13. Serena
Serena
“You could try to smile,” Miles muttered as the limo slowed in front of the Lush Art Gallery.
“Now you’re talking to me?” I glanced at him.
“Yes, wife. ”
If he keeps tapping that ring against the door, I swear I’ll snap his fingers off.
“Pettiness is beneath you, Miles. Grow up.”
The limo was too small for this conversation. Or maybe it was just too small for him. Miles was too big, too broad, too imposing in the worst kind of way.
And right now, he was close.
His thigh brushed mine, the heat of him seeping through my dress . I smoothed my palm over my knee, pretending I wasn’t affected. Miles exhaled a laugh, low and sharp, the sound of a man who wasn’t amused in the slightest.
I kept my gaze forward, refusing to look at him.
The limo turned a tight corner, forcing him to press his thigh more firmly against mine. He didn’t move. Neither did I.
Miles made a noise in the back of his throat. “You don’t get tired of this, do you?”
“I don’t get tired of winning.”
“Funny. Neither do I.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I can make your life hell, Sunny. It’s better to play nice with me.”
His fingers found the hem of my dress and slipped beneath it. His fingertips grazed the bare skin of my thigh—light, teasing, maddening.
Something passed between us then, something slow-burning and dangerous, tangled up in old wounds and new grudges. “What are you doing, Miles?”
“You don’t get tired of playing games,” he murmured, his lips near my ear, “but you haven’t realized”—his fingers slid higher—“I play dirtier than you now. I’m not the same.”
I swallowed hard. My pulse was in my throat, my thighs, everywhere.
“Then play,” I whispered.
His palm flattened against my thigh, warm and possessive. His thumb dragged slow, lazy circles into my skin, inching dangerously close to where I was aching.
“Careful, Serena,” he murmured. “Say that again and I might forget this is supposed to be a business merger.”
The limo slowed, the muffled sound of cameras and voices filtering in from outside.
Showtime.
I pushed his hand away, and I smoothed down my dress, forcing my pulse to steady.
Don’t let him get to you. Keep it controlled.
“Try not to embarrass me.”
Don’t look at his hands. Don’t look at his jaw. Don’t look at his goddamn mouth ? —
“Don’t tempt me, wife.”
The door opened. I stepped out without another word, the cool air hitting my skin like a warning.
It was like a hush fell over the crowd when they saw the two of us together.
“Serena! Miles! Over here!”
I smiled. Or I thought I smiled; my brain was focused on placing one foot in front of the other. What were they saying about me? My posture? My dress? The lie I was living?
Miles’s hand slid into mine, and I almost flinched. His grip was firm, almost possessive, but his touch was ice-cold. He raised our hands slightly as if to say, Look, we’re in love. We’re just fine.
I barely had a second to react before he was waving stiffly at the paparazzi, nodding along to whatever they were shouting at us. And then, finally, finally, we were inside.
The moment the doors shut behind us, he all but flung my hand away like I was contagious. I watched, half-stunned, as he wiped his palm against his slacks, his jaw tightening like he had touched something foul.
I scoffed, crossing my arms. “Seriously?”
“What?” Miles didn’t look at me.
I frowned at him and brushed past him, letting my shoulder knock into his as I entered the party.
The gallery was packed, no doubt thanks to Laurene’s talent for reinvention. When she returned to town, she’d taken the gallery and turned it into the hottest spot in town.
Now, being seen here was just as important as the art itself.
Most Lush social gatherings boiled down to three objectives: networking, social climbing, and the art of thinly veiled sabotage.
I felt the weight of their gazes. Some subtle, just a flick of the eyes before turning away. Others were bold stares, murmured whispers behind champagne glasses.
“Serena!” Mama’s voice snapped suddenly.
I glanced to my right. Mama was strutting over in a gold flowing gown, her hair pinned back.
“Where’s that husband of yours?”
“He’s…getting us champagne, ma’am,” I lied.
She glanced at the ring on my hand. Not warmly. Just…observant. Like she was checking a box.
“I heard some people muttering how they saw you both get out of the limo with frowns on your faces. You know that won’t do.”
No How are you feeling? No Is he being kind to you? Just the optics .
“We’ll fix it,” I said quietly.
“Good.” Her voice was clipped. “Because we can’t have this falling apart. At least until I can figure out how I want to take Dante’s conniving ass down. The worse mistake of my life, if I’m being honest.”
I nodded, letting my eyes drift over to the party. It would be nice to be asked how I was feeling about this, or even for her to pretend to care.
