The Billionaire's Princess - Ava Ryan Page 0,63

For one arrested second I wonder how much he just heard or if he heard anything at all, but the shifting expression on his face solves that puzzle for me.

Disbelief… Confusion… Hurt… Cold fury.

“Damon,” I say helplessly.

I wouldn’t think that the moment could get any worse, but my father stiffens upon hearing Damon’s name and manages to look conspicuously guilty, like a toddler swearing he didn’t eat a pre-dinner cookie even though he has chocolate smeared all over his mouth.

“I don’t know if you caught any of that, Damon,” he says with what he clearly hopes is a winning chuckle, “but I hope there’s no misunderstanding. What we meant to say is—”

Jesus Christ. As if I’d risk letting my father clarify things for me.

“I will speak to Damon,” I tell my father coldly. “You’ve done enough for the night.”

My father pauses. Slowly turns to go.

A nasty smile inches its way across Damon’s face. A crooked smile. A soulless smile.

“Why rush off?” He hands a flute to my father, then one to me. I numbly take it. “I thought we should toast to Carly’s success tonight. She’s got everyone eating out of her hand. Well, she already had me and Percy eating out of her hand, but now she’s got everyone else, too.”

I stiffen.

“To Princess Carly,” he says, raising his glass. “Skilled painter and bewitcher of true billionaires like Percy and wannabe billionaires like me. Long may she reign.”

I flinch as he downs his champagne, puts the empty glass on a nearby tray and, lobbing a final glare in my direction, stalks off, taking all the room’s air with him.

The sight of him walking off—possibly walking out of my life—jars me into action.

“If you ruin things for me, I’ll never forgive you, Daddy,” I furiously whisper at my father, then take off after Damon.

18

Carly

I hurry after Damon, propelled by a sense of urgency bordering on panic and struck by an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. Another party. Me following him down another deserted hallway. Another high-stakes conversation to follow. Only this time I feel as though my entire life is on the line. Probably because it is.

“Please don’t make me chase after you,” I call after him, teetering in my heels as I try to keep up with his long strides. “We need to talk.”

“This isn’t the time,” he says, turning into a small lounge area where we left our coats when we arrived at the gallery earlier. The end table lamp throws harsh shadows across his face, making him look even more forbidding. “Go enjoy your success. You don’t need me around for that.”

“Of course I need you around for that.”

“I don’t want to ruin your big night for you. Let’s do this later.”

“This is far more important. There’s no way I can enjoy myself when I’ve hurt your feelings and I didn’t mean to,” I say, shutting the door behind me. “We need to get this straightened out.”

“Not much to straighten, princess.” A muscle flexes in his jaw. He finds his coat on the rack and slides his arms into it, his movements choppy. Slings his scarf around his neck. A better option than using it to strangle me, which he would probably love to do. “I think we’re pretty straight.”

“No, we’re not,” I say, sidestepping to block him when he heads for the door again. “I know what you think you heard—”

“Correction: what I heard.”

“—and I admit my father wouldn’t care if I married a ninety-five-year-old man on death’s door as long as he was a billionaire. But that’s not me.”

“Sure sounded like you.” He meets my gaze for the first time, forcing me to recoil. There’s so much hurt and anger in his flashing brown eyes. So much reproach in his face and quiet voice, even though it’s rough with emotion. I’d almost prefer that he yell at me. Smash that lamp. Anything other than this deathly stillness. “I’m almost positive I recognized your voice when you said you’d be a fool not to marry a billionaire. I’m guessing that’s why you brought Percy back tonight, right, princess? It’s always healthy to play both ends against the middle. Spark a little competition between potential rich husbands. I’m sure your father’s taught you that.”

“No,” I say, frustration making my voice pitch higher. “I keep telling you. I don’t want Percy. I could’ve already married him by now if he’s what I wanted. We just exchanged pleasantries and wished each other well. That’s it. You saw our whole conversation.