Chapter 18 Chapter 18
Chapter 18
SELENE
The band transitioned into a slow waltz, and I watched as couples moved toward the dance floor, swaying together in the dim, romantic lighting. I should have known what was coming, should have prepared myself, but somehow I still felt unprepared when Derek stood and offered his hand.
"We should dance," he said. Not a request, not an invitation. Just another item on the evening's agenda that needed to be checked off.
I placed my hand in his, letting him lead me onto the dance floor. His other hand settled at my waist, maintaining exactly the proper distance—close enough to appear intimate, far enough to prevent any real connection. We began to move, and it was like dancing with a stranger who'd memorized all the right steps but none of the feeling.
Around us, other couples swayed and turned. I caught glimpses of them as we moved—a husband whispering something that made his wife laugh, a woman resting her head on her partner's shoulder, hands intertwined and fingers laced together with obvious affection. Real couples, sharing real moments.
And here we were, Derek and I, performing our carefully choreographed dance of pretense.
"You're doing well tonight," Derek said, his voice low enough that only I could hear.
The words should have been a compliment. Instead, they sounded like a performance review—praising an employee who'd met expectations. I looked up at him, really looked at him, studying the face I'd once thought I might learn to love. His expression was pleasant but distant, his dark eyes focused somewhere over my shoulder rather than on me.
Something reckless stirred in my chest. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the hormones from pregnancy. Or maybe I'd simply reached my limit of pretending.
"How long are we going to keep doing this?" I asked quietly.
Derek's eyes snapped to mine, finally, and I saw wariness flicker there. "Doing what?"
"Pretending. Lying to your grandmother. Acting like we're actually married." The words came out sharper than I'd intended, but I couldn't seem to stop them. "Playing these roles for everyone when we both know it's all fake."
His grip on my waist tightened, his fingers digging into the silk of my dress hard enough to hurt. "We are married, Selene. The papers are legal. The vows were spoken. This isn't pretend."
"Legal isn't the same as real," I said, holding his gaze. "You know that as well as I do."
Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. For a moment, I thought he might say something real, something honest. But then his expression shuttered completely, becoming the cold, distant mask I knew so well.
"Don't make a scene," he said, his voice barely above a whisper but carrying an unmistakable warning. "Not here. Not tonight. You can hate me all you want once we get home, but right now, you're going to smile and finish this dance."
The song was ending, the final notes fading into silence. The moment the music stopped, Derek released me immediately, stepping back as if my touch burned him. He didn't even wait for the polite applause that followed before turning and walking away.
I stood there on the dance floor, alone, watching him navigate through the crowd with purposeful strides. He was heading toward the terrace doors, toward the balcony that overlooked the hotel's gardens. And standing on that balcony, framed by the French doors and bathed in moonlight, was Jasmine.
Of course.
She'd positioned herself perfectly—alone, beautiful, waiting. And Derek walked straight to her like a moth to a flame, unable to resist the pull.
I turned away, unable to watch whatever conversation they were about to have. My chest felt tight, my eyes burning with tears I refused to let fall. Not here. Not where people could see.
"Selene?"
I looked up to find Rosalie standing a few feet away, her expression concerned. How long had she been watching? What had she seen?
"I'm fine," I said automatically, forcing a smile.
But Rosalie's eyes—sharp despite her age—studied me with an intensity that made me feel exposed. "Would you join me for a moment, dear? I'd like to speak with you privately."
It wasn't really a request. Rosalie had the same commanding presence as her grandson, the same expectation of being obeyed. I nodded, and she linked her arm through mine, leading me away from the ballroom.
We moved through the hotel's elegant corridors until we reached a small sitting room that had been reserved for VIP guests. Rosalie closed the door behind us, and suddenly the noise of the gala faded to a distant murmur.
"Sit," she said gently, gesturing to one of the plush chairs.
I sat, my hands folded in my lap, my heart pounding. Had she seen Derek and me arguing on the dance floor? Did she know about Jasmine?
Rosalie settled into the chair across from me, and for a moment she just looked at me. Really looked at me, the way she used to when I was younger, when she'd first taken me into her home. Like she was trying to see past all the polite facades to the person underneath.
"I'm not blind, child," she said finally, her voice soft but firm. "I see how my grandson treats you. I see the unhappiness in your eyes."
The directness of it caught me off guard. "Rosalie, I—"
She held up a hand, stopping my automatic denial. "Please. Don't insult my intelligence by pretending everything is fine. I've been watching you both tonight, and what I've seen..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "It's not what I'd hoped for. Not at all."
I didn't know what to say. Admitting the truth felt like betrayal—of Derek, of the marriage, of everything Rosalie had done for me. But lying to her felt worse somehow.
"I arranged this marriage because I believed Derek needed someone like you," Rosalie continued. "Someone genuine, kind, grounded. Someone who would balance his intensity, his drive, his tendency to close himself off from real connection." She paused, her eyes growing distant. "I thought with time, he'd realize what he had. That he'd see how rare and precious real love is, how foolish it would be to throw it away for some fantasy of what might have been."