Page 114 of Bitter Confessions

“It’ll pass.” The words slipped out before she could stop herself.

As his eyes widened, a thunderbolt of fear lanced through her. She was supposed to be playing a lovesick fool, not predicting their end.

Sullivan paused to laugh uproariously, which inspired several couples to take the dance floor to eavesdrop on their conversation.

“You really are a Hennessy,” he chortled. “Keep that up, and his attention will never stray. I was overjoyed to see the wedding announcement and your family in attendance this time around. It gives me hope my kids will be there for each other once I’m gone.”

Her intuition pinged. “Are you...?”

“Stage four cancer.”

“I’m sorry,” she said with genuine regret.

“Me too,” he said prosaically. “I don’t know how much time I have left, so I’m trying to make a difference while I’m still here. Seeing you and Roth overcome your past and take on the world together... That’s what I want for my kids. To find a partner who’ll stick by them through it all.”

Apparently, he believed in their romantic propaganda. Perhaps his illness had made him fanciful. It was understandable that he’d want to believe in happily ever after when faced with death. But the fact he’d put her and Roth on a pedestal made her uncomfortable. The urge to confide the truth was so strong she opened her mouth to confess that next Christmas they’d be divorced, but his wistful smile made her swallow the truth.

“If there’s anything I can do...” she said instead.

“There is,” he said immediately. “Make sure you find Charlotte. She wants to talk to you about something.”

Before she could ask what his daughter could possibly want to speak to her about, he halted and presented her to the crowd as if they’d finished a choreographed number on a dance show.

“Jasmine Roth, everyone!”

There was a smattering of applause, but mostly, people’s heads were inclined toward one another as they gossiped. Jasmine wasn’t sure what to do, so for the first time in her life, she did a freaking curtsy. She searched the crowd for Roth and was overjoyed to see Colette and Lyle standing beside him. As Sullivan escorted her to them, she took in Lyle’s black tux with a white bow tie and her sister’s eye-catching one-shoulder bronze dress with a caped sleeve. The sheath silhouette complimented Colette’s slim form, while the crystal beading made her shimmer. Colette’s hair was done in soft waves—a distinct change from her customary twist or chignon.

Colette smiled. “Those dancing lessons you took when you were thirteen paid off.”

She was startled by her sister’s playful banter in this setting, with Sullivan Trentham present. The fact Colette even remembered she took dancing lessons, much less the age she’d been when she took them, disconcerted her.

Colette didn’t wait for a response but curtsied just as she had. As Colette and Lyle exchanged pleasantries with Sullivan, she took her place at Roth’s side.

He drew her against him and kissed the top of her head, clearly pleased with the dance she’d had with Sullivan. She relaxed against him and let go of her insecurities. She could do this.

CHAPTER 22

Sullivan’s eyes lit when he caught sight of them. “My new favorite couple!” he announced and clapped Roth on the shoulder with a fondness that had Colette’s eyes flaring and Lyle’s narrowing. “Glad you all could make it. Dinner will be announced within the hour. Enjoy yourselves.” Sullivan bowed gallantly to her. “Thank you for the dance and the stimulating conversation. We’ll meet again.”

With that, Sullivan strolled away. He took a few steps before unceremoniously plucking a man’s glass out of his hand and taking a healthy gulp before handing it back and walking away without saying a word.

“Enjoying your time in the limelight?” Lyle drawled.

She switched her attention from the eccentric patriarch of the Trentham clan to her brother-in-law and gave him a baleful glare. He knew damn well she hated being the center of attention. She had the childish urge to kick him.

“What a debut!” Colette gushed.

“I don’t know what the hell just happened,” she muttered.

“Language,” Colette said mildly, but her eyes were sparkling. “Seems to me Sullivan just gave you his stamp of approval. Bravo.” Colette arched her brows at Roth. “Close friend of the Trenthams, are you?”

“Colleagues.”

“Colleagues,” Lyle scoffed. “How the fuck?—?”

“Language,” Colette said again before she was tapped on the shoulder by a glamorous woman in her forties.

As Colette and the woman greeted one another with air-kisses, a familiar face appeared in the crowd.

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