Page 16 of The Dante (Those (Damn!) Texas Dantes #1)

Jazz blinked against the glare, the flashes momentarily disorienting, areminder that every movement, every glance, was being recorded, analyzed, dissected in real-time.

The rapid-fire clicks of cameras filled the air, blending with the murmured anticipation of onlookers, asteady murmur of whispered speculation and admiration.

The scent of expensive perfume lingered in the cool night air, mingling with the faint, smoky tang of car exhaust from the luxury vehicles pulling up in precise intervals.

Everything about the moment was curated, orchestrated, aspectacle of status playing out beneath the grand entrance’s golden glow.

The scene was a carefully orchestrated display of wealth, influence, and expectation.

Inside the car, the silence between her and Titus held an unspoken impediment.

As they inched forward in the slow-moving line of black-tie arrivals, Titus turned to her, studying her in the dim glow of the streetlights filtering through the tinted windows.

Then, without pretense or warning, he cupped her jaw, his fingers gentle but firm, and kissedher.

It wasn’t his usual kiss—not the possessive, all-consuming kind that left no room for doubt. This one was softer, slower, aquiet kind of claiming. Areassurance. Apromise she wasn’t sure she understoodyet.

As the car slowed to a stop, the driver moved swiftly, stepping around to open the door. Before the handle clicked, Titus’s dark eyes flicked toward Jazz. He studied her, assessing in the way he always did, but this time, there was something else in his gaze—something watchful, protective.

“Ready?” His voice was smooth as always, but there was a note beneath it, aquiet concern.

Jazz drew on the composure she’d spent years perfecting. “I should be asking you that.”

A slow, sensuous smile ghosted over his lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Instead, there was something else there—calculation, quiet amusement, aflicker of knowing arrogance that made it clear he was already playing the next move in whatever game he believed they werein.

“Let’s go.”

The moment the driver opened the door, Titus exited first, unfolding from the car with the effortless grace of a man accustomed to commanding every space he entered.

His movements were fluid, unhurried, as if the world itself adjusted to his pace.

The crisp night air stirred the edges of his tuxedo jacket, but he remained untouched by it, his presence radiating an innate authority that sent an immediate ripple through the gathered crowd.

Conversations faltered, voices dipping lower as eyes subtly flicked toward him.

Some guests instinctively stepped aside, making space without fully realizing they were doing it.

Others exchanged glances, their conversation shifting from idle chatter to something more speculative, more charged.

Even the photographers, who had been snapping indiscriminately, adjusted their focus, their lenses drawn to him as if compelled by an unspoken command.

The comments swelled at the sight of him.

Ashift in energy, subtle yet undeniable, as heads turned, conversations momentarily paused, and the significance of his reputation settled over the evening like an unspoken force.

Photographers pivoted their lenses toward him, eager to capture the moment, the presence of a man whose name alone carried gravity.

Some of the guests exchanged looks, whispers passing between them, speculation hanging in the air like a carefully poised blade.

Titus didn’t acknowledge any of it. He didn’t need to. His silence, his complete and utter control, spoke louder than any response ever could.

Jazz adjusted the folds of her sapphire-blue gown, smoothing the fabric over her hips before stepping out.

The dress shimmered subtly beneath the golden glow of the entrance lights, catching the admiring glances of the photographers stationed just beyond the rope line.

The cool evening air kissed her skin, astark contrast to the warmth of Titus’s hand as it found the small of herback.

He guided her forward with a touch that was both subtle and absolute.

The flashing cameras intensified. The moment they were fully visible, awave of voices surged toward them, each vying for attention.

“Titus Dante, this way!”

“Jazz, who designed your gown?”

“How does it feel to be the new Mrs. Dante?”

Titus didn’t slow. He moved with unwavering purpose, barely acknowledging the calls. It was a dance of restraint, of presence—one she knew well. The world could speculate, they could pry, but they would only see what he allowed them tosee.

Jazz lifted her chin, keeping her expression poised, composed.

She knew the game. She played it well. And yet, she felt the burden of the cameras differently tonight.

Not just as a woman stepping into the limelight alongside Titus Dante, but as someone carrying a secret that would change everything.