Page 27 of The Temporary Bride

With my mother to one side of me and my sister to the other, I head toward the ballroom doors on the far side of the lobby.

The ballroom itself is huge, made even larger by the mirrored panels strategically placed along the walls. The focal point of the ballroom is a large, gleaming dance floor, polished to perfection and surrounded by tables adorned with crisp, white linens and exquisite floral centerpieces—cream and red roses, of course, for romance. Each table is meticulously set with fine china, crystal glassware, and polished silverware.

I’m fashionably late to my own engagement party, it seems. Most of our guests are already here, milling around on the outskirts of the dance floor and nursing drinks from the open bar.

“I’m going to get a pinot,” my mother says. “Can I get either of you a drink?”

“I’ll have the same,” Genevieve says brightly. She glances at me, and I shake my head, my lips pursed.

“Are you sure, darling?” my mother asks. “It’s a celebration, after all.”

“I’m sure.” I want to keep my head as clear as possible tonight. “Thank you, though.”

As my mother wanders off, Genevieve grins at me. “So how are you enjoying being our parents’ favorite?”

The question takes me aback. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re helping expand the business so much,” she says, still smiling. “You know Dad is thrilled with you right now.”

Uncomfortable, I shift my weight, forcing a little laugh. It’s fake as hell, but Genevieve doesn’t seem to pick up on how weird I feel.

“Speaking of Dad, I’d better mingle,” I say. “He gave me some homework for this evening.”

Genevieve rolls her eyes. “Of course he did. Never a day off with him, is there?”

Never a day off for the next three years, I think to myself, but don’t say aloud. I start off toward the tables on the far side of the room. I’ll work my way around the outskirts until I get to Armstrong, who’s sitting adjacent to the dance floor.

I’ve been going to parties like this one for my entire life, but I always struggle a bit at them. Since I can only hear out of one ear, I have to take care to focus and make sure I can hold a conversation—make sure I don’t end up in the wrong position with my hearing drowned out by noise around me.

I’ve made my way through two tables when my eyes lock with Tristan’s from across the room. He starts to make his way toward me. Aware of all the eyes on me, I bite back the instinctive cold greeting, forcing a smile.

As he draws closer, something passes across his face as he looks me up and down, taking in my fitted, swoop-necked black dress. He reaches for my hand, lifting it, his thumb brushing the ring on my finger.

“That’s better,” he says, too quietly for anyone nearby to hear. Then he drops his head and places a kiss on the back of my hand.

My heart stutters at the feeling of his lips on my skin. I swallow, dropping my gaze to the marble floor.

Tristan places a hand on my hip, tucking me close by his side. I frown, looking up at him.

“I was actually headed over to that table by the dance floor,” I tell him, gesturing to Armstrong’s table. “My father asked me to speak to some business contacts this evening.”

A smirk flashes across his face. He chuckles. “You shouldn’t be working tonight. It’s your engagement party.”

I raise an eyebrow at him. He’s so full of it. I mean we’re both technically working tonight, aren’t we?

“You just don’t want me talking to them because you know I’ll be making inroads for MediaSphere,” I snip at him. “Just because we’re getting married doesn’t mean you can get in the way of my⁠—”

“Maybe,” he interrupts. “Or maybe I just want my future wife by my side tonight. All night. Is that so wrong?”

There’s something about the way he says it—about the way he holds me close, his hand resting above my hip—that stops my train of thought in its tracks. This feels… genuine. I can feel my heart racing, and pray he doesn’t notice.

He’s good at this. Too good. I feel like I’m going insane.

A man approaches us. He looks strikingly like Tristan, although he’s wearing glasses. His hair is longer, and his eyes are brown rather than blue, but there are enough similarities in their appearances that it’s easy to tell they’re twins.

“Hey,” Reid says, nodding to both of us. “You guys making the rounds?”

“We were just about to,” Tristan answers.