“Gentlemen,” Mom says. “I do think we’ve had quite enough politics for one evening, don’t you?” She doesn’t wait for an answer as she turns to Chantal. “Chantal, you must tell me about that famous artist from London you’re featuring at the gallery. I’ve heard he’s made some interesting demands.”
Chantal’s happy to regale us with the horror stories of her experience thus far. She launches into a story about how he’s requested a special kind of mood lighting that required she import glass bulbs from South America.
Everyone else listens and joins in as the topic grows legs and flourishes from there.
But I’m much more focused on Ronan.
He’s sitting beside me, his jaw tense despite his neutral expression. He’s not comfortable around my family, probably because he senses how they disapprove of him.
Regardless of the fact we’re married or the business we deal in, the Langstons don’t approve of violent, bloodthirsty gangsters.
Without thinking, I let my hand creep toward his on the table. I curl my pinky around his. A small gesture that’s barely noticeable. Just enough to let him know I’m here.
That I’m with him.
I’m sorry my family is treating him like an outsider when he agreed to come here for me.
He glances at me, a glimmer of surprise in his otherwise vibrant green eyes. It’s one of the first times I’ve ever touched him first. Certainly the first time in front of others like this, even if they’re too distracted to notice.
Without a word, he reciprocates the small little gesture by covering my hand with his.
We stay like this for the rest of dinner, his hand cupped over mine as if we’re a real married couple showing tender affection.
Hours later, as we walk out to the towncar waiting in the driveway, the cold December air biting at my cheeks, I turn to Ronan.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For coming tonight. You didn’t have to put up with all of that.”
He shrugs, his breath misting in the night air. “They’re my family too, remember, princess? Even if they hate my guts.”
I catch the dark humor and laugh before I can catch myself.
Blunt but true.
The towncar navigates the residential streets of Scarsdale, driving us back toward the glittering city that never sleeps.
The partition is down, the driver’s eyes fixed on the road, and the low hum of the engine fills the silence between us.
Except it’s not really silence. It’s more so tension. The kind that crackles like static electricity, making my skin prickle with awareness.
I’m still a little tipsy from the wine at dinner, warmth buzzing through my veins and making my tongue feel lighter. Bolder in the moment.
I’m giddy and flushed, very cognizant of the man sitting beside me.
“So you survived your first Langston family dinner,” I say, glancing over at him. “All without cussing anyone out or threatening to knock their teeth out. I’m impressed, Callahan.”
Ronan’s lips twitch as if to grin. “Barely. Your cousin looked like he wanted to stab me with his fork. Hope he’s aware I’m Irish and we’ve always got a blade of some sort on us.”
“Karter’s protective. He’ll warm up eventually.” I pause, then add, “Maybe.”
“I won’t hold my breath.”
I laugh, shifting in my seat to face him more fully. The movement makes my knee brush against his thigh, though I don’t pull away. Neither does he.
“You know what I’ve noticed about you?” I say, tilting my head.
“Enlighten me.”
“You pretend you don’t care about what people think. But you do. You wanted my family to like you tonight.”