Page 39 of Stick to the Deal (Friendship Springs Romance #3)

Inconvenient Feelings

M y earlier enjoyment of the night quickly fades as my dance partner draws me in.

Where Reginald is a graceful dancer, Montague is forceful.

His insistent hand at my waist pulling me in closer than I want to stand.

A little too close for polite society, but not to the point that he’s clearly being inappropriate.

“How are you enjoying your first gala?” The scotch is thick on his breath.

“It’s hardly my first—I grew up with all this too.”

“That’s right. It’s still your first Bancroft gala, though.”

I make a noncommittal noise, counting down the seconds until I can excuse myself.

Although I haven’t spent much time with Reginald’s younger brother I can tell that he’s everything I hate about London’s upper crust. Entitled and spoiled, to the point he believes he’s invincible.

Add on his natural good looks and he thinks all women should fall at his feet.

“Well, that certainly didn’t take long.” Montague’s eyes stare at something behind me. As we take the next bend, I scan the crowd for what might have caught his eye. “I must say, you are a lot more calm about this than most brides would be.”

As we take a turn, I spot Reginald with a young blond woman in a ghastly pink dress.

She smiles up at him. There’s something familiar about her, but I can’t place the face.

Did he really think a random woman would make me jealous?

“There are husbands speaking to women who are not their wives all over this room, Monty.”

“True, but how many of them are their ex-fiancée?” The air catches in my lungs.

I concentrate on maintaining my calm expression, but his eagle eyes catch some of my discomfort.

“I’m so sorry. I assumed you knew. Mother was heartbroken it didn’t work out.

She and Lady Wentworth are childhood friends, and she was so looking forward to having Serena as a daughter. ”

The orchestra plays on, my feet follow along by pure muscle memory while inside, I’m crumbling.

The worst part is I don’t even have a right to be jealous.

He’s never told me he loves me. We even signed a contract saying our time apart was our own.

So why does it feel like someone has kicked me in the chest?

“Looks like things might not be as over as I thought. But, hey, you got the ring on your finger. That means you won, right?” The song ends, and he steps back, again gazing towards the bar.

I follow his eyes and see Reginald and Serena there. She’s leaning close into him, touching his arm, the skirts of her pink ballgown pressed against his leg. From this angle, I can’t see Reginald’s face, but he certainly makes no move to push her away.

The crowd presses together, slowing my path to the bar. Absently, I nod as acquaintances call my name, my eyes only on the hideous pink silk ahead.

“I’ll be waiting for you, Reggie-bear.” The bitch rests her pink tipped claws on Reginald’s arm possessively as I approach from behind him. Her eyes sweep over my body, her lip curling. When she meets my gaze, triumph flashes in the cold blue depths.

My husband steps back from her and closer to me, an unreadable look on his chiseled face.

“Serena, may I present my wife, Nicolette? Darling, I believe you met her parents at the Christmas party. Our mothers are old friends.” Reginald rests his hand on my spine. Instead of the comforting warmth of earlier, it feels like a lie. He gives me a curious look as I step away.

“We’ve met.” I don’t bother turning towards the other woman. “Reginald, your mother was adamant we thank all the donors.”

His gray eyes narrow ever so slightly. “Yes, of course. Excuse us, Serena.”

As we pass through the ballroom, he grips my elbow, pulling me up short. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

“Fine. Why ever wouldn’t I be?” I don’t meet his eyes as I widen my debutante smile .

The rest of the gala is quickly over, though the time drags without the earlier air of lightness and fun. I smile and nod at each donor, asking all the right questions. Outside, I’m the happy society wife. Inside, I’m that same scared little girl, wondering why no one loves me.

Reginald is the only one to notice. He shoots me some concerned looks but doesn’t press it further.

The limo ride home is silent. My fingers dig into my arms as I stare out the window.

The space between us is less than a few feet, but it might as well be miles.

So different from the ride here, full of heated looks, both of us thinking about what his hands did to me in this dress. Was that only a few hours ago?

