Page 47 of Royal Bargain
“You did good tonight,” he says, clapping me on the back. “We’re gonna win this thing.”
I huff a laugh. “Bold of you to say before the votes are even counted.”
He smirks. “I’m not bold. I’m right.”
“I’m sure that speech helped,” I mutter.
Burns laughs. “Liam, you worry too much. Trust me. People eat that righteous justice shit up. Tomorrow, the polls will jump. You’ll see.”
We step out the hotel doors, into the night air. I’m just turning to respond when?—
CRACK.
The sound splits the night like a whip.
Burns jerks forward, a look of shock in his eyes.
Then he collapses.
17
ANNIKA
“Deep breath,” Liam murmurs, brushing his hand across my lower back as we head toward the entrance. “We smile, we mingle, we’re out before dessert. Sound good?”
I nod, even though my heart’s going a mile a minute. The dress I’m wearing—seafoam green, vintage, handpicked by Ingrid—feels like it belongs to someone braver than me. The satin ribbon cinches tighter than I’d like, and the low back makes me hyper-aware of every set of eyes. It’s beautiful. It’s a lot.
Inside, the air hits cool and crisp—champagne, perfume, and money. Gold trim glints under the chandelier lights, and a string quartet plays something soft near the stage. Waiters glide by with trays of drinks and tiny food I couldn’t name if I tried.
Liam squeezes my hand, then heads toward a cluster of donors and politicians. He blends right in. I hang back for a second, then scan the room until I spot Miranda at the edge of the ballroom.
She sees me coming and schools her face into something unreadable—not cold, not warm. Neutral.
“Annika,” she says. “You made it.”
“Of course,” I say, smiling as I reach her. “Thanks again for the invite.”
She gives me a once-over. “You look lovely. Very polished.”
“I had help. Ingrid’s got an eye.” I pause. “I appreciate the introduction. Really.”
Her expression shifts—barely. Maybe approval. Maybe something else. “Has she?” Miranda’s tone is light, but I can hear the edge under it. “I wasn’t sure how that pairing would go.”
“She’s been good to me. Honest. I like that. She doesn’t make me feel like I’m wasting her time.”
Miranda nods slowly, her lips curving. “Good. Ingrid doesn’t bother with lost causes.”
She turns to the group around her and gestures. “Let me introduce a few of my colleagues—Nadine Patel, Thornville Women in Finance, Catherine Yao from the city council, and Lucille Marchand, editor of The Thornville Ledger. We all sit on the Businesswomen of Thornville board.”
I offer my hand to each of them. “Nice to meet you.”
They smile, polite but sharp-eyed. The kind of look that says:Impress us.
Miranda turns back to me. “You’ve made quite a few waves already, Miss Volkov. Stepping into the spotlight like this? It’s bold.”
“I don’t really have the luxury of waiting anymore,” I say, more honestly than I mean to.
That earns the barest twitch of Miranda’s mouth. “No, I suppose you don’t.”
