8. Jaxon #3
The reporter smirks, sensing a reaction he can exploit. "But the public has questions about your fitness as a guardian, especially given your history—"
"The public has no right to information about a grieving child," Vivienne interrupts, her tone pleasant but edged with steel. "And any 'source' claiming Shannon Johnson has surfaced is either misinformed or deliberately lying. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have a charity to support."
She steers me toward the entrance, her grip on my arm tightening. "Deep breaths," she murmurs. "Don't give them the angry rockstar they're hoping for."
Her steady presence calms me enough to make it inside without further incident. Once in the relative quiet of the reception area, I pull her into a secluded corner.
"Thank you," I say, running a hand through my hair. "I nearly lost it out there."
"You were protecting Lily," she says simply. "It was the right instinct."
"Still. You handled it better than I did."
"Years of practice navigating piranha-infested social waters," she replies with a wry smile. "Speaking of which, my mother is at your two o'clock, heading this way with determination."
I turn to see Eleanor Clarke approaching, her smile fixed and brittle. Before she reaches us, however, a tall figure intercepts her path—Henry Clarke, looking none too pleased about his daughter's engagement.
"Saved by paternal disapproval," Vivienne murmurs. "Temporary reprieve only, I'm afraid."
"I can handle your parents," I assure her.
"Brave words from a man who hasn't experienced the full force of Clarke disapproval."
Before I can respond, another voice joins our conversation.
"The happy couple, in the flesh. How... convenient."
Zackery Dean stands before us, champagne in hand, shark-like smile in place. He's tall, expensively dressed, with the calculated charm of a man used to getting his way through a combination of money and intimidation.
"Dean," I acknowledge coldly. "Didn't realize vultures were on the guest list."
"Now, now," he chides, eyes gleaming with malice. "Is that any way to greet a potential business partner? Especially one who's so concerned about little Lily's welfare."
Vivienne's hand slides into mine, a silent gesture of support. "Mr. Dean," she says, voice cool. "I don't believe we've been formally introduced, though I understand you've been quite interested in my fiancé's personal affairs."
Dean's attention shifts to her, his gaze assessing and invasive. "Ms. Clarke. Or may I call you Vivienne? After all, I feel like I know you through your connection to Andrew."
Something in his tone makes my blood run cold.
"Andrew and I were briefly involved years ago," Vivienne says dismissively. "Ancient history."
"Yes, but history has such interesting patterns," Dean continues, his smile growing sharper. "Andrew stealing his brother's girlfriend. And now, his brother becoming engaged to Andrew's ex. One might almost call it... retribution."
The implication hangs in the air between us—that our engagement is nothing but revenge for Andrew's betrayal years ago. That I'm using Vivienne to settle an old score with my dead brother.
"You don't know what you're talking about," I say, voice dangerously low.
"Don't I?" Dean takes a casual sip of champagne. "It seems rather poetic to me. Andrew took what was yours, and now you've claimed what was his. Though I wonder if Vivienne knows the full story of your... motivation."
Vivienne's grip on my hand tightens almost painfully. "If you'll excuse us," she says with practiced politeness. "We should greet our hosts."
"Of course." Dean steps aside with exaggerated courtesy. "Oh, and Jaxon? My lawyers will be in touch about the custody hearing. Seems some new information has come to light regarding your... suitability as a guardian."
He walks away, leaving his threat lingering in the air between us.
"What was he talking about?" Vivienne asks quietly. "What motivation?"
I meet her eyes, suddenly aware that there are aspects of my arrangement with Luke that I haven't fully disclosed—details about Andrew's will, about inheritance conditions, about Lily's future that Vivienne doesn't know.
Details that, if revealed, could make her question everything about our arrangement.
"Nothing," I lie, the first real dishonesty between us since this began. "He's fishing, trying to create discord. Don't let him get to you."
She studies me for a long moment, doubt flickering in her eyes. "Jaxon, if there's something I should know—"
"There's nothing," I insist, hating the deception but unwilling to risk what we've built. "Dean is desperate. He'll say anything to gain leverage."
She nods slowly, but I can see the seed of suspicion has been planted.
And as we turn to join the gala properly, my grandmother's ring glinting on her finger, I wonder how long I can maintain this charade before the truth undermines everything—not just our arrangement, but the unexpected connection growing between us.
A connection that, against all logic and intention, is beginning to feel dangerously real.