Page 74 of The Vow

“I’ll be here when you’re ready,” Pat muttered just before Damon opened the door.

With the elegance of a shadow, my tuxedo-clad husband stepped from the car and extended his hand. I didn’t know why I deigned to accept it this time. I didn’t owe him anything. Not an apology. Not my guilt. And certainly not my concern. Yet the weight of that single lie felt heavier than any other burden our relationship had levied on me.

Sliding my fingers into his, heat surged underneath my classic elbow-length gloves, and my breath caught.

“Mrs. Remington,” Damon murmured huskily and drew me from the car, closing the door behind me.

Damn him.We weren’t in public yet; he could’ve done without the reminder.

And without his possessive—appreciative stare.

“Just for tonight,” I reminded him right back, feeling goose bumps rise like a fountain up my spine and over my bare shoulders as his eyes roamed over my dress.

The velvet molded tighter to my body under the heat of hisgaze. The soft, strapless concoction had a high slit in the front and a diamond-studded sheer cape attached to the back. The matching velvet gloves and diamond-encrusted choker had been waiting in the box for me as well. When I’d finally put everything on and looked in the mirror, I looked like a live-action remake of the scene in Disney’sAnastasiawhen Dmitri took her to the opera: all sparkling elegance and concealed motives.

Ironic, since I, too, felt like part of my handsome escort’s con.

“You look exquisite, Robber,” Damon murmured like he couldn’t help himself and then turned away, but not before I saw a flash of regret he couldn’t hide.

Between that and the look Pat had shot him in the car, something was definitely wrong.

“Damon, what’s going on?” I demanded as he anchored my left hand to his right elbow.

I felt his hesitation when he placed his left hand on mine to secure it.

“You wore your rings,” he said, something wild and hopeful flashing in his expression.

Something I needed to quash.

“Because of you, I have a part to play.”

He’d introduced me as his wife, and per our arrangement, I’d agreed to follow his lead when we were in public. And that meant taking the wedding band from the chain where it had hung for over a decade and instead sliding the gold cuff back along my finger.

I almost wished it wouldn’t have fit. I definitely wished it didn’t like a missing limb finally returned when I slid it onto my hand.

“Don’t we all.” He turned and led me into the building. “This way.”

We wove along the back alleys of the large conventioncenter with the kind of ease that my network of spies had. Through back corridors and service elevators. A party to everything going on and yet able to move unseen. Just when I started to feel lost in the web, Damon stopped and pulled open one of a pair of double-wide doors. Like the wardrobe into Narnia, we were at the threshold that turned from back room into ballroom.

Ahead, glittering chandeliers, megalithic floral arrangements, and pristine ice sculptures of the charity fundraiser came into view.

“Ready?” His eyes caught mine.

“As ever.” His nostrils flared at my response, but he said nothing.

Sliding my hand from his elbow, I thought he was going to release me, but the large cage of his fingers closed around mine.Tight.

And then we were swallowed up in the crowd.

This was nothing like Belmont’s holiday party. The few hundred guests felt intimate compared to the squall of the gala. For a few minutes, I couldn’t even attempt to speak because my senses were in overdrive.

The backbone of these publicity stunts was always the same. Effusive champagne. Delightful finger foods. Irresistible photo opportunities. And energetic music.

Throngs of people collected in the space. I’d counted six bars so far serving alcohol and at least twice that number of food stations around the perimeter. Tables were for whoever wanted to sit, and the dance floor seemed to be nothing more than a pageant of prosperity for those wanting to be seen. On the very far side of the room, a giant projector screen displayed a slideshow of all thegoodthat GrowGood was doing, filled with images captured tonight—now—of guests donating to thenonprofit.

“Champagne?” A server paused with a tray of sparkling glasses.

Damon took two and handed me a slender stem, the bubbles fizzing just like the tension between us. He wasn’t even looking as I took the glass, his attention drawn to the evolving crowd as he brought the champagne to his lips.

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