“And because he wanted you to show up with me to combat the tabloids?”
Art’s jaw clenches. “You have to know how it looks with you and Lance.”
“You put us together!” I hiss, pulling my arm free. And underneath the anger, guilt coils through me, because he’s not wrong about what’s happening, even if he’s wrong about everything else. What happened last night in Lance’s armchair, against his wall, in his bed… If Art knew, “how it looks” would be the least of his concerns.
“I put you together for your protection, and to give Lance something to do besides rot down in those fucking cages.Notso you could make me look like a fool.”
I rear back, the word “fool” ringing in my ears.
“Gin, I didn’t mean that.”
He reaches for me, and I step away.
“I need a minute.”
A server appears at Art’s elbow, murmuring about dinner. The crowd shifts, guests drifting toward the dining room in silk and cologne.
Art’s eyes dart between me and the flow of people. I watch the calculation happen in real time, his anger weighed against the optics his father just demanded.
The optics win.
“We’ll talk about this later.” He offers his arm. “Right now, we have a dinner to get through.”
I want to refuse. Want to rip my arm away and walk out of this house and never come back.
But Lance’s voice echoes in my head.You’re the queen. Patient. Waiting. Then you strike.And then my father’s.Never let them see the cracks. Everything stays the same.
So I take Art’s arm, paste on a smile, and let him lead me into the dining room, where a hundred people are waiting to watch us play the happy couple.
Across the room, I feel Lance’s gaze on me like a brand.
I don’t look back.
Chapter 34
Genevieve
Three long tables stretch beneath crystal chandeliers, draped in white linen and flickering candlelight.
Art pulls out my chair, his hand lingering on the back of my neck as I sit.
He settles beside me, close enough that his thigh presses against mine under the table. His hand drops to my knee immediately, fingers curling over the fabric of my dress, and squeezes.
“You okay?” he asks. “After earlier?”
“Fine,” I say and plaster on my smile.
His thumb traces circles on my knee, and I focus on the silverware arrangement to keep from screaming.
Guests filter in around us. Juliette and Roman take seats nearby, and Juliette catches my eye with a look I can’t fully decipher before sliding her gaze to the place card directly across from me.
My stomach drops.
Lance appears moments later, weaving between chairs, andtakes that seat. He doesn’t look at me. He just adjusts the napkin in his lap and picks up a water glass with a steady hand.
Mine haven’t stopped trembling since I got here.
Merrick drops into the seat beside Lance, and Felicity takes his other side. Alex is farther down, leaning back with the bored ease of someone who’s attended a hundred of these. Paxton and Tiffany are at the head, side by side.
