Page 47 of Sold to Her Enemy

I slide a hand around Mckenna as the reporter throws the microphone in my face. “Ava is a consummate professional, and she’s been looking forward to this performance for months.”

“We are definitely in for a treat tonight.” The microphone is moved out of my face, and cameras go off in a chorus of flashes.

Mckenna titters beside me. I take her arm.

“Relax, little hellion. Smile pretty for the cameras,” I whisper in her ear.

She leans against me, her elbow hitting my chest.

“I’m not taking any attitude, Mckenna. Put a smile on your face now.” I grip her elbow and turn her away from my body. “Hate you,” Mckenna says between her pressed lips but she smiles. The hellion is going to pay later, but I turn my attention back to Natasha.

“Adrian, you’re looking like you should be a model! Who are you wearing tonight?” Natasha continues the interview.

“This old thing? It’s a custom from Indochino.”

“And who do you have with you tonight?” She leans over, getting close to Mckenna.

“This is my trusted friend, Mckenna Moran.”

The shocked expression on her face is delightful. “You look different from the last time we saw you.”

“Yes, Mckenna was dealing with some health issues. You’re feeling better now, aren’t you?”

“Yes, much better,” Mckenna says.

“Where is your father these days? Is he still the subject of a criminal investigation?” Natasha practically yells the question in Mckenna’s face.

I give Natasha my best disarming smile.

“We’re here to enjoy my sister’s performance. We can’t wait to hear Ava perform. My sister has been working so hard on this piece.”

“Is it true she practices up to sixteen hours a day?” Natasha holds the mike right up to my face. I will myself from not grabbing it and throwing it away.

I lean in as if I am going to reveal a secret and raise my eyebrow. “Ava’s methods are a closely guarded secret, but I will say she is never far from her piano. Have a great night.”

The reporter signals her photographer; they take a few of Mckenna and me, and then we are out of the media line into the vast open space of the Orchestra Hall.

“She asked about my father.” Mckenna stops in her steps, frozen at the doorway.

I place a hand on the small of her back. I give her a little push, take her arm, and get us over to the bar.

“Water, please,” I say, catching the bartender’s eye.

He nods, and a moment later, a cup of water with a slice of lemon is passed to me.

Mckenna is staring into space, frozen.

This woman has caused me a lot of anguish and grief, but I can’t take her into the theater while she’s in the midst of a panic attack.

Or at least that’s what I’m assuming is going on from her dazed stare.

I want to make this woman tremble from pleasure, not from her past, shocking her into a frozen state of anxiety.

“Drink.”

The cup of water nearly slips from her hand, and I steady it, holding it to her mouth.

“I wasn’t going to let them go down that road, Mckenna. If anyone ever does ask, and I’m not here to fend off those questions, you keep it short. You say your father is a great man whose ideas had a positive impact on countless lives. If you’re pressed further, you simply state that you can’t comment on an ongoing investigation.”

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