Page 17 of A Vicious Love

Jamison did not come over.

He stayed at the bar. Then near the windows. Then in a corner with two men who nodded too much and smiled too little. He drank. He checked his phone. Once, his eyes passed over me without stopping, as if I were part of the furniture.

I told myself it was fine.

I did not need Jamison to be nice.

I only wished he were.

Dinner was served in a long glass conservatory attached to the resort. The room was full of winter flowers and white candles, with a dark sky. It should have been romantic. It should have been magical.

Jamison sat beside me because the seating chart forced him to. His body angled away from mine for most of the meal.

I tried once.

“They did a nice job with the flowers,” I said.

He cut into his steak. “It’s a tax write-off.”

I smiled because that was nearly a joke if I tilted my head right. “Still pretty.”

“Pretty is what people use when they don’t have anything useful to say.”

“Jamison.” Harrison said, across the table and stopped mid bite.

Jamison looked up. “What?”

The table went quiet.

I moved quickly to save it because that was what I did. I gathered broken pieces before anyone cut themselves on them.

“It’s okay,” I said. “He’s right. I was just saying something to say something.”

Jamison went back to eating.

I did too, even though every bite felt thick in my throat. The rest of dinner blurred into noise and candlelight.

Afterward, people returned to the main hall for coffee and speeches. The fundraiser had an auction later, then fireworks over the west lawn, weather permitting. I tried to stay near Emmie, but she got pulled into a conversation with a woman from the St. Verity family, and Marcel had to speak with resort donors.

Harrison disappeared to take a call.

Jamison vanished completely. I found him twenty minutes later near the side exit, coat already on, phone pressed to his ear.

Panic made me move before pride could stop me.

“Jamjam?”

He glanced at me.

“I have to go.”

“Oh.” I stopped beside him. “Okay. I’ll get my coat.”

“No.” His voice was impatient. “You stay.”

I stared at him, not understanding. “Stay?”

“It’s an event.”