Page 16 of Through Any Fire (Any x #1)

“What did you tell everyone?” I ask, breaking the tense silence as Nathaniel rounds the car to open our door. “About how we met and why we left right after the ceremony? ”

Cal straightens his bow tie and answers.

“To the public, we were childhood friends and secretly dating for the past year. I asked you to marry me in September, a week after your birthday. You broke down in tears and readily accepted.” Cal smirks, clearly pleased with the story he’s spun.

“We took a short honeymoon and now are back to life, as per usual.”

“But how did you get everyone at the venue so last minute? That’s what I don’t get.”

For the first time all night, I see a shimmer of something I can’t identify behind his brown eyes. He looks away from me for a moment, and in the darkness, I can just make out him swallowing thickly.

“The venue had been booked for weeks. I just needed a bride.” His words are hushed, as if it pains him to say them aloud.

At his confession, a rock settles in the pit of my stomach.

Of course. How could I forget? I don’t know this man in front of me.

He told me in Abstrakt that he needed a wife.

I was available and in desperate need of his help.

As much as it tugs at an old ache, he has been nothing but honest since then.

It’s me who’s inflated his flirty nature and natural charm to the chance that maybe somewhere, deep down, he might still have feelings for me.

Once again, I’m reminded that he’s honest—most times to a fault.

I nod. “Right. Who doesn’t shop for their bride like an airplane SkyMall catalog?”

Cal doesn’t respond, but his jaw ticks as we exit the car. Like before, he offers his arm to escort me into the residence. An attendant at the entrance opens the door, and we step into a wall of warmth.

Cal twists to whisper in my ear. “Remember, we’re madly in love.”

I don’t respond, but I tighten my hold on his arm in understanding. We enter the party that’s already in full swing, and I still don’t know what we’re doing here. If I cared more, I’d ask. As it stands, I don’t think I want to know any more than I have to about Callahan and his dealings.

Cal leads us around the room, introducing me by my new name, then leaves me with a group of women and slips into an office with at least two other men. The women chatter about other social events, and I do my best to stay engaged, but I just can’t help my wandering eyes and ears.

At a slight break in the conversation, one woman in particular turns her attention to me.

Perfectly poised in a wingback chair, she sips a glass of red wine.

The crackling fire warms her deep complexion, and a gracious smile plays on her lips.

She appears to be in her early fifties, and she’s twisted her midnight hair into an elegant up-do.

“Mrs. Keane, it’s lovely to meet you. I don’t believe we’ve met yet,” she says, placing her wine on a glass side table and extending a slender hand adorned with a diamond tennis bracelet.

“I’m Helena Edwards. Welcome to my home.

” It takes a second, but it sounds like she has the ghost of an English accent swirling around her words.

I step forward and accept her greeting. “Loren Keane,” I introduce, shaking her hand firmly.

The corner of her mouth curls an infinitesimal degree.

Her surname rings a bell, and I try to place it, but nothing comes to me.

The obvious wealth is magnificent, and I can’t help but wonder how they acquired it.

On the far wall, an enormous painting of a navy crest with a ship and a sweeping wave stretches nearly from the floor to the ceiling.

A vivid memory surfaces of Cal thanking a man named Edwards at our wedding.

“Forgive me, but Edwards, as in the Edwards shipping conglomerate?”

A twinkle sparks in Helena’s brown eyes, and she dips her chin. “ That’s right.” She picks up her glass and leans into her chair. “But such old news. Tell us about your husband. How was your honeymoon?”

At the mention of Callahan, my palms turn clammy.

This is it, the big show. I smile brightly and wave her off, as if I’m shy and embarrassed to be the center of attention.

I hope it’s convincing. “We’ve known each other since we were kids.

It took growing up to realize we had it right the first time.

” I leave it at that. I should’ve spoken with him more about what our cover story was, and I plan to rectify that first thing on the car ride back.

Helena nods as if she understands. When she doesn’t respond, I know she’s wanting me to continue. Instead, I wave off the attention and attempt to spin the conversation elsewhere.

