Page 297 of The Christmas Wife

"Of course," both of us say at the same time.

His forehead furrows, but he doesn’t push it. "There’s someone I want you to meet," he tells Isla.

"Oh, but I want to stay with Zara," she protests.

"Nonsense, I’m fine, you go with Liam." I insist.

"It’s not urgent," he starts, but I wave him off.

"Please, take your pretty wife and go mingle. That’s what this shindig is for, after all."

"But—" Isla starts.

I turn and hug her. "I’m fine, and if I need anything, I’ll message you."

She hugs me back. "Promise?"

"I promise."

She steps back and squeezes my shoulder. "You let me know how everything goes, okay?"

I swallow, knowing she’s referring to the thing-I-shall-not-call-by-name test. "Okay," I manage to say in a voice that sounds nothing like the little butterflies of nervousness that have taken wing in my stomach.

She nods, then Liam takes her hand, and they walk away.

I stand at the table for a few more seconds. This is so not like me, hiding in a corner. I need to follow my own advice and get into the thick of things and live up to my reputation as The Shark. The woman who loves to mingle and talk to people, and keep her ear to the ground and find out the latest gossip doing the rounds—which at the moment, is not me, yet. My stomach curls in on itself. No, no, no, I’m not going to be sick, not now. I drain my glass of juice. To my relief, my stomach rights itself. Okay, that’s good.

I grab my little bag and walk toward the crowd. The orchestra has struck up a waltz, and some of the guests have taken to the dance floor. The chandeliers in the ceiling pick out the colors of the dresses worn by the women. Tiny lights strung up at intervals turn the entire space into a fairytale setting. The architecture of the building is in the style of the Italian Renaissance, and it lends a storybook feel to the event.

Someone steps up to me. "Would you like to dance?" a voice asks from somewhere above me.

I turn to face a man whose features are familiar. He’s tall, with broad shoulders and dark hair. Dressed in the obligatory coat tails, he looks dashing. Of course, he’s not Hunter. Maybe it’s time I stop thinking of Hunter for a while.

I take his proffered hand. "Why not?"

42

Hunter

"You’re doing well in the polls," JJ Kane says as he puts his arm around his girlfriend. His much younger girlfriend who, at one point, was his son’s girlfriend. But to see how happy he and Lena are now, you’d never know the journey they went through to get here.

The younger woman looks up at him with adoring eyes, before turning to me. "You have my vote, Minister."

"Thank you." I tilt my head.

"Your strategy to launch your campaign a little later than the other candidates paid off."

"Thanks to the hard work put in by my team," I demur.

"They’ve done a stellar job in getting you off to a good start." Sinclair Sterling joins with his wife Summer. Lena and Summer embrace. Sinclair takes two glasses of juice from the hovering waiter and passes one to Summer.

"Thanks, darling." She takes a sip while Sinclair places his own glass on the table between us.

I glance at the glass, then back at him.

"Summer’s nursing; I’m keeping her company." He raises a shoulder.

"I told Sinclair he can drink for the both of us, but he insists he’ll start drinking once I wean off the baby completely." Summer laughs.

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