Chapter 16 #2
We make our way to the dining hall. Knox’s hand is firm around me, a guiding touch that feels more like a claim.
The double doors swing open. We enter, and the beauty steels my breath.
Glittering gold and soft candlelight fill the room.
Crystal chandeliers cast fractured halos across the tables, each one draped in ivory linen and adorned with tall arrangements of white roses and lilies.
A string quartet plays something elegant and old, the kind of music that fills silence without drawing attention to itself.
At the far end, a raised platform waits, set with two chairs, one for me and one for Knox.
Center stage for the happy couple.
Knox leads me forward. To anyone watching, we’re the perfect couple walking into our fairytale.
We sit side by side when we reach the table, his knee brushing against mine.
Moments later, the guests begin filing to their tables around us, their laughter a low hum beneath the music.
Waiters glide like ghosts between the tables, pouring champagne into flute glasses, and soon, the party moves in here.
I find Mom and Mia watching me from the table opposite Knox’s family. I wish I were with them instead of all the way over here. With them, I’d feel safe and like my nerves weren’t unraveling at the seams.
The laughter and chatter dim as Jeremiah Vale stands, commanding the room without saying a word. Power radiates from him, and just like that, every conversation dies.
He raises his champagne glass, his smile practiced and confident. “Good evening, everyone.” His deep voice carries easily across the hall. “Thank you for joining us to celebrate something truly special. The engagement of my son, Knox, and his beautiful fiancée, Isla. A new chapter begins tonight.”
A round of polite applause ripples through the room.
Jeremiah continues, his words smooth and deliberate, each one chosen for effect. Something about legacy. Family. Partnership. But the longer he speaks, the less I hear.
The words blur into background noise. I should be paying attention, should be smiling, but all I can think about is the weight of tonight and how my life is changing again.
When the room applauds again, I blink back to the moment, realizing Jeremiah’s speech is coming to a close.
He lifts his glass higher, his smile widening. “And now, before we dine,” he says, voice ringing with pride, “it gives me great joy to invite Knox and Isla to share their special moment with you.”
A murmur of anticipation ripples through the guests.
Beside me, Knox rises smoothly to his feet, then his hand extends toward me, palm open.
My pulse skips as I slide my hand into his, and he helps me to my feet.
Knox turns toward the guests, his expression the picture of composure.
“My father said it best—tonight isn’t just about celebration.
It’s about legacy, family, and the people who make both possible.
People say every empire stands on its foundations.
Tonight, I have mine standing beside me.
So, I won’t keep you waiting any longer. ”
He slips his hand into his jacket pocket and draws out a small black velvet box. He opens it, revealing a stunning oval cut diamond ring that catches the light like it was made to own it. And the damn thing looks like it could buy half the city.
My stomach flips with a swirl of anxiety, and for a heartbeat, I’m so stunned I can’t look away. I have to fight hard to steady my racing thoughts. I meet Knox’s gaze and take in the fascination in his eyes.
“This ring,” he says with fervency. “This ring is a reminder that some promises can’t be broken. Not by time, not by circumstance. It marks the beginning of forever, love.” He pauses, then adds in a voice meant only for me, “And I meant it when I said you’re mine.”
The air catches in my lungs. Every camera in the room flashes as he slides the ring onto my finger, sealing the illusion for everyone watching.
The applause swells again, drowning out the chaos in my head. I smile because I have to. Because that’s what the perfect fiancée would do.
This is it.
The next part of the act.
We’re officially engaged now, bound by diamonds and deceit, and I’m knee-deep in this plot. There’s no way back, only forward with this man.
At least I know how we end.
The same way we began.
With a contract and a pen.
Knox nods his appreciation to the guests and raises his glass of champagne. I do the same, a mirror image, our movements choreographed and flawless.
The crowd follows.
Glasses clink.
Cheers rise.
