Page 53 of Babies for the Big Shot
“I don’t.”
Her gaze moves toward the hallway, toward where Sara disappeared. She doesn’t need to say it. I already know what she’s circling.
“I didn’t recognize you at first. She’s different,” Rebecca adds. “Young. Open. That kind of optimism never lasts in this circle.”
I don’t engage.
“She seems… sweet,” she continues. “Bright-eyed. A little unseasoned, maybe. But charming. You always had a talent for finding things just before the world tarnished them.”
“Enough.”
She raises a hand. “You know I mean well.”
“No, you don’t.”
She lets that hang. Then adjusts her posture, softening her tone. “It’s strange seeing you like this. Attached. Smiling. Playing the part. I always assumed that side of you was selective.”
“She makes me happy.”
There’s a flicker of disbelief. “Since when has that been a priority?”
“What do you want, Rebecca.”
She steps closer, not touching, but violating the boundary anyway. “To observe. Confirm. And offer advice, if you’re interested.”
“I’m not.”
She ignores it. “Be careful. Women like her don’t last in rooms like this. They shine too visibly. They attract attention, not all of it welcome. And they break faster than we do.”
The warning isn’t a kindness. It’s a test.
“She knows what she’s doing. And she doesn’t need your approval.”
Rebecca gives a slow, quiet nod. “Then I wish you the best.”
She finishes her drink, places the glass on a passing tray, and turns without ceremony.
She leaves the space changed. That’s always been her talent—disrupt and disappear.
I check the room. Faces, posture, attention. No one’s listening. No one’s curious enough to be a threat.
Then I see her.
Sara, scanning for me as she reenters the ballroom. Her expression shifts the moment she sees me.
That smile. No artifice, no angle. Just trust.
And I know with absolute clarity: She’s the risk.
And I’ve already chosen it.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sara
This whole nightis going way better than I expected.
I mean, sure, I’ve watched enough old movies to know how to walk in heels and smile politely while someone describes their summer in Gstaad as if it were a simple weekend in Jersey. But this? This is something else entirely.
