Page 60 of Hunter

Even though tonight it’s about Tilly’s marriage to Domenico Lombardi, it marks Hunter and me officially stepping out into the London society. I’ve lived long enough to know that our reunion will have created gossip. Plenty of socialites and politicians will want to see for themselves that Hunter Devane has settled down with his wife. There will be debates and opinions aplenty, and my curves don’t tick the boxes of the normal models who grace the arms of London’s businessmen, the women Hunter was rumored to bed.

Tonight’s ball is our declaration to the world that we are together. And in a way, it is also a statement to myself.

***

Hunter

Clarion House, London

As I sit in the rear of the limo with Isabella on one side and Tilly on the other, my mind races over the preparations made for this evening. Damon assures me that all the measures we discussed are in place. Our own security system and extra men on the ground are a few of the ways I’m protecting both our family and our guests.

The New Year’s Eve traffic in London is chaotic as always. At seven in the evening, darkness has already fallen over the city, the bright lights of the vehicles and buildings a stark contrast to the black. Partygoers strut along the pavement, dressed in various states of glam, most donning sequins and sparkle of some kind. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, we arrive at Clarion House.

The dark gates are thrown open, multiple security staff flanking each side complete with black suits, concealed guns, and earpieces. Guests have already started to arrive with cars queued nose to tail down the driveway. As a vehicle reaches the front of the line, it pulls forward to the steps and a doorman opens the rear doors to allow the passengers to exit.

Isabella shuffles in her seat, uneasy, the closer we get to the entrance. I wrap my fingers around hers in support, hoping to instill a little confidence. Though she dances on camera, it is done from behind a mask, and I know her dislike of public situations is the same as it was twenty years ago. Tilly, on the other hand, is more than comfortable in the limelight, normally using public family moments to cause upset of some kind. She has sat silently while staring out of the window with a look of complete disinterest throughout the ride.

Eventually, our car is at the front of the queue. The driver stops and the door to Isabella’s right opens. Damon reaches in offering his hand to support her stepping out, and I follow. Photographers and journalists swarm around the entrance held back by our men. Cameras point in every direction. Damon nods, a quiet gesture that all is well, and I relax a little knowing there is no obvious threat.

I slip Isabella’s arm through mine as Tilly arrives on my opposite side. It strikes me as curious that she hasn’t taken off and strode straight up the stairs toward the Grand Ballroom. I would have thought she would love the attention the cameras offer. However, without a word, she stays by my side, keeping in rhythm with Isabella and myself as we make our way up the red carpet and inside.

Clarion House is modern in comparison to some of the more traditional London Hotels. Five-star, it drips in opulence and glamor. The entrance hall is vast and currently being used for a drink reception. People nod, acknowledging my existence with each step. Isabella clings to my arm, unsettled with the sheer volume of eyes upon us. I place my fingers over hers in reassurance.

A tray of champagne floats past as I spot my friends standing in a small circle near a grand fireplace, the flames licking the chimney. Tilly’s hand darts out, plucking a glass from the passing waiter. I reach for one, offering it to Isabella, then collect one for myself.

The two women act in complete contrast. My niece lifts the crystal to her lips and drinks deep, emptying the glass in a few mouthfuls. I scowl at her, but she grins back, enjoying my lack of pleasure. Since her arrival at my home a few days ago, she’s barely done more than grunt after our original conversation. However, with Isabella, her lips have been loose, and she’s made her unhappiness at being betrothed to Lombardi clear. My wife has been more than happy to pass the message onto me for her.

I’ve listened to everything Bella has had to say, and I won’t lie that her point of view has made me uncomfortable. Her demand that I reflect on how what I am forcing Tilly to do is no different from our own arranged marriage, and how I need to be able to live with myself knowing that I have made this happen are disconcerting. She’s been direct and honest in her assessment without being demeaning, and that makes her argument all the more compelling.

Isabella clutches her own champagne, continually lifting, sipping, then lowering it again. I gesture in the direction of Harrison and the Chase brothers, and the three of us make our way toward them.

“Good evening,” Harrison says, greeting Isabella like a long-lost friend. He pulls her into an embrace, kissing her cheek warmly. “You look radiant tonight.” Her cheeks pink immediately at his compliment, and my wife’s embarrassment makes me smile.

He’s right, she looks incredible dressed head to toe in red. When she appeared from her room ready to leave, the breath had disappeared from my body. I didn’t know whether to throw myself at her feet in thanks for her being here or fuck any plans we had and take her back to bed. Both outcomes felt as if they could be appropriate.

I become aware of a conversation on my other side. Russell and Connor are introducing themselves to Tilly. The brothers, as smooth as ever, are bantering between them as she watches them curiously. None of my friend’s partners are here; with the ongoing threats, they preferred they stayed home safe in the sky-high towers. If I had had the option for Bella to stay home, I would probably have done the same.

Tilly grabs another glass of fizz, and I reach to squeeze her elbow. She shoots me a dirty look, so I narrow my eyes in warning.

“Don’t embarrass me or yourself tonight,” I warn. She takes a long drink then flicks a lock of blonde hair off her shoulder. “I mean it.”

“Piss off, Uncle Hunter,” she trills with a roll of her eyes. “You can have your little public spectacle, but until you need me, I’ll be somewhere else.” Without waiting for permission or any form of reply, she struts off into the crowd, her silver dress sparkling under the lights.

“Oh, I like her,” Russell says. “She fucking screams trouble.”

“Sam better not hear you say that,” his brother growls. “She’ll cut your balls off.”

“Hey, I only looked. Our girl is the only girl for me, but I can appreciate a feisty woman when I meet one.”

“Feisty,” I mutter. “How many parking tickets, speeding fines, and general annoyances have you sorted for her, Harrison?”

Harrison laughs but shrugs his shoulders. “I’ve lost count. She’s certainly a handful.”

“Luckily, soon to be someone else’s.”

It’s then I am acutely aware of Isabella’s focus on me, as she glares openly in front of my friends. I turn to face her, taking her hand and squeezing gently. It does nothing to thwart her open hostility.

“She’s a nice girl, Hunter,” Isabella says sharply. “She’s just pissed at being pushed around.”

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