Chapter 31

Cecilia

The interior was exactly what I'd expected—high ceilings, crystal chandeliers, family portraits lining the walls.

Everything screamed old money and older traditions, but there was a warmth to it that surprised me.

Maybe it was the flowers everywhere, or the string quartet playing something classical but not stuffy.

Or maybe it was just Carter's genuine friendliness.

"Sophia's around here somewhere," Carter said, scanning the room. "Probably making sure everything's perfect. She's been—"

"Right here," a voice interrupted.

I turned to see a woman approaching us. Sophia Rose looked as beautiful as ever today, just like the last time I saw her.

"Arthur," she said, kissing his cheek. "It's been too long."

"Congratulations," Arthur said, his voice polite but not warm. "You and Carter seem happy."

"We are." Then she turned to me, and her smile sharpened slightly. "Cecilia, long time no see. How have you been lately? I've heard so much about you."

The way she said it made it clear exactly what she'd heard. I met her gaze steadily. "All true, I'm sure."

Her smile widened. "Oh, I never believe rumors. They're always so much more interesting than the truth, don't you think?"

"That depends on the truth," I said.

For a moment, we just looked at each other. Then Carter laughed, breaking the tension. "Okay, I can see this is going to be fun. Sophia, play nice. Cecilia, ignore her—she's been stressed about the party all week."

"I'm not stressed," Sophia protested, but her smile had relaxed slightly. "I'm just... thorough."

"She's terrifying," Carter stage-whispered to me. "But I love her anyway."

The moment passed, and we moved into easier conversation. Sophia asked about my work at Winston Corporation, her questions sharp but not hostile. I answered carefully, aware that Arthur had gone still beside me, ready to intervene if needed.

But I didn't need him to. Not yet, anyway.

We were mid-conversation when a voice cut through the room:

"Arthur, darling."

I didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

Irene Winston had arrived.

I turned slowly, keeping my expression neutral. Arthur's mother was exactly as I remembered from the few times I'd seen her. She looked like she'd stepped out of a society magazine, all grace and breeding and barely concealed disdain.

Her eyes swept over me once, dismissive, then focused on her son. "I didn't realize you'd be bringing... a guest."

"Mother," Arthur said, his voice arctic. "This is Cecilia Locke. My girlfriend."

The word hung in the air. Not "friend," not "colleague," not any of the safer options he could have chosen. Girlfriend. A declaration, a line in the sand.

Irene's smile didn't waver. "Miss Locke."

"Yes, ma'am," I said, keeping my voice steady.

"How... nice to see you again." She turned back to Arthur. "Darling, could I speak with you for a moment? Privately?"

"No," Arthur said flatly.

Irene's eyes narrowed. "Arthur—"

"Whatever you have to say, you can say it here."

The silence that followed was deafening. Every eye in the room was on us now, watching this family drama unfold.

Irene's smile finally cracked. "Very well. I simply wanted to remind you that actions have consequences, darling. For everyone involved."

"Is that a threat?" Arthur's voice was dangerously soft.

"It's a mother's concern." She glanced at me again, her expression unreadable. "I'm sure Miss Locke understands the... complexities of your situation."

I felt Arthur start to move, probably to step between us, but I spoke first:

"I understand that Arthur's situation is his own to navigate," I said calmly. "And that my presence here is by his choice, not yours to approve or disapprove."

Irene's eyes widened slightly—surprise, maybe, or anger. "How very... direct of you."

"I've found it saves time."

For a long moment, we stared at each other. Then Irene's smile returned, colder than before. "Indeed. Well, I won't keep you from the festivities. Do enjoy yourselves."

She swept away, leaving a wake of whispers and sideways glances. Arthur's hand was still on my waist, his entire body vibrating with tension.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I should have—"

"You should have nothing," I interrupted. "That was perfect."

"She just threatened you."

"She tried to." I turned to look up at him. "But I'm still standing, aren't I?"

Something in his expression shifted—pride, maybe, mixed with that fierce protectiveness I'd come to recognize. He pulled me closer, and I let him, needing the contact as much as he seemed to.

Carter cleared his throat. "Well, that was awkward. Come on, let's get you two some champagne and introduce you to people who won't make you want to commit murder."

As we followed him deeper into the party, I felt the weight of eyes still on us, heard the continued whispers. But Arthur's hand stayed on my waist, steady and sure, and somehow that made everything else bearable.

Arthur guided me through the crowd, his hand never leaving my waist.

People nodded and smiled, some genuine, some calculating.

And they were all looking at me.

The party flowing around us, before a voice interrupted:

"Well, isn't this sweet."

I pulled back to find Catherine Ashford approaching, a champagne flute in one hand and an amused expression on her face. She was exactly as I'd imagined from our phone call—elegant, poised, with sharp eyes that missed nothing.

"Mrs. Ashford," Arthur said, straightening. "Thank you for having us."

"Oh, please. Like I could keep you away from Carter's engagement party." Her gaze shifted to me, assessing but not unkind. "And you must be the famous Cecilia Locke. We spoke on the phone."

"Yes, ma'am," I said. "Thank you for the... advice."

"Did it help?"

"I'm still standing."

She laughed, genuine and warm. "Good. That's exactly what I hoped to hear." She glanced at Arthur. "Your mother's been making the rounds, you know. Trying to drum up support for her... concerns."

"I'm aware," Arthur said tightly.

"Well, for what it's worth, not everyone's buying what she's selling." Catherine's smile turned sharp. "Some of us remember what it's like to actually love someone, rather than just collecting appropriate matches."

The words hung in the air, pointed and deliberate. I saw Arthur's expression shift—surprise, then something like gratitude.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

Catherine waved a hand. "Don't thank me yet. The party's just getting started, and your mother's not done." She turned to me. "But you seem like you can handle yourself. Just remember—in our world, silence is often the best weapon. Don't give them ammunition."

"I'll remember," I promised.

She nodded, satisfied, then drifted away to greet other guests. I watched her go, feeling oddly bolstered by the encounter.

"That was unexpected," Arthur murmured.

"Good unexpected?"

"Very good." He pulled me close again. "See? Not everyone here is terrible."

"Just most of them?"

His laugh was low and genuine. "Yeah. Just most of them."