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However. I am entitled to respect and to be treated like his wife in public. Humiliating me was never part of the deal. Sure, he hasn’t yet crossed any big lines of impropriety, but Jayson is dancing at the edge. That much is clear from the conversation I came upon. It crosses my mind to saunter back into the party to Jayson and Maia, thread my arms around Jayson, and kiss him senseless, just to remind everyone exactly who he’s married to.

Instead, I open my purse and grab my lipstick, tracing the lines of my mouth with a color that is dark as blood. If I were Jayson’s true wife, I wouldn’t have any compunction about reminding Maia of that fact, but the sad thing is that it would be hypocritical to do such a thing when Jayson and I both know our marriage is coming to an end.

With a small pang in my chest, I take a deep breath and leave the powder room, surprised by the flow of traffic passing. The guests are moving to another room, so I guess it’s time for dinner. I refuse to look for Jayson and join the procession with my head held high.

I jump slightly when someone places an arm around my waist. But then I instantly recognize Jayson’s touch and scent. I want to melt into him, to breathe him in, to feel his hands on me again. Still, I won’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him.

“There you are. I was trying to find you,” he says.

“I’m sure,” I answer icily.

Jayson frowns as we enter a large dining room arranged with multiple tables, complete with place cards. Servants in black tuxedos mill about, helping guests find their spots. “Is something wrong, Harper?”

With a shrug, I answer, “No, not at all.” Turning my head from him, I look for our seats, and groan quietly when I see Calista and Caesar Kakos seated at the head table, along with a younger man who appeared to be dateless, and three open spots. At least Hestia isn’t seated there. I’m in no mood to hear more about her goddamn couture wardrobe.

Sliding into my seat, ignoring Jayson’s assistance, I glance at the remaining name card. It’s somehow unsurprising to see Maia Papadas in elegant script on the crisp white paper. Is it a random accident that Jayson’s ex-fiancée was also assigned to our table, or had she arranged it with one of the servants?

Or had he?

I just want to forget all of this.

To her credit, Calista doesn’t avoid my eye, and doesn’t act uncomfortable around us. She’s not so adept at hiding her reaction when Maia approaches the table. Maia stands by her chair expectantly, as though she doesn’t have the strength to pull it out herself. When the unknown man and Jayson both rise to their feet to assist her, Calista grimaces.

Biting back the impulse to giggle, unsure if the giddiness is coming from amusement or lingering shock, or maybe the champagne, I reach for a crystal goblet of ice water, hiding my disgusted expression by taking a sip. Jayson surrenders the “pleasure” of seating Maia to the other man and returns to his seat. His hand drops onto my shoulder, and I quickly shrug it off.

Calista makes an effort to engage me in conversation and I surrender gratefully. I don’t want to acknowledge the questions in Jayson’s eyes. It physically hurts when he turns to Maia, falling into a quiet conversation that I do my best to block out. Unsuccessfully.

Calista seems to be aware of my reaction and keeps me distracted with light topics. She’s a charming conversationalist and as such I manage to ignore the fact my husband is acting like I don’t exist. We’re discussing the Kakos’s recent yacht purchase and their plans to sail around the Greek islands when Maia’s cold laugh cuts through the conversation like shards of glass. Caesar and the other man fall silent as well, all eyes turning to Maia.

“What’s amusing you, Maia?” asks Calista softly.

“That.” Maia gestures toward a heavily pregnant woman making her way across the dining room, probably in search of a bathroom.

“Why do you find Helene funny?” Calista regards her with barely concealed dislike.

“There are so many reasons. She looks ridiculous in that gold tent.” Maia shrugs. “Wha

t can you expect from someone who isn’t one of us? She’s devious enough to trap her boss into marriage by getting pregnant, but she’ll never be clever enough to fit into our world.”

“I think she’s lovely,” says the man who has remained nameless. “Quite elegant, in fact.”

Maia snorts, contorting her face into an expression that makes her classical beauty turn into something else. “I think she’s disgusting. I won’t have anything to do with her.”

“There is no reason to be unkind to a pregnant woman,” says Jayson, sounding annoyed.

Either Maia doesn’t catch his tone or doesn’t care. “You can’t expect me to treat her as an equal. It’s clear she doesn’t belong.” Her dark eyes settle meaningfully on me for a moment before her tirade continues. “She might be able to lie and trick her way into Salus’s bed, but she can’t trick her way into being accepted.”

“I doubt she tricked Salus into anything,” says Caesar. “He’s a pretty astute man.”

“You can’t think he deliberately knocked her up?” Maia laughs again, though to me, it’s more of the screech of metal against metal than a sound of amusement. “I’m certain he only married her because of the baby.”

“If that is so, I find it refreshing,” says Calista in a tone laden with ice. “So many men we know keep mistresses. If one falls pregnant, the woman usually takes money and disappears from his life. Regardless of the circumstances of conception, I find it admirable that Salus has lived up to his responsibility.”

“I agree,” I say, surprising myself by contributing to the discussion. “I know it isn’t healthy for a child to grow up with parents who argue all the time, or who are miserable, but children need both parents — particularly when they are young. In that situation, I think you have to set aside what you want and think of your child, at least during the formative years.”

Jayson is frowning at me, his dark eyes looking even darker than usual. “You disagree?” I ask.

He shakes his head, his voice husky when he says, “No. No, I definitely do not.”