Chapter 16 Chapter 16
Chapter 16
SELENE
Sarah followed my gaze across the room to where Derek was now standing, Rosalie still talking to him but his attention clearly elsewhere. "He brought her," Sarah said, her tone hardening. "I can't believe he had the audacity to—"
'She's a foundation supporter," I interrupted, not wanting to get into it here. "She has every right to be here."
"That doesn't make it okay." Sarah squeezed my arm. "Do you want to get some air? Step outside for a minute?"
I was about to agree when Rosalie's voice rang out, calling for everyone's attention. "Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention please! We're ready for the family photos before dinner begins."
Family photos. Of course. I set down my untouched champagne and made my way to where Rosalie was gathering people.
Derek was already there, and when I approached, his hand automatically went to my waist, drawing me close. The gesture should have felt comforting, possessive even. Instead, it felt mechanical—a rehearsed movement for the cameras.
"Perfect, perfect," the photographer said, positioning us. "Mr. Sterling, if you could turn slightly toward your wife. Mrs. Sterling, your hand on his chest, yes, just like that. Beautiful!"
I placed my hand on Derek's chest, feeling his heartbeat through the fine fabric of his tuxedo. Strong, steady, completely unaffected by my touch. Meanwhile, I was hyperaware of every point of contact between us—his hand on my waist, my hand on his chest, the warmth of his body next to mine.
The photographer took shot after shot, directing us into different poses. Facing the camera. Looking at each other. Derek's hand on my cheek. My head resting against his shoulder. Each position more intimate than the last, each one a lie captured on film.
"Now give us a kiss," the photographer directed. "Nothing too dramatic, just a sweet moment between husband and wife."
I felt Derek tense, just for a second, before he leaned down. His lips brushed against mine—soft, brief, utterly devoid of emotion. A kiss that looked perfect for the camera but felt empty, hollow, meaningless.
When he pulled away, I had to blink back tears. How many more of these false moments would I have to endure? How many more times would I let him touch me, kiss me, hold me, knowing none of it was real?
"Wonderful!" the photographer exclaimed. "These are going to be beautiful."
Rosalie joined us for more family photos, her joy at having us all together radiating from every smile. If she noticed the tension in Derek's shoulders or the sadness in my eyes, she didn't show it.
Finally, mercifully, the photo session ended. Dinner was about to be served, and guests were beginning to find their assigned tables.
"Table one for the family," Rosalie announced, leading Derek and me to the head table. Of course we'd be positioned where everyone could see us, where we'd be on display throughout the entire meal.
I noticed with a sinking feeling that Jasmine and Drake were seated at table three—close enough to see clearly, far enough to maintain propriety. Drake was already chatting animatedly with the couple next to him, but Jasmine's attention was fixed on our table, on Derek.
The first course arrived—a delicate soup that I forced myself to eat despite my roiling stomach. Rosalie was in full hostess mode, engaging the other guests at our table in lively conversation about the foundation's latest initiatives.
Derek participated when required, his responses thoughtful and engaged. To everyone watching, he was the perfect grandson, the devoted heir to the Sterling legacy. But I noticed how often his gaze drifted to table three, how his jaw would tighten when he caught sight of Jasmine laughing at something Drake said.
Between courses, guests moved around the room, networking and socializing. Derek excused himself to speak with some board members, and I found myself alone with Rosalie for a moment.
"You seem quiet tonight, dear," she observed, her eyes sharp despite her age. "Is everything alright?"
"Just a bit tired," I said, which wasn't entirely untrue. The pregnancy was exhausting, though I couldn't tell her that. "It's been a busy week."
She patted my hand. "I know these events can be draining. But it means so much to have you and Derek here, supporting the foundation. You're such a wonderful couple."
The guilt was crushing. Here was this woman who'd taken me in, who'd given me a home and a family when I'd lost everything, and I was planning to leave her grandson. To take her great-grandchild—though she didn't know about the baby yet—and disappear.
"Rosalie," I started, not knowing what I wanted to say but needing to say something. "Thank you. For everything you've done for me. I don't think I've ever properly expressed how grateful I am."
Her expression softened. "Oh, sweetheart. You're family. That's what family does—we take care of each other." She squeezed my hand. "Your parents would be so proud of the woman you've become. And so happy to see you settled with Derek."
Would they? Would they be happy to see me trapped in a loveless marriage, pretending to be content while dying inside? Or would they have wanted more for me.
I'd never know. And that was perhaps the saddest part of all.
Derek returned as the main course was being served—perfectly cooked filet mignon with roasted vegetables. I cut my meat into small pieces, pushing it around my plate more than eating it. My stomach was too unsettled, my emotions too chaotic.
Throughout dinner, I watched Derek watch Jasmine. It was subtle—he was too well-trained to make it obvious—but I'd learned to read him over two years of marriage. The way his eyes would seek her out during lulls in conversation. The way his expression would shift when she laughed, softening with something that looked painfully like affection. The way his hand would tighten around his wine glass when Drake leaned close to whisper something in her ear.