Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sophie
I’m still trying to absorb the weight of two new bands on my finger when Lucian’s hand settles at my waist and Caleb’s palm presses lightly against the small of my back, guiding me to the reception area.
The same lush greenery spills through the space. Fairy lights cast an ethereal glow among the branches now that night has settled fully over Houston.
Tables are set with white linens and crystal, and the city sparkles in every direction.
People turn toward us.
For the first time, they aren’t looking at Sophie Langford, Richard Langford’s daughter or the financial consultant they may have met at some networking event. They’re looking at Lucian Hawthorne and Caleb Pierce’s wife.
Mrs. Hawthorne-Pierce.
A strange ripple goes through me. It’ll take some time for the reality to settle in.
Before we can greet our guests, a woman in black steps into our path with an expensive camera already lifted.
I blink. Lucian doesn’t.
“Marcella,” he says.
She circles us once, studying the three of us with the detached concentration of someone arranging pieces on a board.
“I need the three of you to stand a little closer.”
Lucian tightens his arm around my waist while Caleb takes a step toward me. Marcella shoots several frames in rapid succession.
“No.” She reviews the shots then lowers the camera. “You look like you’re guarding a head of state.”
She snaps at least another dozen. “Good, good. Now, Caleb, look at Sophie.”
The intensity in his dark eyes catches me off guard. Marcella’s shutter clicks once. Then again.
Her attention shifts to Lucian. She doesn’t have to tell him where to look. His gaze has never left me.
Something warm and deeply unsettling unfurls low in my stomach.
Marcella lowers the camera slowly. “That’s the one.”
I have no idea what she means.
Her phone vibrates. She checks the screen, then looks at Lucian.
“It’s live.”
My stomach drops.
“What’s live?”
Neither man looks surprised. Marcella answers.
“The article about the wedding, along with pictures.”
“Already?” I ask.
“We want to control the narrative.” Caleb answers for everyone.
Marcella grinned. “It’s a Scandalicious exclusive.”
The biggest online gossip site on the planet.
Marcella zooms in on my face and then looks at me. “Houston is already talking about you. And I’ll keep the conversation going.”
She takes one last shot. “Congratulations, y’all.” Her gaze seems focused on Dante Moretti. With a tiny wave, she moves off.
A server appears almost instantly with champagne. Lucian takes one flute and offers it to me.
I have barely finished my first sip when Altair Montgomery joins us.
“Mrs. Hawthorne-Pierce.” Altair lifts his glass. “Welcome.”
Just that. Welcome. Not congratulations. Not good luck. Welcome.
“To what?” I ask before I can decide whether that is an appropriate response to a man everyone at the Retreat practically treats like royalty.
The faintest hint of amusement touches his mouth. “Our world.”
My pulse beats once, hard.
I glance toward Lucian. Then Caleb. They offer no explanation.
Altair’s gaze moves among the three of us. “May you prove worthy of one another.”
That sounds less like a blessing than a challenge. Which is probably why it feels right, coming from him.
Without another word, he seems to glide away, disappearing among the gathered guests.
“That man is terrifying.”
Lucian takes a drink. “One of his better qualities.”
Before I can respond, another small group approaches.
And I recognize them. Not because we have met. Because I have spent entirely too much time researching the dangerous men who took over my life.
Dorian Vale. His wife, Isla.
The photograph of Lucian speaking with Dante Moretti at their wedding was one of the first pieces of evidence that sent me down the rabbit hole in the middle of the night.
Dorian shakes hands with both of my husbands. Then Isla turns to me. Her gaze is warm. Knowing, somehow.
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“I know this crowd can be a lot.”
I glance at the men surrounding us. “That might be an understatement.”
Something in her smile suggests she understands far more than she says.
“We’re glad you’re here.”
Here. Another welcome. Another quiet assertion that there is apparently already a place for me in a world I didn’t know existed a few weeks ago.
Before I can think too deeply about that, Dorian and Isla move on.
Then I see the next trio approaching.
The woman is between two men. Not physically trapped between them. Simply there, as if the space belongs to her.
That is what captures my attention. She looks comfortable.
One of the men has his hand at her back.
The other stands close enough that their shoulders nearly touch.
Neither seems to overwhelm her. And somehow she does not disappear between them.
If anything, she seems to be the center of gravity holding all three together.
“Rylee,” Lucian says.
The woman smiles at me. “Sophie. I’ve wanted to meet you.”
Again with that.
“I feel as though everyone here knows far more about me than I know about any of them.”
