don't mean the kind you can glue on. I had cast an illusion over myself, presenting the image of a stunning redhead with a runway-model body. I hadn't chosen the illusion indiscriminately. After a google search on Leshing and a quick scan of pictures of him with past girlfriends, I went with a look that seemed to be his type.
I'd chosen to wear a red gown since the point was to get noticed, and I've always liked the boldness of a redhead wearing red. It hugged me from breasts to hips, where the silk draped an underskirt of black chiffon, creating a mermaid silhouette that still managed to look modern. My hair was piled atop my head in bright curls, with a few ringlets left loose to accent my neck, and the only jewelry I wore was my engagement earrings from Kyrian. I had to hide my wedding rings from Cyprian and Malik—worn on my right and left ring fingers respectively—beneath the illusion as well for obvious reasons.
Cyprian, who had already arrived and was inside the ballroom with Mal, Kyrian, and Braxis, had texted me just before Leshing and I had pulled up to the hotel in his Arrow XT—the latest release from Leshing Industries' car company, Orion. The sports car was sleek, sexy, and matched my dress. You know your date has money when he can choose a car to match your outfit.
We sauntered toward the gala, pausing for pictures every few feet as people shouted Leshing's name to get his attention. Edward looked dashing in his tailored suit, his blond hair slicked back and his arm curled possessively around my waist. You'd never think he'd been in a hospital bed just a few days ago, covered in burns.
“You're doing great,” Leshing whispered to me as he nodded to one of the reporters.
“I worked for the President, darling,” I drawled. “This is not my first press gauntlet.”
“Of course, it isn't.” Edward glanced at me and grinned.
“Mr. Leshing, who's your date?!” a reporter shouted.
“This is my girlfriend, Amanda Redding,” Edward gave them the fake name we'd decided on.
If anyone looked me up, they'd find information on a wealthy socialite, recently arrived in America from Italy. Some very talented D.H.S. agents had even set up social media accounts for Amanda that went back several years, saturated with pictures of food, expensive stores, and selfies galore. I didn't even have to pose for all the selfies; I just sent them a few shots, and they adjusted them.
“Girlfriend?” the reporter pounced on that. “This is the first time we've seen her.”
“I don't share everything with you, Miranda,” Leshing teased the reporter.
I lifted a brow at Leshing and while I was turned to him, he kissed me. Just a press of lips on lips, but I was startled by it, and also relieved that my kishanos were in another room. And Braxis. Dear Danu, what would Braxis have done if he'd seen that?
I had known that things would be tricky with Braxis, but I hadn't expected such blatant overprotective behavior. I suppose I should have. He was a Bleiten and had also vowed to protect me. Bleiten men, at least the warriors, tended to be alpha in the extreme. A step away from chauvinism. Alphaism, if you will. But a Bleiten male in love... that was chest pounding, teeth baring, bloodletting territory.
And Braxis had gone to his knees for me.
“Amanda?” Leshing prompted.
I blinked. Right, that was me. “Yes?”
He lowered his voice to ask, “You okay? I'm sorry about the kiss. I thought it would help to sell our ruse.”
“Oh, of course, darling,” I drawled. “Just don't let my husbands catch you doing that again.”
Edward cleared his throat nervously. “Thanks for the tip.”
I grinned and offered, “We can still dance. Just be careful where you put your hands.”
Leshing laughed brightly as he led me past the reporters. Cameras flashed rapidly, their lights chasing us into the ballroom.
Round tables spotted most of the ballroom with a small dance floor and stage at one end and a bar on one side. The palette was black and white, with tall vases full of lilies serving as centerpieces. I frowned at the choice of flowers. Lilies? Don't they represent death? Despite the morbid flowers, I had to admit that the neutral background made the guests stand out, their finery flashing beneath the lights. With his snowy white hair and black suit, Cyprian should have been the only guest to blend into the scenery, but the Faulin Master of D.C.