Page 37
“Remember,” she murmurs, staring at the well-presented staff taking coats. “Where I go—”
“I go,” I finish.
Warmth spills over us the second we cross the threshold. There’s a string quartet playing creepy music, a waft of perfume and floral arrangements, and the loud chatter of guests dressed in their finest.
The entrance hall opens around us in mahogany from the walls to the split staircase. Wall sconces bleed light into shadows, and ancestral portraits stare down at us from the high walls.
“Jesus,” I whisper, holding my purse tighter. “You should recommend Mara’s interior designer. This place needs to be dragged into the twentieth century.”
Women in fancy dresses and jewels fawn over men in tailored suits, all nodding in Eilish’s direction as we move deeper into the house.
A waiter appears, placing a full tray before us.
“Champagne?” he asks.
Eilish takes a glass with a smile that looks perfect from a distance and brittle from where I’m standing. I take one too because I need alcohol to get me through, and my throat has gone dry.
A shiver moves down my spine, and I sense the danger before I turn.
Fionn Harrington moves our way, the crowd parting for him without being asked, conversations stalling as he passes.
Power sits on him quietly, in the tailoring of his navy suit, in the broad line of his shoulders, and the way his presence leaves men straightening under it.
My heart hammers against my ribs. I want to rip it out of my goddamn chest for reacting to him.
He’s clean-shaven, dark-haired, devastating in that controlled Harrington way. His white dress shirt is unbuttoned at the throat, and whiskey-amber eyes notice me but don’t linger.
He reaches Eilish first.
“Hey,” he says, his voice softening as he leans in and kisses her cheek. “You look beautiful, Eilish.”
She smiles, and when he pulls back, I catch sight of his cheek dimple and hate how it makes him so utterly charming.
When his gaze slides to me, the warmth in his expression folds away.
“I didn’t see your name on the list,” he says under his breath, careful not to insult me loud enough to hear.
I press a hand to my chest. “With all your daddy’s money, you can’t afford an eye exam? Or are you too vain to wear glasses?”
His expression doesn’t change, perfectly stoic, not a flicker of irritation showing where I want it.
As I stand there, his gaze wanders over the dress I’m poured into, over the neckline and lower. My pulse makes the humiliating decision to trip over itself.
I lift my chin before he can notice it thrumming in my neck.
“Your fiancée invited me,” I add, my eyes flicking to Eilish for a moment before returning to him. “And you wouldn’t want to piss her off before ya give her a ring.”
Something moves at the corner of his mouth, too tight to be a smile and too knowing to be nothing.
“How do your brothers feel about you being with me this evening?”
“I’m not with you,” I counter. “I’m with her.”
He cocks his head.
“No, I’m with her,” he says. “So now that we have that cleared up, make yourself at home, Sera. Don’t get too comfortable, though. The guards have guns, and the security cameras will pick out a snooping Tallon.”
Eilish gives him a warning look. “Fionn.”
