Page 53 of Mountain Summons

“I wish that were an option, but we really should go down to dinner.”

Shit. The dinner. His parents. She pushed against him, searching the floor beneath her feet. She picked up her underclothes and ran to the bathroom. “My face! My hair! Get out of my way! I need to get ready.”

Tristan laughed. “You’re going to be the loveliest woman in attendance, regardless of what you do with your hair.”

21

Lena

“Ifeel really under-dressed,” she whispered, glancing around them at the opulent event room. “You didn’t tell me everyone was going to get changed for dinner.”

The space was all gilded chandeliers, polished floors, and soft candlelight reflecting off enormous silver vases filled with fragrant flowers. Everything about it whispered money—the kind of wealth that didn’t just happen but was inherited, cultivated, passed down like an heirloom. Or that’s what it seemed like, to Lena. This wasn’t her world.

Most of the men wore sharp, tailored suits, exuding effortless confidence. But it was the women who made her hesitate—some gowns were soft and billowing, others sleek and structured, but they were all elegant … the kind of couture Lena had only ever seen on magazine covers.

Next to them, Lena felt like an ugly duckling.

“You look perfect, Lena,” Tristan murmured, his voice low and certain. “And you happen to be the most beautiful woman in the room.”

Lena blushed, shifting on her ballerina shoes. She wasn’t the most beautiful woman in the room, but Tristan seemed to believe she was, and that made her feel beautiful. “You look pretty good yourself,” she said.

Which was the understatement of the century. After …after, Tristan had changed into a dark gray suit, perfectly cut to his broad shoulders and slim hips, paired with a crisp white shirt and a tie the exact shade of his blue eyes. He lookedhot. Hot with a capital H.

“You look perfect,” he repeated, stepping closer, his voice dipping just enough to send a shiver down her spine. Then, with a wicked glint in his eyes, he added, "Though not as perfect as you did fifteen minutes ago, with your bare legs wrapped around?—"

“Stop. Please.” She elbowed him, her face flaming. “Somebody might hear you.”

He lowered his voice even further. “I’m sure my parents realize we’re having sex.”

Lena nearly choked. “Great,” she hissed. “But I’m assuming they don’t need confirmation?”

His smirk deepened, but he didn’t push it further. Instead, he slid a warm hand to the small of her back and led her into the second event room, where dinner tables were arranged in perfect symmetry.

A massive, ornate chandelier sparkled above them, throwing light across crystal glassware and carefully folded linens. The clinking of champagne glasses and the murmur of conversation blended into an elegant, low hum of wealth and influence.

Lena swallowed hard.

"Okay," she whispered. "We’re okay.”

Tristan’s fingers flexed against her back, his touch grounding. “Yes, we are.”

A familiar voice interrupted them.

"Ah, there you are!"

Lena stiffened instinctively.

Amaury Devallé.

Tristan’s father approached, all polished charisma, his salt-and-pepper hair perfectly styled. He’d exchanged his turtleneck for a shirt and tie, his suit immaculate, exuding the kind of self-assured ease that came with years of being at the top.

Tristan’s grip on her waist stayed firm.

"Glad you could make it," Amaury said smoothly. Lena felt herself blush bright pink. She hoped he had no idea what they’d just been doing up in their room.

“I enjoyed your presentation, Monsieur Devallé”, she said evenly. She prayed he hadn’t seen her and Tristan leaving the room.

Amaury smiled, though his dark eyes remained unreadable. "Please, Lena—Amaury."

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