The wheels barely stop and I’m out the door and across the lobby, boarding the elevator without a backwards glance. I press the button for Reginald’s floor, willing the doors to close faster. His hand appears, catching the doors at the last second. Brows pinched over stormy gray eyes.

I hold my breath as he leans in, but he only stabs the button.

The tension is so high, I can hardly stand still.

The diamonds on my wedding band dig into my fingers as I make a fist, eliciting a fresh wave of pain and confusion.

As soon as the elevator opens, I shoot out, my long legs eating up the distance despite the heels.

He follows close behind, like an enormous cat stalking its prey. “Would you like to tell me what the bloody hell is going on?”

I keep walking. Through the living room, and into his bedroom. This dress that once felt like a dream, is now a nightmare of barbed wire, and I’m desperate to be rid of it.

Reginald slams the bedroom door. “Goddamn it, Nic. Tell me what is going on.” He grabs my arm and turns me to face him.

Even in his anger, his grip is gentle. That touch shatters me all over again. My heart pounds. I clench my fingers, worried I’ll pull him closer instead of pushing him away. I want to hate him, but I can’t.

His eyes soften as they search my face. “Did someone say something?”

A harsh bark of a laugh claws my throat. “You could say that.”

I tear my arm from his grasp, turning away. Numb fingers grip at the zipper, trying to gain leverage.

“It was Monty, wasn’t it? What did he say?”

“Something illuminating.” The zipper finally moves in jerky bursts before sticking halfway down. I grit my teeth and contort my body to better grip the closure .

“For Christ’s sake, let me help you.” He takes two steps towards me, hands outstretched.

My temper flares. With a last tug, the zipper gives way, and the dress falls to the floor. I step out of the red silk puddle and stalk towards him wearing only my heels.

His eyes heat to molten steel as they rake my body before returning to my eyes.

Despite my rage, my inner self purrs in satisfaction at my effect on him. I lift my chin, filling myself with all the haughty air I can muster. “I want the truth. Even if you don’t think I’ll like the answer. Even if it’s uncomfortable. A lie will always be worse than the truth.”

He falters, surprised by this turn in conversation. “I agree.”

“I’ll ask you a series of questions and I only want yes or no answers.” He nods briskly. “Were you engaged to Serena Wentworth?”

He blanches and takes a step forward. “Who told you? It’s more compli…”

I hold my hand up, halting him mid-word. “Yes or no?”

Reginald’s jaw clenches. “Yes.” The word drips with ice.

“Is Serena interested in continuing the relationship?”

Emotions flash across his face. I can’t tell if it’s regret or guilt. “Yes.”

I nod. My eyes drop to the cold floors, the closet, anywhere but the man in front of me.

“I better wash this hairspray out before bed.” My feet numbly walk to the en suite, pausing at the door without looking back.

“I have an early flight back to Florida.” I slip into the bathroom, falling back against the door as I throw the lock.

He calls my name softly through the wood and tries the handle. “Nic, please, let me explain.” It sounds as though his forehead is pressed to the door, right by my own. I cover my mouth, desperate to stifle the sound of my broken breaths.

The moment hangs. Him waiting for me to answer. Me trying to hold myself together.

When his voice comes again, it’s the faintest of rasps. “I’ll be out here when you’re ready, Princess. I’m not going anywhere.”

The cold tile stings my feet as I rush to the shower, turning the water on full blast. My skin burns as I slide down the wall to the floor. The ruby heels clatter as I toss them across the bathroom floor. A mocking reminder of my na?ve hope at the beginning of the evening.

I let my head fall back against the tile, and finally give in to the overwhelming emotion. Hot tears stream down my face like lava. I haven’t cried like this since I was a child.

After my parents died and my grandmother rejected me, I swore I would never let people close again. I’ve done well until now, but I need to face the truth. At some point, I let that unassuming, broody husband of mine into my heart.

We had a deal. I’m the one who wants to change the rules now. That’s not fair to him. Yet as the scalding water washes me clean, I can’t quite let go of the hurt. I shouldn’t be mad at him. This is a me-problem. So I need a me-solution.

Florida. Everything will be better with some distance.

I just need a new project to distract me from these inconvenient feelings for my husband.