said, his voice even, so composed and certain that her heart gave a small, startled jump. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he slid an arm around her waist and drew her closer. His palm pressed against the thin fabric of her dress, sending a quick shiver through her.
Eleanor’s sharp eyes flicked between them, dissecting every nuance, every exchanged look, every movement. For a moment, the ballroom’s buzz dimmed…the world shrank to just the four of them. She swallowed, mind racing for her next move.
Then, without thinking it through, she leaned into him, letting her head rest against his shoulder.
He stiffened for half a second—long enough for her to notice—but then relaxed, his hand shifting at her waist. When he spoke, his voice was quieter, lower, carrying an intimacy that made her breath catch.
“She makes life interesting,” he said, barely above a murmur.
Eleanor’s lips curved, though her eyes still gleamed with interest. “Interesting is often underrated,” she said, before glancing at Andrew. “Don’t you agree, darling?”
