Page 32 of Break Me Beautifully

"Yeah. Okay," he says, lingering a minute, mouth partly open, a thousand unsaid things ready to spill from his tongue, and god, I fucking want them to pour out.

They don't.

He turns away and exits, giving me privacy to freshen up so we can pretend we didn't just do what we did. Maybe he can act like nothing happened. I can't.

I warned him before.

What happened here changed me.

And there's no going back.

Chapter 10.

The Gala is colorfuland packed wall to wall with cheerful energy.

I barely feel it through the numb wall surrounding me. Still, I put on a smile when needed, shake hands when introduced to important people, and remember my etiquette training burned into me from years of being a member of my snobby family.

It's good armor. No one realizes how my heart is swaying side to side, ready to tear itself in two while I cope with the fact I'm standing near Marshall Klintock as he clicks his drink on others and acts like he didn't take my virginity half an hour ago.

He glances at me; I turn away on purpose. Deep down I hope it bothers him. Childish? Sure. But I'm too sour to care. Besides, he isn't acting like someone responsible for what he's done, either.

There's champagne all over the place, as well as an open bar. I head over and wave down the bartender. "Do you have anything without alcohol?" I ask.

His smile creates dimples in his smooth cheeks. "Do you like cranberry?"

"I love it."

He shakes some things into a glass, handing it to me. "A special spritzer, please enjoy."

"Thanks," I say earnestly, leaving him a tip before I stroll along the wall of the gorgeous room. It's sparkling with crystal chandeliers and a huge spiraling staircase that gives me vertigo just to look at.

In a corner I spy a familiar face. Bradford Mink is laughing loudly, rings glimmering on his thick fingers as he shakes the hand of a gruff looking man dressed in a sharp black suit. There are a number of men and woman in the group, their luxury brand purses and shoes broadcasting their wealth to everyone else.

Bradford spots me—my stomach twists. He's waving me over. I know I can't pretend I didn't see. Sipping my drink, I make my way to his group. "Now here's someone special," Bradford says as I get in earshot. "Meet the star of my newest gallery, Leona."

"Oh, no, I'm not a star," I say quickly.

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