With a low laugh, Jagger shakes his head. “It’s an old joke from when me and my brothers were little. No one could standbeing my dad’s assistant for more than a few weeks, so we stopped learning their names and call every one of them Jeeves.”
“Oh.” I bite back my amusement. “Yeah, that makes more sense.”
“Come on,” he urges.
I take off Jagger’s suit jacket and hand it back to him. “First, take this.”
“You sure?” he asks.
“Positive. I gotta show off my fancy new dress, right?” I twist into a subtle pose and give him a pouty look as if I’m a famous model on a runway.
His dark eyes heat as he browses every inch of me, leaving me more exposed than the velvet black material ever could. “You do look incredible.”
The butterflies wake at his words. “You know, I think you’ve mentioned that a few times already.”
As he slips his arms back into his dark suit, he murmurs, “And I have every intention of taking advantage of your dress as soon as we’re done with this shit show.”
I grin up at him. “Pretty sure you mentioned that, too.”
He offers his arm for me to take. “We better hurry. Ford’s already three drinks in.”
“Three? Already?” My eyes pop. “How?”
“It’s Ford,” Jagger reminds me.
Wow.
Jagger sighs. “Come on. Hawke texted for backup.”
Rich browns, vibrant golds, deep reds. The colors swirl through the opulent foyer of the ballroom as we step inside in search of Jagger’s brothers. It’s beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Chandeliers hang from the twenty-foot tall ceiling while the sconces on the walls balance the lighting perfectly, giving the room a rich, almost romantic glow. It feels intimate when I’d been expecting sterile. Add in the live band on the center stage, afancy bar serving drinks, and the giant Christmas tree decorated to the nines in the corner. I’m officially impressed. Intimidated and impressed. I want to hate it. To tell myself a guy like Titas Harden has gaudy taste, but the truth is, it’s spectacular, and you can’t criticize a man for knowing how to draw a person’s attention. Waiters dressed in black tuxedos balance trays of finger foods and glasses of champagne as they weave through the guests, offering some of the fanciest and probably tastiest foods I’ve ever laid eyes on.
“Hawke said they’re at the front,” Jagger adds. “This way.” He snags two champagnes from a tray, handing one to me, then guiding us through the throng of people. And there are a lot of them. Old. Young. It doesn’t matter. They’re glitzed and glammed, making me feel like I’m at a party hosted by the Great Gatsby himself.
“And to think I thought I overdressed,” I mutter. Jagger squeezes my free hand, confirming he heard me but doesn’t comment.
Then, I notice them. Hawke, Ford, and Cobie, the baby sister. We’ve only run into each other a few times. Usually, she’s at Judge’s house, keeping the “old man” company since her brothers are too busy for her—her words, not mine. She’s really nice, though, and I’m grateful for the added familiar face. Speaking of familiar faces, where’s Roman? I start scanning the table for the missing person when Jagger’s brothers spot us approaching them. Ford hands Hawke a few bills, grumbling under his breath, but I’m too far to hear what’s said.
“Make another bet?” Jagger asks.
“I guessed you’d pick red,” Ford mumbles.
“Not today, little brother,” Hawke volleys, giving me his attention. “Good to see you, Violet.”
“You, too,” I reply. And it is. It’s good to see all of them. The more time I’ve spent at Harden Estate, the more I’veappreciated each brother for who they are, although it seems we’re still missing one of them. I continue my search to the rest of the ballroom, but come up empty, so I squeeze Jagger’s hand. “Where’s Roman?”
“Couldn’t make it,” Hawke answers.
Ford scoffs into his glass, then finishes it off with two swallows.
Feeling like I missed a joke, I open my mouth to ask for clarification, but Ford cuts me off. “Daddy Dearest doesn’t appreciate us hanging out with commoners. No offense,” he adds wryly. “I’m sure he’ll love you.” He pauses and looks me up and down and turns to Jagger. “Maybe a little too much, actually. You sure the dress was a good idea?”
“Ignore him,” Cobie rushes out. “You look gorgeous. Seriously.”
“Thanks.” I smooth down the dark velvet clinging around me, then take in Cobie’s white lacy dress. Her honey-brown hair is pinned so it tumbles down one shoulder, leaving the majority of her neck exposed, and her makeup is flawless. “You do, too.”
She beams back at me. “Thank you. I haven’t been to one of these events in forever.” Leaning closer to me, she drops her voice. “I’m basically the ugly stepchild my dad keeps hidden in the basement, you know what I mean?”
I snort in response because, clearly, Cobie’s never looked in a mirror. The woman’s gorgeous. Like, literally supermodel gorgeous with a side of girl next door. I have no doubt it drives men wild. Add in the angelic white of her dress, bright green eyes, and contagious smile, and I almost feel sorry for any sucker stupid enough to fall for her. With three over-protective brothers, he’d be doomed.
