he’d been honest, if he’d said he married her because she was Emma’s mother and she was great in bed, they’d at least have had realistic expectations of each other. She’d have been able to trust him.
But, no. He claimed to want her happy. He claimed he’d married her for her. Right.
He wanted her so much he’d rather hide her away in a hotel suite than publicly claim her as his wife.
Fine. If that was the way he wanted to play it, she’d play. She’d prove him to be the liar he was and then their marriage could finally be based on truth.
Stephen arrived late to his grandfather’s party.
Dressed in the requisite tuxedo, he made a beeline for the bar and ordered a Scotch on the rocks. He didn’t want to see his family, didn’t want to see any of the spoiled blond Whitfields who’d made his life a living hell. He’d only come out of loyalty to his mother’s memory, to remind every damn one of them that he hadn’t forgotten what they’d done.
After spending twenty-five years proving that the Whitfields couldn’t bully him the way they’d bullied his mother, he wasn’t about to stop now. And, Lord knew, if he failed to make an appearance, his spiteful cousins would trash the hotel in the name of victorious celebration.
Just like every other year, the event was packed with people Stephen could barely tolerate when his mood was generous. Europe’s richest businessmen, their superficial wives and catty mistresses, celebrities whose names he could never remember, and anyone else fortunate enough to claim a coveted connection to the Whitfields was in attendance. It was enough to sour any mood, and his wasn’t good to begin with.
After not touching Colette for days, he felt like a caged tiger spoiling for a kill. Preferably something flavored with a Whitfield sneer and polished platinum hair.
His hand tightened around the tumbler of ice and liquor as his least favorite Whitfield cousin approached him. “Still drinking like the Irish scum that spawned you, eh?”
“What do you want, Liam?”
“Besides everything you took that should have been mine?” he said with a scowl. “I’d be happy if you just disappeared.”
“Much as I’d like to help you out, I can’t,” he said, before slugging back his drink in a single swallow. The burn felt good and the tumbler kept his hands busy. For now. “Who else would clean up after your mistakes if I were gone?”
Liam’s eyes narrowed and a telltale flush of fury stained his face a mottled red. “Everything was fine until you showed up, uninvited and unannounced.”
“I returned to keep you from driving the Grand into bankruptcy.” He kept his voice calm, though it required a supreme effort to keep his hands off the pompous bastard’s neck. “Irritating you is just an unexpected perk.”
“You’re not good enough to step foot in the Grand, let alone run it. You’re the son of a whore, always sniffing around whores.” His face screwed into an ugly combination of disgust and jealousy. “You can’t even keep them away for Grandfather’s birthday, can you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Colette Huntington, that nobody who acts like she belongs here.”
Stephen’s gut cinched with a sick lurch. Panic coiled in his lungs, froze the air in his chest. For a black, eternal moment his heart forgot how to beat. Then it surged back to life, thundering hard beneath his ribs, and he spun to locate Colette’s golden hair amid the knot of glittering party goers.
No.
He shoved the birthday guests aside without regard for their gasped outrage, leaving offended gossip in his wake as he raced toward his wife. His vulnerable, exposed wife. For a moment he lost sight of her. The ballroom was so crowded he felt as if he navigated a tumultuous sea of jewel and silk. He plunged deeper into the mass of tuxedos and ballgowns until he caught sight of her willowy neck and golden shoulders. It seemed a century since he’d drawn breath, an eon since he’d seen her safe.
Then he saw her companion.
They stood with their backs to him, his grandfather’s gnarled hand clutched just above Colette’s elbow as they made their way to the edge of the ballroom. Stephen lurched forward, the leaden weight of anxiety twisting within his stomach and making his legs unsteady and weak.
“Colette!”
They turned as one, his wife and his grandfather, and Stephen felt his vision go black on the edges. What had Grandfather said to her? What damage had he already