Page 59 of Lavish

His palm flattened against my thigh, warm and possessive. His thumb dragged slow, lazy circles into my skin, inching dangerously close to where I was aching.

“Careful, Serena,” he murmured. “Say that again and I might forget this is supposed to be a business merger.”

The limo slowed, the muffled sound of cameras and voices filtering in from outside.

Showtime.

I pushed his hand away, and I smoothed down my dress, forcing my pulse to steady.

Don’t let him get to you. Keep it controlled.

“Try not to embarrass me.”

Don’t look at his hands. Don’t look at his jaw. Don’t look at his goddamn mouth?—

“Don’t tempt me, wife.”

The door opened. I stepped out without another word, the cool air hitting my skin like a warning.

It was like a hush fell over the crowd when they saw the two of us together.

“Serena! Miles! Over here!”

I smiled. Or I thought I smiled; my brain was focused on placing one foot in front of the other. What were they saying about me? My posture? My dress? The lie I was living?

Miles’s hand slid into mine, and I almost flinched. His grip was firm, almost possessive, but his touch was ice-cold. He raised our hands slightly as if to say,Look, we’re in love. We’re just fine.

I barely had a second to react before he was waving stiffly at the paparazzi, nodding along to whatever they were shouting at us. And then, finally, finally, we were inside.

The moment the doors shut behind us, he all but flung my hand away like I was contagious. I watched, half-stunned, as he wiped his palm against his slacks, his jaw tightening like he had touched something foul.

I scoffed, crossing my arms. “Seriously?”

“What?” Miles didn’t look at me.

I frowned at him and brushed past him, letting my shoulder knock into his as I entered the party.

The gallery was packed, no doubt thanks to Laurene’s talent for reinvention. When she returned to town, she’d taken the gallery and turned it into the hottest spot in town.

Now, beingseenhere was just as important as the art itself.

Most Lush social gatherings boiled down to three objectives: networking, social climbing, and the art of thinly veiled sabotage.

I felt the weight of their gazes. Some subtle, just a flick of the eyes before turning away. Others were bold stares, murmured whispers behind champagne glasses.

“Serena!” Mama’s voice snapped suddenly.

I glanced to my right. Mama was strutting over in a gold flowing gown, her hair pinned back.

“Where’s that husband of yours?”

“He’s…getting us champagne, ma’am,” I lied.

She glanced at the ring on my hand. Not warmly. Just…observant. Like she was checking a box.

“I heard some people muttering how they saw you both get out of the limo with frowns on your faces. You know that won’t do.”

NoHow are you feeling?NoIs he being kind to you?Just the optics.