Page 185 of Knot Like Other Girls

My father nods, his expression indicating he'd rather be anywhere else. "Isabella."

"Marie! Richard!" Braxley exclaims with practiced enthusiasm, immediately slipping into his charming public persona. "You both look absolutely fabulous tonight."

My mother preens under his attention, smoothing the front of her too-young cocktail dress. "Braxley, dear. This event is simply breathtaking."

"The Worthington touch," Braxley says with false modesty. "Speaking of which, I should find my parents. They'll want to coordinate for the family photos. Bella, darling, why don't you catch up with your parents?"

Before I can respond, he's pressing a quick kiss to my cheek—carefully positioned toward any watching photographers—and disappearing into the crowd, phone already raised for another update for his followers.

"Well," my mother says, her critical gaze returning to me once Braxley is gone. "I must say, the emerald is a bold choice. I would have gone with something more neutral." She squints at it. "Isn't that your sister's dress?"

"No, it's new," I reply, resisting the urge to sigh. "Where is Ashlyn, anyway?"

My mother brightens immediately, as she always does when the topic shifts to my sister. "Oh, she's making an entrance. She's wearing the most incredible Dior piece. It cost a fortune, but her influencer partnerships have really taken off lately."

"How nice," I murmur, scanning the room again. Troy and Savva have entered, circulating smoothly through the crowd while appearing to be nothing more than well-dressed attendees.

"We're so proud of her," my mother continues. "She's almost at three hundred thousand followers now. Brands are practicallybeggingto work with her."

"That's wonderful," I say, the response automatic after years of practice. "I'm happy for her."

I actually am happy for her. It isn't a lie. However much I don't understand any of this at all, it's important to Ashlyn. My sister may hate my guts, but the feeling isn't mutual. I'mstill holding out hope we can find a way to get along one day, however unlikely that is.

"The Worthingtons have been so helpful with her connections," my father adds, taking a sip of his scotch. "Though of course that's largely thanks to you."

I don't miss the subtle reminder of what my engagement has done for my family's social standing. The guilt trip is as familiar as it is manipulative.

"I'm going to get a drink," I say, needing space to breathe. "Would either of you like anything?"

"No, thank you," my mother replies. "We should find Ashlyn anyway. Maybe we'll even end up in a few pictures." She giggles behind her manicured hand.

"Right," I say slowly. "Well, I'll catch up with you later."

As my parents move away, I exhale slowly, centering myself. A waitress passes with champagne flutes, and I gratefully take one, sipping the bubbly liquid while making my way toward the bar where Liam stands watch.

"You're doing great, lass," he says under his breath as I approach.

"That obvious?" I ask, keeping my expression pleasant for any observing eyes.

"Only to those who know what to look for." His gray eyes sparkle with warmth that soothes my frayed nerves. "Your sister just arrived, by the way. East entrance." He leans in close with a grin. "Quite the spectacle."

I turn casually toward the indicated entrance, where a small commotion is indeed taking place. Ashlyn stands in a blindingly sequined silver dress, striking glamorous poses for a small cluster of photographers while a young beta man I don't recognize films the entire scene with a professional-grade camera.

"Is that her personal paparazzi?" I ask incredulously.

Liam's lips twitch. "Appears so. Hired for the evening, I'd wager."

The absurdity of it almost makes me laugh, but something in Ashlyn's performance captures my attention. There's a brittleness to her smile, a desperate edge to her poses. She looks like someone trying too hard to prove their worth.

I know she'll be chewing me out the moment we meet, but right now, all I feel for her is sympathy. How exhausting it must be, needing to constantly seek validation like this.

"Do you see your parents?" Liam asks, his voice professional but his eyes never leaving mine. "Seven o'clock, moving to intercept."

I glance casually in the indicated direction, spotting my parents cutting through the crowd toward Ashlyn. My mother's face is alight with pride, my father trailing behind with a resigned expression.

"At least they're distracted," I murmur. "I should probably mingle a bit. Braxley will expect me to be seen."

Liam nods. "Troy will shadow you. Roman wants eyes on you at all times with Heather expected to arrive soon."

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