When we sit, waiters glide forward to refill glasses that are already full, and suddenly, it feels like we’re the king and queen of New York. Every guest lines up to offer their congratulations.
Each handshake, each air kiss feels like tribute at the feet of a throne I never wanted.
Soon, it dies down, but then we get stuck with Knox’s great-aunt Maureen, who gives me an extensive rundown of the Vale family history and her beloved horses she’s been breeding since her teens.
“They’re the most magnificent of animals.” Her Southern accent lilts stronger on certain words like animals. “Oh, goodness, I should tell you about Laila, my gray Shire.”
And she does.
One more story to add to the endless history lesson. I nearly fall asleep three times. My attention only snaps back when she mentions something I didn’t know, like the family’s mix of Italian and English ancestry.
The combination almost mirrors my Russian roots. Of course, minus the parts about the overflowing amount of wealth. The Vale side—the English side—were the ones who set up the empire as it is today.
The English roots certainly explain Knox’s irritating use of the endearment love. When I studied abroad at Cambridge in my third year, I learned the word was tossed around as casually as air. Still, when Knox says it, it sounds nothing like the English do. It sounds like a claim.
Just as Maureen launches into a detailed description of Laila, Knox’s hand smooths over my knee and moves steadily up my thigh.
My pulse trips, and my breath catches halfway.
What the hell is he doing?
I cut him a sharp stare, but he doesn’t look at me. He’s nodding politely at his aunt, eyes calm, posture perfect.
Every muscle in my body tightens when he lifts the hem of my dress and traces lazy, possessive circles against the bare skin of my thigh.
I shift in my seat, trying to dislodge his hand without drawing attention. He only slides higher.
And higher.
Just like at the club. Except we were alone in the club. Here, we’re in front of everyone.
A slow current sparks under my skin when he traces the lace of my panties.
“Knox,” I hiss under my breath.
He ignores me and grins at his aunt as if I haven’t spoken.
Under the table, I grab his hand, hoping to stop him, but then he cups my pussy, and I freeze.
All this time, his aunt rattles on, utterly oblivious to what her great-nephew is doing to me under the table.
The warmth of his palm brands my skin through the thin lace, every nerve drawn tight like wire.
“Knox…” My voice trembles, half warning, half plea.
I grip the edge of my seat and lean into him.
He finally turns his head and that calm, lethal smile curves his mouth. “Are you okay, love?” he murmurs, so softly only I can hear.
“You asshole,” I hiss back.
“Careful, love. She might hear you.”
Maureen hasn’t heard one thing, though. She’s deep in explanation about the different types of Shire horses. “The interesting thing about Laila is—”
“Aunt Maureen,” Knox cuts her off, his hand stilling for a moment but still there at the entrance of my pussy, where it shouldn’t damn well be.
“Yes, dear.” The sweet smile on her face suggests she was enjoying telling us about her beloved horses.
“Why don’t you get some carrot cake before it’s gone? It’s old nan’s recipe.”
Maureen’s eyes light up, and she clasps her bony hands together. “Oh, bless your heart, son. I love that carrot cake.”
“I know.” Knox nods, grinning back at her with that effortless charm. “Didn’t want you to miss out. You can tell us more about the horses when we visit.”
“I’d love that, dear. Enjoy the rest of the night.”
“Oh, we will.”
As soon as Maureen saunters away, Knox snaps his gaze back to me, and his hand resumes its exploit, fingers pressing into my mound.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I grit my teeth.
“Making use of this hideous dress. The only thing it’s good for is access.”
Bastard. I knew it. He was lying. My gaze sharpens. “You said you liked it.”
“How long have you known me?”
“Eleven days too long.”
“And what do you really think I’d do if I sent you a one-of-a-kind couture dress that was made specially for you, and you turn up to our engagement party—at the fucking Astoria—looking like a clown?”
“You had the dress made for me?” My breath catches, but for the wrong reason. It’s ridiculous how touched I am that he went to that effort.
