Page 84 of Reckless King

As Tate and I walk past the crowd of reporters and photographers, they call out.

“Violet, let us have a look at the ring.”

“How did you propose, Tate?”

“Have you set a date yet?”

I peer up at Tate. When we started this thing, I had no clue it would become such a big deal. I thought I’d accompany him to a few events. That people wouldn’t care about me as a person, just that Tate had a girlfriend. But now we’re engaged, and this whole thing has gained a life of its own. Tate doesn’t look bothered by the questions at all though.

“Tate,” one of the reporters calls out, “when did you know she was the one?”

Tate dips his head, a sinful half smile on his face. “What do you think?” he murmurs, low enough no one else can hear. “Should I tell them it was when you gushed all over my fingers at Onyx?”

I narrow my eyes. “Maybe you could tell them the truth and say it was when you came to True Brew and begged me to be your girlfriend.”

He just chuckles and leads me toward the doors without answering any of the questions thrown our way.

The foyer is huge and resplendent with marble and glass and chandeliers. From there, Tate steers me to the side, where we go through open double doors into a large, luxurious ballroom.

“Our table’s at the front,” Tate says.

“One of the perks of being the hosts?” I arch a brow at him.

“I don’t know that I’ve ever been to an event where we weren’t at the front.”

I let out a quiet snort.

“At least it means everyone will get a good look at my gorgeous future wife.”

I press my palm to my fluttery stomach. Why do I get a thrill when he saysmy future wife, even when I know it’s not real?

As we weave our way through the crowd, person after person stops Tate to shake his hand and offer him congratulations on his engagement, as well as the gala. I’m quickly tired of smiling politely as they assess me, some with arch expressions that smack of disdain. But I don’t say anything. I’m getting paid to stand by Tate’s side, so that’s what I’ll do.

When we finally reach the table and Delilah comes into view, I sag in relief. She smiles at me, looking beautiful in a classy black dress.

“It’s so nice to see you again,” she says as Tate guides me into the empty chair beside her. She angles close, her green eyes wide. “Cole told me what happened with the engagement. Are you okay?”

“Define okay,” I whisper.

Her smile is sympathetic as she glances at Tate, who’s talking to Roman, his arm resting along the back of my seat, thumbabsently stroking the sensitive skin of my neck just like he did last time. And just like last time, it feels way too good.

She lets out a little sigh. “The King men are hard to resist,” she says.

I play with the stem of my wineglass and swallow past the lump in my throat. “They are.”

“Can I see the ring?”

With a smile, I oblige, holding out my hand.

“That’s beautiful.” Her tone is sincere. “I’ve never seen one like it before. Let me guess, Tate called Isabelle.”

I laugh. “He did.”

She lowers her voice. “When Cole told me about this ploy they cooked up, I didn’t think Tate could handle pretending to have a real emotional connection with a woman. A purely sexual connection, maybe. But to convincingly act like he was in love? I wasn’t sure his heart would be in it enough to make it believable. But…” She peers over my shoulder, then focuses on me again. “It looks to me like his heart is 100 percent in it.”

Face heating, I look away, only to catch Tate watching me. He gives me that smile, not the cocky one, not a flirtatious one, but the one that sends a slow pulse of desire through my whole body. I want to think she’s right. Sometimes, especially over the last few days, I almost believe it’s true. But I’ve been so wrong before, and it’s hard to fully let go of that niggling fear. That my judgement is off. That I’ll let someone in, only to find out that I was wrong all over again.

In a flurry of emerald satin, Tate’s mom appears at the table. Those icy blue eyes meet mine, and her lips twitch into a tight smile.

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