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The woman has a smile so wide—and fake—it looks like she’s got a tattoo on her face. “You never visited me again, but I’m not one to hold grudges, so I’ll disregard your ingratitude.”
I can’t hold back an eye roll.
“I’m very happy with the campaign’s success,” she says, looking at my pregnant belly, clearly marked by the dress.
Maybe I’m too sensitive, but I feel like she’s insinuating I got the job because of the belly bump sinceVanityis Christos’s.
“Thanks,” I reply dryly.
“But I see you won’t be able to shoot for a long time.” She takes a step forward with her hand outstretched as if to stroke my belly.
I walk backward, but before I can move any farther, Christos’s voice booms. “No.”
It’s an undeniable ‘no’—the kind that leaves no doubt and is brimming with subtext:
Don’t come any closer.
Don’t bother my wife.
Don’t touch my children.
She freezes, her smile fading a little. “Christos Lykaios. I heard some talk that my niece was”— she pauses dramatically, and I want to hit her—“workingwithyou.”
I hear a disgusted sigh from Madeline, and I feel sorry for her. She’s probably ashamed of her mother’s behavior.
My fiancé puts his arm around me. “She is not just working,” he says at a volume anyone inside the VIP can hear. “She is mine in every way. Zoe will be my wife and the mother of my children.”
An “ohhhhh” is heard, and then silence reigns for almost half a minute.
Adley is the first to recover. “Oh, what a joy!” She completely changes her tone. “Congratulations, Zoe. I am very happy with the news. When is the wedding?”
I hit my limit of masochism for the day.
Ignoring the viper’s question, I turn to Madeline. “Can you join me in the toilet?”
“Of course.”
I take Christos’s hand and give it a kiss. “I’ll be back.”
He looks at me like he wants to say something but holds himself back. As we walk away, I notice a bodyguard following us.
Zoe
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
“I’m sorry about everything, Zoe.”
“It’s not your fault, Maddie,” I say, calling her by her nickname. “No one chooses the mother they have.”
She lets out a huff of laughter. “I know that better than anyone.”
“You’re coming to my wedding, right?”
“Yes, I am. I’ve never been to North Carolina. I’m really excited, but I wanted to ask you a favor.”
I stop walking. “Of course.”
“Please help me choose a dress. My mother always criticizes all my clothes, and when she helps me, they look like this,” she says, pointing to her current outfit.
