Page 74 of Cowboy's Healing Heart

Shane nods. "Of course, Father."

"Good, good," Richard says, his gaze finally landing on me. "Krystal. I hope you're adjusting well to New York."

"Yes, sir," I say, fighting the urge to fidget under his scrutiny. "It's... different from what I'm used to, but I'm getting there."

Eleanor's laugh is like tinkling glass. "Oh, I'm sure it must be quite the change. Shane tells us you were working as a... mechanic, was it?"

How she says it like it's a quaint hobby rather than a skilled profession makes my blood boil. "Yes, I specialize in heavy machinery repair and maintenance."

"How... interesting," Eleanor says, her tone suggesting it's anything but. "Well, I'm sure you'll find plenty to occupyyour time here. Perhaps some charity work? The Kennedy Foundation is always looking for volunteers."

I bite back the retort on the tip of my tongue.I'm not looking for a hobby. I'm looking for a job.But I know that's not what she wants to hear.

"That sounds lovely," I say instead, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.

Shane's hand finds mine, squeezing gently. I'm grateful for the support, but I don't miss how he doesn't contradict his mother and doesn't stand up for my career.

"Well," Eleanor says, clapping her hands together. "We should start getting ready for tonight's gala. Krystal, dear, do you have something suitable to wear?"

The question, innocent on the surface, feels like a slap in the face. "Yes," I say, my voice tight. "Shane and I went shopping earlier."

Eleanor's eyebrows raise slightly. "Oh? Well, I'm sure it's... lovely. But if you need any help, I'd be happy to lend you something from my closet. We're not too different in size, I think."

I force a smile, even as I feel my cheeks burning with humiliation. "That's very kind of you, but I think I'll be fine."

Shane clears his throat. "Actually, Mother, I think Krystal and I should head up. We'll see you in the foyer a quarter after six."

As we make our excuses and head upstairs, I can feel Eleanor's gaze on my back. Once we're in Shane's childhood bedroom, I let out a long breath.

"You okay?" Shane asks, his hand on my shoulder.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. How do I tell him that every interaction with his family makes me feel smaller, less worthy?

"They mean well," Shane says, as if reading my thoughts. "They're just... set in their ways."

I turn to face him. "And what about you, Shane? Are you set in their ways, too?"

He blinks. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, when your mother suggested I take up charity work like it's a cute little hobby, you didn't say anything. And you were silent when she implied my dress wouldn't be good enough for her precious gala."

"Krystal, I?—"

"No, Shane. I'm not some project for your family to mold into their idea of the perfect society wife. I have skills, Shane. I have a career. Or at least, I did before we moved here."

Shane reaches for me, but I step back. "Krystal, I'm sorry. I didn't realize... I should have said something."

I shake my head, suddenly feeling very tired. "It's fine. Let's just... get ready for this gala."

Shane hired a team to help me prepare for tonight. We're at his folks' house to ride over together. His father wants to present a united front.

I think it's all a bunch of highfalutin bullshit. But no one's asking me. I'm just the Black arm candy.

I put on my new dress that feels like I'm putting on a costume, playing a role in a play where I don't know my lines. And the worst part is, I'm not sure how long I can keep up the act.

The gala is everything I feared it would be and more. The ballroom of the swanky hotel is packed with New York's elite, all dressed in designer gowns and tuxedos that probably cost more than I used to make in a year. The champagne flows freely, and the air is thick with the sound of polite laughter and the clink of crystal glasses.

I stand at Shane's side, trying not to fidget in my new dress. It fits perfectly, but I've never felt more exposed. Every glance in my direction feels like a judgment, every whispered conversation a potential criticism.

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