“This is ridiculous,” I say to calm my thumping heart.
“Truth,” Neil says with a sigh. “Are you ready to take this off?” He slides the fur coat down my bare arms. “Unnngh, Charli. This dress should be registered as a lethal weapon.”
“You can borrow it anytime you want. You’re the one who paid for it.”
He lets out another sigh as the driver opens the door.
Neil hops out first, offering me his hand from the sidewalk.
For once I’m grateful that chivalry exists, because gracefully exiting a limo in three-inch heels isn’t easy. I set my feet carefully onto the pavement and then rise, hoping not to stumble.
Come on, Higgins, I coach myself. You can stop an attacking forward with nothing but your wits and a snarl. A party full of snobs should be less stressful.
It isn’t. I wax on a fake smile and try not to look shellshocked as multiple flash bulbs go off at once. I grip Neil’s arm and allow myself to be led toward the open doors.
“Mrs. Drake, who are you wearing?” someone calls out.
“Um…” My mind goes blank, even though I’d been told to expect this question.
“Tell him you’re wearing me,” Neil says out of the corner of his mouth.
The joke catches me by surprise, and I let out a belly laugh. Then he leans over and smacks a kiss on my cheek.
A thousand bulbs flash at once.
We proceed inside, where a hundred heads swivel to see who’s arrived. I have to remind myself to keep breathing. The diamond on my finger feels heavy. I have never seen so many rich people assembled in one place. They mingle in clusters in the vast lobby of an old men’s club. A heavy crystal chandelier overhead makes all the women’s jewelry sparkle.
When I glance at Neil, he looks completely relaxed. “Good crowd tonight. Should be a nice paycheck for the foundation. There’s some schmoozing over cocktails, and then we get to sit down and eat dinner.”
“Yes, dear.”
He flashes me a grin. “Now we’re talking.”
“If sir wants an obedient wife, sir will have one,” I say with a straight face.
He sighs. “If only you weren’t kidding.”
For the next half hour, though, I am an obedient wife. I flash a megawatt smile at each donor who approaches to speak to Neil. And I say little more than “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” I’ve never been anyone’s arm candy before, and it isn’t all that difficult.
Neil is very popular and recognizable to everyone in this room. They wait in groups for a moment of his attention. Expensive fragrances fill the air, and the women’s dresses are pops of color against the dark grays and blacks of menswear.
Vera is a genius, I realize as Neil leads me from cluster to cluster of well-wishers. The personal shopper had said that jewel tones were in fashion, and she was not wrong. My blue silk shimmers in the soft lighting.
“You holding up okay?” he asks me quietly.
“I’m fine,” I assure him. “You do your thing, and I’ll stand here looking ravishing.”
“A-plus job with that, wifey.” His throaty chuckle vibrates just behind my breastbone. Then he reaches for another hand to shake.
Billionaires must be born knowing how to schmooze. Neil doesn’t seem to mind it. I’m literally hanging on his arm, wondering when food will be served.
“Excuse us,” Neil says to an older man who wants to keep chattering at him. “I must find my wife a drink before we’re seated for dinner.”
“Congratulations on your marriage,” the old coot says. “I remember my newlywed days.” Then he aims his gaze directly at my breasts. “Those were some fun times.”
Neil growls quietly, steering me away. “Sorry about that. The small talk is almost finished. Promise. They just opened the ballroom doors. We’ll go in to dinner soon.”
“Yes, sir. My tits and I are at your service.”
He snorts. “If only.”
Smiling, I glance up to take in the next smiling donor who’s vying for Neil’s attention. But it’s a shock to find an icy stare pointed back at me, instead.
I don’t even need an introduction to know who this is. Nobody else would look at me like that—like I was a piece of dog shit stuck to the bottom of his shoe—except for Harmon Drake, Neil’s uncle.
“Evening, Neil,” the man sniffs.
“Evening, Uncle Harmon. I’d like to introduce you to my wife, Charli.”
The old man’s lip actually curls with disdain. “Evening,” he grunts, looking everywhere but at me.
Neil sighs. “Charli, this is Harmon.”
“It’s lovely to meet you, sir,” I say with forced warmth. I will not let this asshole get to me. I curl a hand around Neil’s waist and move even closer to him. I’m practically squishing my boob against his jacket, but it’s worth it to see the old man look even more uncomfortable. “I want you to know your nephew is my whole world,” I say loudly. “It’s an honor to join your family.”
The guy reddens with irritation, which gives me perverse pleasure. Neil grins so broadly that I’m half afraid he’ll laugh and blow my cover.
That’s when Neil’s mother hurries over to us. I don’t know if she’s drawn by the need to smooth things over, or by morbid curiosity. It could really go either way. “I see you have all met,” she says.
Harmon ignores her. He turns his grumpy stare on Neil and drains his scotch. “We have two items of unfinished business, son,” he says.
“I’m not your son,” Neil says immediately.
I broaden my smile another millimeter and wonder if I’m about to experience a Drake family brawl.
“Noted,” the grumpy billionaire says. “If you were, you would have signed the post-nup.”
“Really?” Neil scoffs. “That document is a piece of trash.” He rubs my back in a slow circle, still calm, even though we’re drawing a crowd of rubberneckers.
“That document protects your heritage,” his uncle snaps. “What you both fail to understand is that I run a company that employs thousands of people. It’s my job to always think of the worst-case scenario. Something could happen to you in that dangerous sport you insist on playing. And if you’re not able to vote your shares, your next of kin has the power to do so. And right now, that’s her.” He gives me another lip-curled glare. “Your hasty marriage affects my ability to run the company.”
Oh my fucking God. I can’t let that go. “Look, sir, that was a very careful explanation—good enough for a five-year-old, or even a girl from South Philly.”
The old man’s glare swings in my direction. But I’m not scared of him. I plow ahead. “But if something happened to Neil, then the real problem would be that something happened to Neil.”
Neil’s hand goes still on my back.
His mother claps a hand over her mouth.
“…If Neil were in a coma, would you really be fretting over which waffle maker to install in the latest private jet model? Because that’s the definition of pathetic.”
A deep silence follows my little outburst, and the old man’s face turns red. Very red. I brace myself for some kind of explosion.