“This stress has not been good on me, Serena. My blood pressure, you know,” Mama continued. “I might need you to pick up my prescription when you’re back in town. I have meetings all day next week. I can’t get away.”
Prescription?
“Are you okay?” I asked.
Mama waved me off. “Nothing for you to worry about.”
I sighed before nodding, and looked back around the room.
“Where are Omar and Audrey?” I suddenly asked.
Mama made a face. “Not here.”
“The point of all of this is to show people our families are friends again. They should be here too,” I said.
“Are you questioning my decisions?”
“No, ma’am, but I want this to work for all of us too. No failures, remember?”
God, she’s looking at me like I’ve ruined everything.
“Then perhaps don’t point out problems in public,” she said coolly, lips barely moving. “I got this. You just do as I say.”
I felt my throat tighten.
“Your posture’s slipping,” she added, already turning her head toward a passing guest.
I straightened.
“Everything okay here?” Miles stepped in, his presence solid and disarming all at once.
Mama’s eyes immediately went to his empty hands. “Where’s the champagne?”
“They ran out,” Miles said smoothly.
“Don’t embarrass me” was Mama’s finally warning before she disappeared into the crowd.
We stood there in silence for a few more seconds. My brain was trying to come up with an appropriate response to this situation. But I felt…stuck. I didn’t like feeling this way. I could fix everything else, but not when it came to my own heart and feelings.
Miles, however, wasn’t as composed. I could see it in the set of his shoulders, the way his fingers twitched at his sides.
“Crowds like this can be overwhelming,” he said suddenly.
I saw the way he balled and released his fist. Everything told me to be petty and ignore him, but my damn mouth opened. “Really? I thought you loved being the center of attention.”
“Not anymore.”
He grabbed two flutes of champagne from a passing server and handed one to me.
“Since my dad’s incident, I don’t get invites anymore. I mostly bully my way into places.”
I blinked. “Really?”
“I am the hottest shit, but…” Miles shrugged. “People stay away. Or they always want to bring up the old shit.”
He shrugged, downing half the flute.
I tightened my grip around my flute, debating. “I didn’t realize it was that bad.”
Just like the rest of the town, I could only watch in shock when Omar’s trial and arrest went public. There had been a whistleblower who’d said former Mayor Johnson and Omar had been caught selling and consuming illegal drugs.
Substances that he’d been on when he attacked Daddy.
I remembered seeing Miles on the news in dark shades, supporting his dad. But I never picked up the phone. Never asked him if he was doing okay. I told myself it wasn’t my business. That whatever happened to Miles and his family had nothing to do with me anymore.
I thought they would just…leave. But Lush was their home, and they stayed.
I could have called. I could have defied Mama and reached out.
“Yeah,” he muttered finally. “People stay away from us now. It’s easier that way, you know? But I’m changing it. That’s why I’ve been working hard to get the company back to a reputable place so people can respect us again.”
I took a long sip of champagne, trying to swallow down whatever emotion I didn’t want to face.
“Really?” I said, my tone sharp, a little more biting than I meant it to be.
“You think that’s what people care about?
Respect?” I scoffed. “It’s not about legacy, Miles.
It’s about leverage . Everything in Lush is a transaction.
They’ll never respect you—at least not like they respected your grandfather. ”
His lips pressed together, and I could see the flicker of doubt in his eyes.
“Then what? I should let it go?” he asked, his voice cold now. “Let the past bury me? Not try to redeem what’s fucked up about my family or my life?”
I tilted my head. “If you could fix Whitmore Ventures tomorrow, would that make you happy? Give you peace?”
Why are you engaging, Serena?
“You’re a hypocrite,” he said.
A young man with a camera approached us. “Um, excuse me, could I get a photo for the Lush Chronicles ?” His eyes flickered back and forth, unsure, with equal amounts of curiosity. “If that’s not a problem.”
Public appearances were part of our rules. If I appeased Mama and really embraced this, maybe I could get my sentence with him cut down to a year and a half.
“Sure.”
Miles didn’t say anything, but he did step closer.
My ass brushed against his leg, and his chest pressed against my back, sending a thrill down my spine.
His hand flattened just above my hip. Not lewd.
Not sweet. Just there. Like a claim. I tried to breathe like it didn’t affect me.
Like his touch didn’t burn through the silk of my suit and thread heat through my bloodstream.
The flash went off, and I felt the phony smile fall from my lips.
“Ah, you made it!” Laurene made her way toward us, Reese close behind.