Chapter Sixteen
The directions for the stylist weren’t easy ones.
“I need a dress that is inappropriately sexy but won’t get me turned away at the door of a snazzy charity gala.”
And, hey, the woman delivered.
I stood in front of the mirror in the hotel, smoothing my hand down the front of the dress.
I looked like one of the celebrities who inexplicably had their tits almost fully out at a black-tie affair.
The dress itself was black, floor-length, and had long sleeves. But that’s where the classiness ended.
The neckline positively plunged. And if I were of the top-heavy variety, it would be borderline breaking decency laws. But since I was very average in that department, it managed to just seem pushing it.
On top of the neckline, there were the slits. Not just one. Multiple. A slit up each leg. So when I was standing still, you really didn’t even know they were there. But as soon as I started moving, both my thighs would be almost completely exposed.
It was a whole lot.
And while I wasn’t someone who typically felt uncomfortable in scandalous outfits, my belly tripped over itself at the thought of infiltrating a charity ball wearing it under the sole guise of embarrassing Harrison.
Taking a deep breath, I slid my engagement ring back on, grabbed my tiny bag, and made my way downstairs.
I’d been careful to make sure Harrison and John didn’t know I was in the city. I wanted my arrival to be a surprise.
Of the unpleasant sort.
I just hoped name-dropping Harrison at the door would get me in.
I had the cab drop me off at the corner so no one saw me exiting it, then walked up the steps of the building that felt like a relic of old wealth—all pale stone, soaring arches, and gilded details that felt lifted from another century.
“Ma’am?” the man in a black suit with a clipboard said as I got to the doors, carefully holding my slits together while looking like I was trying not to slip on the stairs.
“Valentine. Layna Valentine. I believe my husband is already here.”
He didn’t even consult his clipboard. He just glanced at my face, then my ring hand, and waved toward the door.
Inside, the ceiling stretched high, painted and ornamented, catching the golden light from the massive chandeliers. Beneath my heels, marble floors gleamed, making my footsteps echo in the vast space.
The thrum of music and chatter of voices led me deeper into the space.
The main event space opened wide, revealing columns and arched windows that climbed toward the ceiling.
Everything was washed in warm light, reflecting off all the gilt woven into the architecture.
Round tables were dressed in crisp linen with low arrangements of flowers and candlelight.
A raised stage anchored one end of the space, draped elegantly for speeches or performances.
The whole space felt curated and ceremonial—a place designed to remind everyone inside that money, generosity, and spectacle partied together.
As expected, there were men and women in their finest. The amount of wealth displayed in one space was enough to make me start to second-guess my appearance.
But no.
This was the point.
To drive home how out of place I was. If I made it clear that I couldn’t integrate with this world, with these people.
So I tamped down my discomfort, reminded myself that I’d literally never see these people again after this, and stepped into the room.
It didn’t take me long to spot him. It was like some part of me was attuned to him, knew exactly where to turn.
He was in all black, shirt and tie too, looking devilishly handsome as he smiled at a group of men he was speaking to.
I moved behind some tables, wanting to come up behind him after letting the men he was with see me in all my scandalous glory.
As expected, their gazes caught sight of all the skin and immediately locked in on me, following me as I moved up to the side of Harrison and slid my hand to his back.
“I was—” he was saying, but the words fell off at the press of me beside him.
He glanced over, seeing only my face at first.
There was a little gut-punch of regret at the look of surprise and genuine delight that crossed his face.
“Layna.” He breathed my name. The brush of it shivered across my skin.
I waited for the joy to slip as his gaze swept downward, taking in all of my outfit.
But I didn’t see it slip.
He’s a great liar, I reminded myself. He has no tells.
“Valentine,” one of the men—the older one with the beady eyes and slimy smile—said. “Who is your friend here?”
The way he said ‘friend’ made it sound like he imagined I was a sex worker. One who might be up to party. With all of them at once.
Harrison’s arm slid around my hip, pulling me close to his side. I tried not to think it was in response to his friend’s tone and suggestion. Like he was being protective and possessive at the same time.
“Charles, Dan, Mitch, this is my wife, Layna.”
I swear you could see Charles deflate at the information. Like he really thought there was a sum high enough for me to sleep with him. Maybe, in his world, there was.
“Your wife?” Dan, a reed-thin man around Harrison’s age, asked. “That’s news.”