“That’s probably true.”
There is no apology in her voice. Oddly I appreciate that.
She introduces Everett and Griffin, and greetings are exchanged. Then her attention comes back to me.
“You don’t have to understand everything tonight.”
The words reach somewhere inside me that has been clenched all day.
I look at her more carefully. “Do I look that overwhelmed?”
“No.” She smiles. “You look like someone trying very hard not to be.”
For once, I have no answer.
Her husband’s hand settles more firmly at her back. She leans into him without seeming to realize she’s doing it, and I can’t stop looking.
Rylee follows my gaze. “It gets easier.”
“You promise?”
She glances at Lucian and Caleb. “I didn’t say they get easier.”
We share a smile that I appreciate.
After a few more words, the three of them move away.
“You’re doing great,” Lucian tells me as I take a larger drink of champagne. “We’re proud of you.”
Why does that comment make me so happy?
Before I can respond, the music is turned up, and people begin to move toward the dance floor.
Smiling, Lucian says, “I believe this dance is mine.”
There is no reason the gesture should make me nervous. We’ve danced before. The first time, I hated him. Tonight is considerably more complicated.
But aware that Marcella has focused her camera on us, I place my hand in his.
“The next is mine,” Caleb says, moving toward the bar as Lucian leads me onto the floor.
He draws me against him with the same effortless control he displayed at my father’s gala. Only now I know the feel of his hands. His mouth. The low sound of approval he makes when I please him. My body recognizes him in ways my mind still resists.
“You’re thinking.”
“I do that.”
“Excessively.”
“That’s rich coming from a man who planned my entire life like an international acquisition.”
His hand tightens at my waist. Not enough to hurt. Enough that I know the point landed.
We move through a slow turn.
“I didn’t plan your entire life.”
“Only the parts you considered important.”
His gaze darkens. I expect an argument. Instead, he says, “Yes.”
The honesty unsettles me far more.
We continue moving. Around us, the reception fades.
Lucian dances as if I’m the only person in his life. Maybe it would be flattering, but it’s utterly dangerous.
When the song shifts, he slows. Then releases me.
I look up, surprised. Caleb is waiting.
Lucian places my hand in his. No words pass between them. None are necessary.
Caleb pulls me closer.
Dancing with him is different. Where Lucian is polished control, Caleb is lethal strength. His hand rests at my back, broad and certain, and his other closes around mine.
We turn. He moves me effortlessly. “I wouldn’t have guessed you were a great dancer.”
“We’re all full of surprises. But it really is okay to relax, Sophie. I’ve got you.”
The exact words he used an hour ago when he brought me into the hotel.
And I’m sure he believes he does.
As we turn again, I see Lucian standing near the edge of the dance floor.
He’s watching us rather than talking to the people around him.
His attention is completely fixed on me. On Caleb. On us together.
And there is something in his face I have never seen before. Not jealousy. Nothing close to it. Satisfaction. Something deeper than that, perhaps. As if this—Caleb’s hand at my back, my body relaxed against him, Lucian watching both of us—is exactly what he has always believed should exist.
Then, for a second, the two men look at each other. That strange silent language passes between them again. Only this time, I am part of whatever they are saying.
The realization sends a shiver through me.
Caleb looks down. “You okay?”
I consider the question. Then answer truthfully. “Right now?”
“Yeah.”
“I think so.”
His hand tightens slightly around mine. “Good.”
When the music ends, he doesn’t immediately release me. And I don’t step away.
Then Lucian approaches. His palm settles against my nape.
“Enjoying yourself?”
More than I expected.
The rest of the reception passes more quickly. There is food I barely taste. Champagne I carefully nurse. A brief toast.
Piper hugs me again and whispers that she will call tomorrow, then immediately corrects herself and says maybe the day after tomorrow, her gaze sliding meaningfully toward my husbands.
I refuse to blush. Mostly.
Eventually I notice Lucian check his watch. Caleb catches the movement. One look passes between them.
My stomach drops. I know that look now. They’ve made a decision.
Caleb turns toward me. “We’re ready.”
I frown a little.
“To take you home.”
My frown deepens into a scowl. We haven’t even cut the cake.
Lucian takes the champagne flute from my fingers and places it on a passing tray. “Mrs. Henderson will manage without us.”
“You were gracious to our guests. You stood beside us.” His midnight-blue eyes hold mine. “And you have one more duty, and that’s to us.”
My pulse skips.
“We’ve waited long enough, Sophie.”