Page 23 of Wicked God
“I’m glad you’re better.” Cassandra’s smile is genuine. She leans forward over the desk, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Dinner went well—the Carmichaels pledged another twenty thousand for the new wing. Senator Wilson’s wife cornered me for half an hour about her daughter’s ‘promising’ photography career.” She makes air quotes. “Did you enjoy yourself before the early exit? I saw you slip away just after the first course.”
Heat creeps up my cheeks. “I did, actually.”
She studies me, eyes sharp. “And how about potential husband candidates?”
I reach for the catalog on the desk, desperate to change the subject. I can’t admit to her that her entire list of options, all the spreadsheets and color-coded notes she’d set up for every eligible bachelor at the event, and instead spent the weekend with Alex. “No progress there.”
“Did anyone catch your eye?” She’s relentless, nails tapping the marble counter.
I wish I could tell her about him and our incredible weekend together, but I know that she wouldn’t let it go, and I want to forget him.
“There were a couple of interesting men, but no one stood out,” I say, flipping through the catalog.
“No one, huh.” She narrows her eyes. “Spill it. What happened last night? I saw you talking with the enemy, and then you vanished from the dinner, and now you show up looking like this?”
I tilt my head.Enemy?
“What are you talking about?”
“You know what I mean.” Her glare is pointed. “You’re glowing. You look like you just had the best sex of your life and then got hit by a truck. Don’t try to play coy.”
I cave. “Okay, fine. I met someone on Friday. His name is Alex. We spent the entire weekend together.”
Cassandra’s eyebrows shoot up. “So you did something rash. Good for you. I never thought you’d be the one to have a scandalous tryst at a fancy event. Tell me everything. Or at least tell me: do I need to add him to your list?”
“There’s nothing to add,” I say, voice thin. “He’s not available. It was just a one-time thing.” I want her to drop the subject, but that’s never been Cassandra’s strength.
“Un-available unavailable, or ‘I hate labels’ unavailable?”
I close the catalog. “Engaged.”
Cassandra lets out a groan so loud it echoes off the gallery’s marble floors. “Was it worth it at least?”
I let myself smile, faintly. “Yeah. It was...really good.” Understatement. My body still aches from it. And the ache is sharpened by the regret, the embarrassment, the sheer hormonal confusion of someone I barely know leaving such a scorch mark on my life. “But now I need to focus on finding a husband before Dean’s deadline in two weeks.”
Cassandra’s face softens. “I know you’re trying to do what’s best for Tiffany, but don’t forget to look out for yourself, too. Life is too short to ignore the things that make us happy.”
“But my sister’s freedom is more important than my own happiness.”
“Fine,” Cassandra sighs. “But at the dinner, I was going to warn you that Alexander Hawthorne was back in town and at the event. I even saw you two talking. Wait… did you say his name was Alex? Dark hair, grey eyes, and a smile that could melt stone?”
“Uh, yes. Do you know him?”
She stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Olivia, he’s Senator Hawthorne’s son. Alexander Hawthorne.”
No.No, no, no.
He cannot be.
My heart plummets. Alex—the man I spent the magical weekend with—is Alexander Hawthorne. My sister’s fiancé.
I slept with my sister’s future husband.
And the worst part? I actually liked him.
Oh god.
I might throw up.
