Page 70 of Toxic Glory

"That's fine," Alize says, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I love a reason to get dressed up."

"I know you do, sweetheart."

Ingrid's eyes are brimming with warmth, but the emotion lasts only a second. The next, she's shooing us away because we've wasted too much of her time. I snag a few snacks from the pantry for us as we head to our rooms.

It's going to be a long fucking night.

* * *

"You look amazing,"I grumble to Alize as we walk across the spacious lobby of the Carlton Castle. Wesley and Stuart follow close behind us.

She smiles at my compliment, and it eases the tension in my chest. Alize is wearing a floor-length floral dress the colour of roses, with tiny appliqué flowers all over it. Diamond studs glitter in her ears, matching the shimmering silver heels.

Her hair is pulled back from her face in an updo, her curls styled into place with some sort of gel. She's a vision of beauty and elegance, and I don't need to see the other guests to know that she's about to upstage them all.

She's already the most interesting thing to look at in the lobby.

It's a lot of white—white marble, white carpet, abstract European art pieces set in white frames along the walls—which makes her stand out even more. The scent of fresh flowers carries through the air, as does the sound of the string quartet and murmur of conversation coming from the ballroom.

I take a deep breath. Alize squeezes my arm.

"It's going to be fine," she says. Her lips match her dress. "We can face anything together. That's what you said, right?"

I hate when she uses my words against me.

I roll my eyes, adjusting the sleeve of my tuxedo. "Those are my lines."

"I think it will be over before you know it," she grins.

We're approaching the entrance to the ballroom now. Up ahead of us, a small army of guards stand by the twenty-foot doors. A few of the guests have brought their own security, as I did. Which makes me even more sceptical of this whole thing.

It's so fucking stupid to have this many prominent members of the underworld rubbing shoulders in a confined space. I'm not sure how my father thought this was a good idea. He probably doesn’t know where most of these people’s loyalties lie.

But he’s showing out, for his fucking fiancée, of course.

"You've got your gun, right?"

Alize nods, tapping her thigh. "Yes, you saw me put it in the holster." She casts a look behind us, at Wesley and Stuart. The two of them are armed to the teeth, as am I.

But I can't shake the bit of uneasiness snaking up my spine.

"We won't be here long," I say, more for my own reassurance than hers. "We just let my father see we showed up, then we're leaving." I lean down to put my mouth by her ear. "I'd rather have you all to myself."

She giggles and I kiss her ear. By this, we're at the doors. The guards recognize me at a glance and let us through. We step through the doors into the expansive ballroom.

The room has been decorated in white, much like the lobby. Powder crunches beneath our feet, some sort of synthetic snow. The chandeliers hanging from the ceiling look like fragile icicles, bathing the room in a gentle light. In the centre of the room is a gigantic sculpture of an angel carved out of ice. It looks a little like Sarah–if you squint. The doors on one side of the room are open, looking out to the garden below. Despite this, the ballroom is a toasty temperature.

I know they were going for winter wonderland, but it's coming off more like a winter hellscape. People are swaying to the cheerful music wafting from the string quartet set up in the corner. It's a cornucopia of billowy pastel dresses and grey tuxedos.

Just the sight of it makes my stomach roil.

I make a beeline for the bar because I need something to calm my nerves if I'm going to make it through this. Stuart lingers by the entrance to the room while Wesley follows behind us like a shadow. Alize is looking around wide-eyed, obviously in awe of the beauty of the place. I always forget that these are new experiences for her.

"Have you ever thought about the decor for our wedding?" she says as we slip past a group of my father’s advisors.

We greet each other from a distance. If they're here, my father can't be too far away, but I'm not ready to scan the room for him yet.

"No," I say. "It doesn't matter to me. I'd marry you naked in our bedroom if it meant I get to spend the rest of my life with you, sweetheart."

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