35. Wren
WREN
The hotel entrance glitters beneath golden lights, all polished marble steps and towering glass doors.
Men in suits linger near the entrance with champagne voices and practiced smiles.
Women in sleek dresses turn their heads as Ronan steps out of the limo, effortlessly sliding into whatever version of himself this room expects from him.
Polished.
Composed.
Senator’s son. Future NHL player. He is the kind of man people look at and immediately assume belongs.
Silas steps out behind him, silent and darkly elegant in all black, his white-blond hair catching beneath the lights like frost. He turns back and offers me his hand.
I take it. His fingers close around mine, steady and warm.
Lucian doesn’t immediately let me go, and when I meet his gaze, I know that if I say the word, he’ll slam the door shut and get me the fuck out of here, incurring Ronan’s wrath in the process.
He reluctantly lets me go, and I allow Silas to help me out onto the sidewalk.
A few flashes go off nearby. Not many, but enough to make my stomach tighten. Enough to remind me where we are. Who Ronan’s mother is. Who my parents are. Who I’m standing between.
Then Lucian appears at my other side, and sandwiched between the three of them, the conversation from the limo settles over me again.
We’re here because we chose you.
We’re not going anywhere.
My spine straightens.
Lucian’s mouth curves, and I realize instead of taking in the venue, he’s been studying me. “Attagirl,” he whispers into my ear.
“Ready to head inside?” Ronan asks. His hand settles briefly at the small of my back as we move toward the entrance. Silas walks on my left, his shoulder brushing mine every few steps. Lucian drifts to my right, hands in his pockets.
Inside, the ballroom is exactly what I would expect from a political fundraiser.
Expensive flowers. Crystal chandeliers. Waiters with silver trays.
People laughing too loudly at jokes that probably aren’t funny.
Everyone dressed in black, navy, champagne, and pearl, as if color itself would be considered poor breeding.
My emerald dress suddenly feels louder than it did outside. For one terrible second, I imagine my mother’s expression when she sees it.
“You’re stunning,” Ronan murmurs, as though reading my mind. His mouth twitches as a blush creeps over my cheeks before redirecting his focus. His eyes scan the room with practiced ease. I can almost see him cataloguing donors, exits, his mother’s staff, photographers, possible landmines.
“Incoming,” he warns. I follow his gaze, spotting his mother as she weaves through the crowd in our direction.
Ronan’s mother is beautiful in the untouchable way political women often are.
Perfectly styled hair. Elegant navy gown.
Diamonds at her throat. A smile that looks warm from a distance and terrifying up close.
Senator Elise Sterling moves through the crowd like she owns every handshake in the room. For all I know, she does.
“Ronan, darling.” Her voice is smooth enough to frost glass when she stops in front of our little motley group.
Ronan steps forward, polite smile already in place. “Mother.”
She kisses his cheek, then looks past him.
“Miss Winslow,” she says warmly. “You look lovely.”
“Thank you, Senator Sterling.”
“Elise, please.” Her smile holds before she flicks her gaze to the others. “Boys, a pleasure as always.”
Her eyes return to Ronan, and she doesn’t wait for either Lucian or Silas to respond before she says, “Darling, can I borrow you for a moment? I want to introduce you to the Fendleys’ daughter.”
“Mother,” Ronan hisses. “I told you I’m here with Wren. I’m not interested in meeting whatever politically-advantageous match you’ve set up tonight.”
Smiling tightly in my direction, Elise continues to push. “I’m sure Gwendolyn won’t mind, dear.” She looks at me expectantly.
“Oh. Uhh…”
“No, Mother,” Ronan cuts in more firmly this time. “I’m not just here with Wren; I am with Wren. We’re dating.”
Welp. Kill me now. We barely made it ten feet inside the building before the conversation of how many men is Wren sleeping with surfaced.
His mother would look less surprised if her son had just announced he was giving up an NHL career to join the circus.
“You’re—”
“Dating. Yes,” Ronan finishes for her when she seems incapable of vocalizing the word herself.
She allows herself only a moment of shock before she composes herself impressively well. In the blink of an eye, any emotion is wiped from her face, that perfected politician expression sliding into place.
“Dear.” She glances my way before focusing back on her son.
“You can’t possibly expect this to last. She’s a Winslow.
No offense to your family, dear. I am very good friends with your mother,” she tacks on to me, “but son, you have signed a contract to play for her family’s team in the fall.