“But you know how the honeymoon stage goes. This home, though, is beautiful. Did you design it yourself?”

A bemused brow lifts, but Helena allows the change, chatting for the next twenty minutes about their recent renovations and interior design.

It’s a trivial conversation that I tune mostly out.

Though being in a place like this, where there are such clear divides between the gender roles…

well, it’s fascinating. I wish it wasn’t a faux pas to whip out my phone and take notes for inspiration in my next novel.

As the clock strikes nine, I rise and go hunting for a drink. “Excuse me,” I whisper, as I snake through the women and leave the sitting room.

The mansion is even bigger than the Keane residence, but thankfully, the party is contained to one wing.

I follow the sounds of chattering voices and elegant, low music to what can only be described as a ballroom.

Its vaulted ceilings are painted a soft cream and stone columns line the walls.

Ivy crawls up each one and onto the ceiling, into intricate designs of flowers and sparrows.

A string quartet plays gentle music in the back corner, a cover of a song that’s familiar but I can’t place the name of.

On the left side of the room, there’s an extensive bar.

Helena has covered the remaining walls with a considerable amount of art—so much so, it feels like a private museum.

The dimmed chandeliers cast a faint, warm glow over the guests. They gather around scattered cocktail tables and in front of the art, talking among themselves. Boisterous laughter and raucous conversations liven the party.

I make a beeline for the bar.

There’s only one person waiting for their drink, so I stand on the other side of the bar and patiently await my turn.

The seconds tick, and with them, I thrum my fingers on the glass counter.

A yawn threatens to escape, but I trap it with a press of my lips.

Before long, the bartender takes my order and places a crystal tumbler of whiskey in front of me.

I thank him and then wander the room. I’d rather not get sucked into another conversation I’m not ready for.

I sip on my whiskey, enjoying the warm burn it leaves in its wake. The heat spreads to my fingertips, and the coil in my chest loosens. Cal still hasn’t returned, but I imagine he’s striking some deal with Isaiah Edwards, Helena’s husband and the founder of the Edwards shipping conglomerate.

“Who would leave such a beautiful woman alone in a den full of vipers?” a voice slithers from behind me. There’s a bold undercurrent of an accent that I can’t quite place.

Chills erupt down my back, and I’m instantly on guard. Carefully, I turn and try to hide my apprehension.

The man in front of me is attractive, with a trimmed beard covering the expanse of his jaw and styled black hair.

But while his face might be pretty to look at, something evil seeps behind his eyes.

His midnight- blue tuxedo is well tailored, complete with a black bow tie.

My nose scrunches. He smells of gin, and something sharp, but sweet.

“How do you know I’m not a viper myself?” I raise a brow and take a sip from my whiskey. He’s got me backed up against a wall, with only a cocktail table between us.

The man huffs a laugh, and the sound sours my stomach. “As if someone so beautiful could ever be deadly.”

He slides closer, but I throw up a pointed finger, stabbing him in his chest as he sways toward me. I push him back, and he stumbles only slightly before straightening himself.

“Oh, Ms. Catrone, that wasn’t very nice,” he says, eyes narrowing. He raises his glass and points at me. “Actually, it’s Mrs. Keane, now, isn’t it? Where is your husband, Mrs. Keane?” He pretends to look around, arching a brow and tilting his head.

My mouth parts, ready to ask him how he knows my name, but he cuts me off.

“Ah”—he tsks and waves me off—“that’s not very important, is it? I’m sure he’s putting out much bigger fires. So difficult to get any face-to-face time with him lately, wouldn’t you agree?”

He takes another step closer, but I hold my ground. The sardonic attitude, which he clearly loves, only leaves a bitter char in the back of my throat. His voice is slick, and the hair on the back of my neck rises.

“Why, Mrs. Keane, I’m positively sure that will change here soon.” An oily smile slides onto his face, and a spark of something I can’t quite decipher flashes behind his eyes. A pit of dread sinks deep in my belly.

“Though it’s a shame he can’t be in two places at once.”