Page 57 of A Forbidden Arrangement
I breathe in slowly and steadily. Stand taller.
He bends his head close, his lips brushing my temple. “Are you okay? Do you want to leave?”
He says it quietly, but I know the truth behind it. If I told him I wanted out, he’d turn around right now and take me home without a second thought.
My body leans into him before I can stop it. His hand shifts, taking a little more of my weight, and I swear I hear the low rumble of approval in his chest. All around us, people are calling his name, but his attention never wavers. It’s just me. Like he’s built a wall around us that nothing can break through.
The way he looks at me burns away every doubt I had a second ago. I can’t help but smile. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”
The world starts to come back into focus. The shouts grow sharper, the voices clearer. They’re asking who I am, where I came from. Laughing that he’s never brought a date before.
Xander presses a kiss to my cheek, pausing for half a second like he’s deciding whether to stop there. Then he straightens, fingers tightening at my side, pulling me flush against him.
He turns to face the crowd. The noise dips instantly, like the whole world is holding its breath.
“Let me introduce you,” he says, voice smooth and commanding.
Every camera aims our way.
“My wife,” he continues, pausing just long enough to let the word sink in. “Mrs. Dahlia Everette.”
Chapter 27
Dahlia
Havingthis powerful man bend for me in front of everyone fills me with confidence, like he’s lending me his strength.
They all talk at once until sound roars around us and words blur together in an incoherent mess.
Xander’s firm palm on the small of my back guides me past the gawking news crews and into the quiet of the building.
The hallway smells faintly of perfume and money. Marble floors stretch out beneath golden light. A long runner muffles our footsteps, and the sound of music drifts from somewhere deeper inside.
“Mr. and Mrs. Everette.”
The announcement catches me off guard. My head jerks toward the man who called out our names, but Xander’s lack of reaction tells me this is normal.
There’s a swish of fabric as everyone in the room turns toward us at once. The music keeps playing, soft and steady, the only sound left.
If the chaos outside was intimidating, the silence in here is worse. Dozens of assessing gazes sweep over me, stripping me bare.
Xander’s thumb traces slow, soothing arcs along my back. I look up at him. He’s staring down the entire room, daring anyone to speak.
Under the weight of his gaze, they all fold. People turn away, pretending to carry on conversations, voices starting as whispers before swelling back to normal.
His hand leaves my back, and I immediately miss the warmth, only for him to take my hand instead. I let him lead me down the stairs, my fingers tight in his.
Normally, I’d insist I can handle it myself, but my dress hides my shoes, and I can’t see the steps. For now, I let him guide me, trusting him to get me down without face-planting in front of a hundred people.
At the bottom, he doesn’t slow. The crowd parts instinctively, eyes flicking toward us and away again. The women shimmer in jewel-colored gowns, diamonds at their throats. The men look like they stepped out of a magazine, tuxedos sharp enough to cut.
The toe of my heel catches on my hem. I stumble, but Xander’s hand tightens, steadying me. He threads my arm through his elbow. “Stay close to me.”
My shoulders ache with how tight they are, and my nails dig into his jacket.
He leans in, breath warm against my ear. “Relax.”
“How can I relax when everyone’s staring at me?” My voice comes out low, rough. “I can feel them thinking I don’t belong with you.”
