Chloe #3
I crack a smile. “Honestly, I wouldn’t know. I don’t have any brothers.”
Ivy pulls a face. “Lucky!”
The tightness in my chest from running into Spencer loosens a bit. “Well, I wouldn’t be too sure. There are downsides to sisters too.”
“From where I’m standing, believe me, no there aren’t,” Ivy says vehemently.
“So you’ve known the guys for a while?”
“Years. Jackson has been friends with them since they were kids. We basically grew up together.”
I smirk. “Got it. So you’re the one to go to if I’m looking for some embarrassing childhood stories.”
“Oh, absolutely.” She grins, a spark of mischief in her blue-green eyes. She leans in as though confiding a secret. “I’ve got dirt on every single one of these guys. You ever need some ammo, just give me a call.”
“Good to know.” I make a mental note to take her up on that. Tristan, as far as I can tell, seems like some sort of untouchable god. I’ve never seen him flustered. It would be nice to put a crack in that armor. See what’s underneath.
I catch a glimpse of Tristan across the room. His dark tux is perfectly tailored, and between that and his model-sharp looks, he draws the eye easily. I watch as he turns away from the bar, a stout glass of clear liquor in one hand.
Then he stops. He glances to one side, as though beckoned. There, leaning forward to speak to him from a nearby table, is his ex—Iris.
I freeze, catching my breath. A simmering, seething burn starts to build in my chest. It takes every ounce of my willpower to stop myself from marching over there and planting myself between them.
Iris moves her body close to his as they talk. I can see their lips moving, but between the din of the crowd and my bad ear, it’s impossible to tell what they’re saying. She lays a hand on his forearm in an intimate gesture.
Too intimate. Possessiveness flares in me, that burning feeling intensifying until I’m certain there must be smoke curling from my mouth. I look away quickly, before anyone can notice the emotions playing out across my face.
This is just wrong. I would’ve said something if I’d known the Thornes were planning on inviting her. It was bad enough to catch a glimpse of her from across the room, but to see her speaking to Tristan like this, so much familiarity in her gestures…
It’s too much.
That doesn’t matter, I try to tell myself. This is all a game. A business venture. Nothing more. Tristan promised his fidelity to me, sure, but… they’re just talking. For now.
That thought doesn’t do anything to dispel the frustrated energy from my body. Whatever this feeling is, it isn’t necessarily logical. All I can think is that I don’t want to see those two talking. Hell, I don’t even want to see them in the same room. I want her gone.
The sound of microphone feedback in my good ear draws my attention.
Camille Thorne stands in the middle of the dance floor, the picture of middle-aged elegance in her floor-length gown.
She taps a microphone on a stand, and the noise echoes through the ballroom, bringing all conversations to a halt.
“Hello, everyone,” she says, lifting a hand to quiet the crowd. “It’s such a pleasure to have all of you here. Before we get underway with the dinner, I would like to make an announcement.”
Thanks to Tristan’s social media posts, there isn’t much of an announcement to make, but the room is silent nonetheless, waiting politely. Everyone knows what we’re here for.
“We’re here tonight to celebrate the engagement of my son, Tristan,” Camille announces. “He is going to be married to Chloe Dawson, of the MediaSphere family. We couldn’t be more thrilled about this union.”
Everyone in the gathering claps politely. Camille’s smile widens, and she looks straight at me. “Chloe, Tristan… come on up here, will you?”
Tristan steps away from Iris, and something inside of me unclenches. A wave of relief—no, not relief; something stronger, like vindication—rushes through me as we both make our way onto the dance floor. Now his gaze is on me, and me alone.
Still, as his mother lays a hand on each of our shoulders, I can’t help but glance back at Iris, trying to read her expression. It’s impossible to tell what’s going through her head, but I know what I want her to be thinking.
She had her chance. Whatever happened between her and Tristan, it’s long over, even if their social circles bring them into proximity from time to time.
I’m wearing his ring.
Suddenly, I’m unreasonably glad he announced our engagement ahead of time.
“Look at these two!” Camille beams. “A power couple if I ever saw one!”
The crowd continues to clap politely, and from somewhere off to the side, Beckett lets out a long whistle, loud enough to carry over the smattering of applause. I turn to Tristan, meeting his gaze, and the assembled people seem to melt away.
Something comes over me, something fierce rising suddenly in my chest. Camille’s announcement couldn’t have come at a more perfect time.
Before my sense of logic can curtail my instincts, I’m standing on tiptoe, reaching to kiss him.