Page 21

21

Lena

“ I feel really under-dressed,” she whispered, glancing around them at the opulent event room. “You didn’t tell me everyone was going to get changed for dinner.”

The space was all gilded chandeliers, polished floors, and soft candlelight reflecting off enormous silver vases filled with fragrant flowers. Everything about it whispered money—the kind of wealth that didn’t just happen but was inherited, cultivated, passed down like an heirloom. Or that’s what it seemed like, to Lena. This wasn’t her world.

Most of the men wore sharp, tailored suits, exuding effortless confidence. But it was the women who made her hesitate—some gowns were soft and billowing, others sleek and structured, but they were all elegant … the kind of couture Lena had only ever seen on magazine covers.

Next to them, Lena felt like an ugly duckling.

“You look perfect, Lena,” Tristan murmured, his voice low and certain. “And you happen to be the most beautiful woman in the room.”

Lena blushed, shifting on her ballerina shoes. She wasn’t the most beautiful woman in the room, but Tristan seemed to believe she was, and that made her feel beautiful. “You look pretty good yourself,” she said.

Which was the understatement of the century. After … after , Tristan had changed into a dark gray suit, perfectly cut to his broad shoulders and slim hips, paired with a crisp white shirt and a tie the exact shade of his blue eyes. He looked hot . Hot with a capital H.

“You look perfect,” he repeated, stepping closer, his voice dipping just enough to send a shiver down her spine. Then, with a wicked glint in his eyes, he added, "Though not as perfect as you did fifteen minutes ago, with your bare legs wrapped around?—"

“Stop. Please.” She elbowed him, her face flaming. “Somebody might hear you.”

He lowered his voice even further. “I’m sure my parents realize we’re having sex.”

Lena nearly choked. “Great,” she hissed. “But I’m assuming they don’t need confirmation?”

His smirk deepened, but he didn’t push it further. Instead, he slid a warm hand to the small of her back and led her into the second event room, where dinner tables were arranged in perfect symmetry.

A massive, ornate chandelier sparkled above them, throwing light across crystal glassware and carefully folded linens. The clinking of champagne glasses and the murmur of conversation blended into an elegant, low hum of wealth and influence.

Lena swallowed hard.

"Okay," she whispered. "We’re okay.”

Tristan’s fingers flexed against her back, his touch grounding. “Yes, we are.”

A familiar voice interrupted them.

"Ah, there you are!"

Lena stiffened instinctively.

Amaury Devallé.

Tristan’s father approached, all polished charisma, his salt-and-pepper hair perfectly styled. He’d exchanged his turtleneck for a shirt and tie, his suit immaculate, exuding the kind of self-assured ease that came with years of being at the top.

Tristan’s grip on her waist stayed firm.

"Glad you could make it," Amaury said smoothly. Lena felt herself blush bright pink. She hoped he had no idea what they’d just been doing up in their room.

“I enjoyed your presentation, Monsieur Devallé”, she said evenly. She prayed he hadn’t seen her and Tristan leaving the room.

Amaury smiled, though his dark eyes remained unreadable. "Please, Lena—Amaury."

Tristan tensed slightly beside her.

Lena wasn’t sure if it was protectiveness or his complicated relationship with his father surfacing, but just then Tristan’s mother arrived, sparing her from having to reply. She introduced Lena and Tristan to the two couples sharing their table. “Lena, meet Regina and Michel, and Noel and Eloise, four of our oldest friends.”

“They’re also big watch collectors,” Tristan whispered so only she could hear.

Tristan’s mother skillfully maneuvered Lena, so she was sitting between Amaury and Tristan. As a buffer?

The appetizer arrived almost immediately. Despite her nerves, Lena couldn’t help but enjoy the delicious tuna tartar, seasoned with soy and sesame oil. She’d only just swallowed a few bites when the man across from her—Michel, she thought—threw out a question.

“So, Tristan. When are you going to quit that dangerous hobby of yours and join your father at his atelier ?” He smiled a knowing smile. “Haven’t you kept him waiting long enough?”

Lena stiffened, her fork pausing halfway to her plate.

As if in slow motion, she watched as five people turned toward Tristan with expectant smiles. Only Amaury stood still—as a statue.

Tristan’s grip on his wine glass tightened just enough to make the stem creak, though his face remained carefully composed.

Lena put her fork down and swallowed hard. She wasn’t an idiot. She knew what she should do, of course. She should stay silent. This was Tristan’s family. Tristan’s world. A world she knew nothing about. She shouldn’t engage. She couldn’t engage. But she couldn’t stay silent.

“Tristan’s a lieutenant with the world’s most highly respected mountain rescue organization. I’m fairly certain the thousands of people they rescue every year wouldn’t call their job a hobby .”

Michel gave a loud, booming laugh, as though Lena had just delivered a clever punchline. “Yes, yes, of course. Flying into avalanches and pulling people off cliffs is very noble. But come now, it’s hardly sustainable long-term. You’re a Devallé—you should be continuing your father’s legacy, not?—“

Lena didn’t even feel bad about interrupting. “If Tristan hadn’t done his job, I wouldn’t be here speaking with you today. I would have died in those mountains.” Beside her, she felt Tristan stiffen.

“Ah.” There was a knowing glint in Eloise’s eye as she jumped into the conversation. “Tristan rescued you. Is that how you met? How very romantic.”

Lena ground her teeth. “He did. But that’s not my point. My point is that a job with the PGHM is an admirable career .”

Lena’s stomach tightened. Her gaze flicked toward Amaury as he sipped his wine, his expression unreadable.

Tristan’s mother made a soothing sound. “Of course it is, dear,” she said, then proceeded to engage Eloise and Regina in a conversation about their most recent vacation.

Lena felt Tristan staring at her, his expression deadly serious. She turned towards him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, bringing her napkin up to her mouth to cover her words. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you in front of?—“

Tristan laughed and lowered his voice to her ear. “Fuck, but you’re sexy when your claws come out.”

Lena’s head snapped toward him. She felt a blush creep up her cheeks.

“Are you okay?” he asked, still in that low, sexy voice.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking that question?”

“I’m okay. More than okay, now that you’re here.” He lowered his voice even further.

Lena picked at the next three courses, hardly able to figure out what each was. Finally, it was over. As soon as dessert was finished and coffees had been drunk, Tristan stood up. “Thank you for dinner. Please excuse us. We will see you tomorrow.”

“At breakfast?” Tristan’s mother asked quickly.

Tristan nodded. “At breakfast. I promise, Maman .”

Amaury stood up as Lena did, but instead of sitting back down, followed them towards the door.

“Tristan … you do know passion and purpose aren’t always the same thing,” Amaury said, his voice smooth.

Tristan’s jaw tightened.

“And who gets to decide that?” Tristan asked, his voice quiet but sharp. “You?” His voice softened. “I’m sorry we disagree on this topic, Père , but I’m not planning on quitting my job.”

Amaury’s expression didn’t change, but he expelled a small sigh. “Thank you for coming today, Tristan, and for letting us meet the lovely Lena. It meant a lot to me and to your mother.”

“Happy birthday,” Tristan replied. His fingers tightened around Lena’s hand, and together they left.