Page 57 of One Wealthy Wedding

“I love it,” I say. “All the fights. And the, um, skating.”

Francesca’s brow wrinkles. Here’s hoping she’s not a hockey fan.

“We love to try new restaurants. There’s a new Japanese restaurant on 68th Street that serves a fantastic omakase. Very hard to get a reservation, but I can call them for you if you’d like to try it.” Smooth. “Cat loves their seasoned rice with raw shrimp and uni.”

My stomach turns, but I keep my face impassive. I can’t stand uni, but Theo wouldn’t know that. “Delicious,” I murmur.

We make painful small talk for a few minutes before Theo and Lorenzo promise to set up a meeting for Monday about the casino expansion Kings Lane wants to fund.

When they walk away, Theo and I both sag.

“That was bad.” I look up at Theo. His green eyes are rueful.

“It could have gone better,” he admits. He tugs on my hand. “Let’s dance. See and be seen. Come on.”

“Do we have to?”

“You’re supposed to be my willing and lovely wife, remember?”

“More like your willing victim,” I mutter, but I let Theo drag me from the cocktail area into the main ballroom. There are more people here, and my heart thuds uncomfortably. My body knows there’s danger here.

“It’s packed,” Theo says. “Stumble a little.”

“What?”

“Don’t fall. Just look like you twisted your ankle.”

“In front of all these people? Theo, please. I’m going to look like a fool.” I hate this. I hate all of these social climbers who dropped me like I was diseased and it was catching. The voices seem louder as we walk by little clusters of women dressed like jeweled birds. I can feel the weight of their eyes, judging and finding me lacking.

“Trust me,” he says.

I stutter step and fall against him. My ankle twinges. “Ouch. Shit, okay. That actually hurt. These heels are stupid.”

Theo’s already turning, running hands up and down my arms. “You okay?”

“No.” I test my ankle. “I actually think I hurt it.” The ribbons that hold these stupid shoes to my feet are coming undone. “I need to sit and fix the shoes at least.”

“I got you, baby.” He winks at me, his eyes playful but his soft mouth serious. He squeezes my shoulders and then sinks to one knee on the floor of the ballroom.

“Theo. What are you doing?”

His warm fingers circle my ankle where it’s exposed through the thigh-high slit of the dress. “Helping my wife.”

He looks up at me, and I suck in a breath. His eyes are hot and determined, and suddenly, I’m free-falling with nothing below me. The rest of the ballroom fades as he strokes my skin. Each touch zings straight to my stomach.

“Where does it hurt?”

“It’s fine.” The pain is already fading. “You don’t need to—okay, sure.”

He’s already untying the ribbons, unwrapping me like I’m his present on Christmas morning. His brow is furrowed. Real or fake? It’s getting harder to tell, and I’m so unbelievably fucked. Because with Theo on his knees, calling me pet names and skimming hot palms up my leg, I can’t deny it anymore.

I want to sleep with my husband, and I’m not sure how much longer I can resist him.

20

Theo

When I finally stand, people are staring, and I’m on my way to flashing an erection to the gathered onlookers. Cat’s skin is so smooth, and getting my hands on her did something to me. Especially with the way she was looking at me, like she wanted me to keep inching my fingers higher.

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