Page 40 of One Wealthy Wedding

Theo wants to see and be seen. We’re going somewhere popular for brunch.

This is my worst nightmare. In my early twenties, I attended events like this with my stepmother, where I was expected to look pretty, be polite, and never have a thought in my head that could challenge a man. And while every other girl stayed out after the fancy dinners to sneak liquor and smoke cigarettes and talk to boys, I was hustled home by our driver as soon as the after-dinner drinks were served.

Boring Cat Peterson.

That should have been my first sign to leave Rockwood. I should have known at twenty that things would get worse, not better.

Lane

You got this. Lean on Theo if you need to.

Fat chance of that. I snort as I slip my phone into my pocket. I leaned on Theo once before, and look how that turned out.

“Cat,” he calls from the hallway. Speak of the very unwelcome devil.

I wrench open the door. “Didn’t anyone teach you about inside voices?”

He pokes his head out of his bedroom. We share a wall, and I try not to think about it. “My house. My rules.” He gives me a cocky grin and disappears back into his bedroom.

I clench my teeth and step into the hallway. Do not murder your husband. You need him.

“I’m almost ready,” he shouts from the depths of his bedroom. The door is partially closed, and I refuse to open it and follow him inside. That way lies danger. It will smell like Theo, and his bed will be unmade, and then I’ll think about him naked in it. Nope.

I cross my arms and stare at the thick oak door.

“Hurry up,” I shout back, just to annoy him.

“Eager, princess?” His voice comes from right behind the door. Right. Theo is impossible to annoy.

“We’re going to be late.”

“No. We’re not. Daniel will pick us up on the street-side exit. Not the avenue side. Saves ten minutes.” He jerks the door open. His shirt is unbuttoned, and I get a glimpse of the trail of dark hair that leads into his pants and the edge of the tattoo that covers the firm muscle of his chest.

“If you keep looking at me like that, we won’t make it to brunch.”

My gaze jerks back to his face, and I redden. He’s smiling that wicked smile at me as he does up the buttons on his collar. The gold band on his finger glimmers in the soft lighting.

“I’m not the one who wants to go to brunch,” I say with admirable calm.

“You promised,” he says with an arch of his brow. “I gave you a dance. You give me brunch.”

The dance. I’ve been trying not to think about the dance. But as we take the stairs to the ground floor, all I can think about is the dance. The clench to Theo’s jaw when he found me in the club, the way his hands gripped my waist like he was barely restraining himself. The feel of his warm skin and the ridges of muscle under my tongue.

I’m distracted and too warm under my coat as Daniel drives us downtown.

“This place?” I hiss at Theo as the car pulls up to a SoHo brunch spot where the clientele is the draw—rich, young, and beautiful.

“You’ve been here?” he asks.

“Well, no, but I’ve heard stories.”

“Not a brunch person?” He’s lounging in the back of the car, legs spread, flipping his phone idly in one large hand.

“I didn’t get out much when I had the money for brunch,” I say with a shrug. Mostly truth. Daniel opens the door, and we emerge onto the wintry sidewalk. It’s cold, gray, and drizzling. If it weren’t for this plan of Theo’s, I’d be at home in my new favorite living room with a good book. Gotta live a little sometime, Cat. Even if I’d rather stay home and read than face prying eyes.

“Theo, I should have mentioned, people might…talk. When we go inside.”

He gives me a bemused look. “Of course they’ll be talking. The bellinis here are famous. Nothing like a little alcohol to get tongues wagging. I hope you didn’t think this was going to be a silent brunch.” His brow creases. “Is that a thing? Silent brunch?”

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