You can’t possibly think it is acceptable to date the owner’s daughter. ”
Ronan’s expression goes glacial. Beside me, Lucian’s jaw flexes hard enough to make me nervous. Silas is unnaturally still.
Three different reactions. One message.
Ronan glances sharply around, his voice surprisingly restrained when he says, “Now isn’t the time or the place to discuss this, Mother.”
“No,” she bites back sharply. “That would have been earlier in the week when I met you to discuss tonight, and all you had to tell me was that you were bringing your friends with you.” She gestures toward Silas and Lucian, who are standing like sentinels on either side of me.
Silas’s hand is in mine, which of course his mother doesn’t fail to notice.
Along with the fact that Lucian’s arm brushes my shoulder. They are both standing too close to me.
Her eyes narrow to slits, and I can practically see her brain connecting the dots before her eyes go wide.
“Ronan,” she hisses in a tone that is either outrage or disbelief.
Most likely a combination of the two. Between gritted teeth, she spits out, “What exactly is the…nature…of your relationship with Miss Winslow?” Her teeth grind, and she blows out a breath before she tacks on, “Please don’t tell me it is what I think it is. ” She indicates the three of us.
“Okay, I won’t.”
Lucian smothers his snort behind a cough at Ronan’s snarky remark.
Gesticulating with her hand, Elise hisses, “Perhaps it would be best if all of you just left. I’ll make up some excuse for your absence.”
“People have already spotted us,” Ronan points out.
“I don’t care,” Elise continues, becoming infuriated despite her placid expression. “Tonight is important. There are donors here, trustees, members of the press. People are watching. I will not have you embarrass me, Ronan.”
“Elise,” he replies, matching her tone exactly, and sounding thoroughly done with this bullshit.
Oh.
Something sharp and impressed unfurls in my chest. This is not a son speaking to his mother. This is a politician speaking to a politician, and Ronan has just made his first move.
Ronan’s mother doesn’t give up easily, though. “You’ve worked very hard to build a clean reputation,” she presses. “You’re focused, disciplined, respectable. I would hate for unnecessary speculation to distract from that.”
My stomach sinks. The worst part is, she’s not entirely wrong.
What will this do to Ronan’s reputation when it gets out? To all of their reputations? I’ve never given a crap about the Winslows’ rep so I can’t say I care what it does to mine, but I care about them.
Ronan’s face goes still in a way that makes him look suddenly older. Colder.
“Speculation about what, exactly?”
Elise’s gaze moves briefly between all four of us.
“Don’t be deliberately obtuse.” Her smile hardens. “This is exactly the kind of thing that creates headlines and blazes through gossip columns.”
For the first time since Elise approached, Silas moves. He takes one step closer to me, his presence at my side steady and grounding.
Silence settles around us. It isn’t loud enough for the whole ballroom to notice, but nearby conversations dim slightly. People sense tension the way sharks sense blood.
My fingers curl around the side of my dress.
“You need to think carefully about appearances,” Elise continues, sparing her son a long glance before including the rest of us. “All of you.”
Lucian’s jaw ticks. The muscle jumps hard enough that I notice.
His hands disappear into his pockets, but somehow that feels more dangerous than if he’d lashed out.
Right now he’s restraining himself, but if Elise pushes much further, he’s going to snap.
And when he does, none of us will be able to rein him in.
I reach out and curl my fingers around his forearm. His gaze drops to the touch. The tension in his shoulders eases slightly. Removing one hand from his pocket, his thumb brushes briefly against my wrist before he lets his hand fall still.
Satisfied that he isn’t about to shed blood, I return my attention to Ronan. His expression hasn’t changed, but something in him goes lethal. “My personal life is not part of your campaign strategy.”
Elise stills. “Excuse me?”
“The people in my life are not campaign assets,” he continues evenly. “They are not liabilities either.”
My breath catches.
For so long, every important person in my life had treated relationships like transactions. Connections and opportunities. Standing here beside Ronan, hearing him reject all of that so effortlessly…
I realize just how rare that is.
Ronan’s gaze flicks briefly to me, softening slightly before returning his attention to his mother.
“And I won’t have you discussing Wren like she’s a catastrophe that needs mitigating.”
Something in my chest cracks open because Ronan Sterling has just drawn a line and is standing by it. For me.
Elise studies him for a long moment. I can’t read her expression, but I know Ronan well enough to understand his. He is not bluffing.
Finally, she inhales through her nose and smooths a nonexistent wrinkle from her dress. “I see.”