“I didn’t get an invite to the bachelor party, did you?” Mitch, a middle-aged man with charmingly bouncy jowls, asked. Everything about him came off as light and fun.
“Right. Like your wife would have let you go,” Charles teased.
“I could go. So long as there weren’t strippers,” Mitch said. “I don’t need any naked ladies other than my own.”
Charles made a face that Mitch didn’t see but made me immediately sorry for Charles’s wife.
“I know the feeling,” Harrison said, pulling me a little closer, making me worry about the security of the tape that was keeping the dress from exposing my breasts. Though maybe a nip slip might help my whole mission here.
“Well, maybe if all our wives looked like yours…” Charles said.
“How did I not hear about this?” Mitch asked. I got the impression that maybe he and Harrison went back a while. Maybe since their school or college years. Two rich kids who became richer adults.
“Well, it’s just so new, isn’t it, sweetie pie?” I asked, laying it on cloyingly sweet.
Harrison’s lips twitched. Almost like he knew I was up to something. But he didn’t call me on it.
“She’s right. It’s only been a few weeks. And we’ve been… busy.”
“I’ll bet you have,” Charles chuckled. It took actual work not to grimace.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Valentine,” Mitch said, giving me a sweet, fatherly smile. “I’m hoping I can coax you to come to my house for dinner when you’re free. My Marg is a great cook.”
To that, Charles mumbled something under his breath that everyone else pretended to ignore. About Mitch’s wife. In particular, her size.
Well.
I was not of the tongue-biting variety.
It was another way I did not fit into this world.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” I asked, keeping my tone saccharine even as my eyes bore into Charles.
“Nothing,” he said, immediately looking red.
“I thought you might have said something about Marg,” I said. Across from me, Dan tugged at his collar. I could feel Mitch’s gaze on me, but couldn’t make out the look in his eye without taking mine off of Charles.
“Think you misheard me,” Charles said. He was already sweating at his hairline.
“You know, I really don’t believe I did,” I said, tone slipping from sweet to sour in a blink. “It’s quite an… ironic thing to say,” I said, letting my gaze slide down his body.
Normally, I hated body-shaming. But this was a throwing-stones-in-glass-houses kind of situation. And I wasn’t going to let him get away with insulting a woman in my presence.
Harrison’s fingers tightened on my hip. I wasn’t sure if it was involuntary… or if it was a silent warning about my behavior.
“Mitch, I would love to get an invite,” I said, back to sweet as I looked at him.
“Marg makes the best chocolate cake I’ve ever had,” Harrison said.
“I love chocolate,” I said, turning myself away from Charles to engage fully with Mitch.
I knew it was rude.
I didn’t care.
I spent the next ten minutes talking to Mitch about how he met his wife, what their children were up to, and where they were going on vacation this summer.
“Valentine,” Charles piped in, his tone forceful. “Can I have a word?”
I could feel his gaze on me, knew that the word he wanted to have was about me.
“How about I get your lovely wife a drink?” Mitch offered.
“I’d appreciate that,” Harrison said, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek before releasing me.
Mitch offered me his arm. I went ahead and took it and let myself get led away.
“I appreciate it more than you can know, but you probably shouldn’t have done that.”
“I hate a bully,” I admitted. “But why shouldn’t I have?”
“Charles and Harrison have been trying to broker a deal for almost a year now. It’s been… difficult.”
And I just insulted Charles.
There was a stab of regret before I reminded myself that proving I didn’t belong was the point of this. And, yes, that Harrison would still be insanely wealthy even if the deal did fall through.
“I don’t care what kind of deal they have going on; he shouldn’t have said anything about your wife.”
“I hate to admit it, but it’s not uncommon,” Mitch told me as we moved closer to the bar. “If you haven’t noticed, there are very specific beauty standards for women around here.”
He wasn’t wrong. Most of the women at the event weren’t only slim but almost alarmingly so.
“But me? I like my lady with all her curves. Our babies made those curves. They’re special.”
“Yes,” I agreed, giving him a genuine smile, “they are. I think you might be something special too,” I added as I accepted a glass of champagne from him.
Despite myself, I glanced back over my shoulder to look at Harrison and Charles.
Both had tense body language.
Charles had his pointer finger out, stabbing it at Harrison several times as he seemed to raise his voice.
Harrison handled it well, body lax, not rising to the bait.