“Don’t get sidetracked now, love. Answer the question.” He shoots me a maddening smile.
I frown. “I think you’d be mad at me.”
That crazy smile of his widens, and he leans closer, as if he’s going to kiss me again. “Yes, Isla, darling, I am fucking mad at you. And I know just how to punish you.”
I don’t get to answer. His fingers slip beneath my panties and straight into my pussy, where he circles my clit. And holy fucking hell.
It was already too much, having his hand there. Now, I feel like I’m going to lose my mind. With his eyes fixed on me, he trails his finger around and around and around my clit, then he pushes right inside me.
Raw pleasure shoots through my body. Hot and wild and undiluted. I gasp and double over, gripping on to him in an attempt to control myself.
To everyone else, we look like we’re embracing and Knox is the perfect picture of the devoted fiancé. But beneath the table, his touch is a silent, deliberate punishment.
My nerves scatter as he thrusts into my pussy, pleasure skyrocketing, and I feel the tug of a desperate orgasm.
“So wet for me, my little artist,” he whispers, pumping in and out of me.
“We’re in… public.” I can barely get the words out.
“I don’t care.”
A strangled sound escapes me. I have to cover my mouth to keep the next one from breaking free.
Damn it. Knox can see I’m suffering with embarrassment, but instead, he gives me more.
Asshole.
If we were alone, I’d slap him. At least I hope I would. I hope my starved body wouldn’t give in the way it does now.
Oh God. I’m going to come.
Right here. In front of everyone.
I won’t be able to stop myself from moaning out loud. Then everyone will know what he’s doing to me.
Everyone, including my mother.
“Hmmm.” I wriggle against Knox’s hand and bite down on my lip, desperate to stay still, to keep from arching into him.
“Come here,” he murmurs, pulling me toward him. Then he kisses me.
It’s not like the last one we shared for the camera. This kiss is wild, consuming, real. And just in time to swallow the moan tearing from my throat.
But no one hears it. It’s lost to the kiss. To him. Lost to the moment. Just like me.
A vicious orgasm claims me, pulsing through every nerve in my body. I grab Knox’s jacket, and he cups the back of my head, deepening the kiss.
He kisses me until my body calms, but the effect from the intense pleasure has my head spinning.
When it’s over, I’m breathing so hard I can’t think straight. I collapse against him, breathless, dizzy, every nerve still humming. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch people watching us—Dorian among them.
It’s too much. Everything is too much.
That’s why you don’t play with fire, Isla. You get burned.
And my God, did I get scorched. My damn idea blew up in my face.
“Feel better, love?” Knox grins down at me, smug and infuriating.
I try to pull away, but he keeps me pinned. “I hate you,” I whisper.
“Maybe so.” He keeps his voice low. “But your pussy seems to disagree.”
He pulls his fingers out of me and brings them to his mouth to lick off my juices like he’s tasting victory.
I can only stare at him, stunned to my core. “I wish I’d never met you.”
“I know, love.” He cocks his head. “That’s why I’m going to give you a chance.”
My eyes narrow. “What kind of chance?”
“You want me to forfeit, don’t you?” His smile curves deeper when my eyes bulge. “Yes, Isla. I had you figured out the instant you walked through those doors.”
“I was…” I hate being called out. I never know what to say. “I had to try something.”
“I give you credit.” His tone is overflowing with remorseless humor. “How about we get out of here and play a game?”
I inch back. “A game?”
“Yes. If you win, I forfeit and you get to keep your restaurant. But if I win…” His voice dips, dark promise threading through the words. “…you give me anything I want.”
That sounds way too good to be true. And like another trap. “What kind of game is it?”
“You’ll have to come with me to find out, love. Ready?” He stands, offering his hand.
This is that thing again where I have to try regardless of the consequences.
If I win, he’ll forfeit. Just like that. How could I possibly say no?
“Yes,” I breathe and give him my hand.