Chapter 75 SEVENTY-FIVE
The charity gala was being held at the Metropolitan Museum, the kind of event where Manhattan's elite came to be seen writing checks for causes they'd forget about by morning. Lennox wore an emerald green dress that Callum had picked out, something elegant and expensive that made her still feel like she was playing dress-up in someone else's life.
"You look incredible," Callum said in the car, his hand resting on her thigh. "Like actually stunning."
"You clean up okay yourself."
"Just okay?" He leaned over to kiss her neck. "I spent two hours getting ready for just okay?"
"Two hours? What were you doing, conditioning each individual strand of hair?"
"I'm high maintenance. You knew this when you married me." His fingers traced patterns on her leg, moving higher. "We could skip the gala. Stay in the car. I can think of better ways to spend the evening."
"Callum." But she was smiling, her hand covering his to stop its wandering. "You're the guest of honor. We can't skip."
"Watch me."
"Your name is on the invitation."
"Minor detail." He kissed her properly this time, his hand cupping her face. "God, I love you. Have I mentioned that recently?"
"Maybe once or twice today."
"Not enough then." He pulled back, his thumb brushing her cheek. "I'm serious though. You look beautiful. I'm going to spend the entire night fighting off men who want to talk to you."
"No one wants to talk to me. They want to talk to you and your checkbook."
"They'd be idiots not to want to talk to you." He kissed her again, softer. "I won’t be able to keep my hands off you tonight. Fair warning."
"I'll manage somehow."
Inside, the museum had been transformed into something out of a fairy tale. String lights and ice sculptures, champagne flowing like water, a string quartet playing in the corner. Lennox recognized half the people from other events, society types who smiled and air-kissed and forgot your name five minutes after meeting you.
Callum kept his promise about not keeping his hands off her. His palm stayed pressed to her lower back as they moved through the crowd, or his fingers laced through hers, or his arm around her waist pulling her close while he talked to board members and investors.
"You're being clingy," she murmured during a lull in conversation.
"I'm being affectionate. There's a difference."
"People are staring."
"Let them stare. You're my wife, I'm allowed to touch you." He kissed her temple. "Besides, you like it."
"I didn't say I didn't like it."
"Good. Because I'm not stopping." His hand slid lower on her back, almost possessive. "Dance with me."
"Now?"
"Right now."
He pulled her onto the dance floor before she could protest, one hand on her waist and the other holding hers. The quartet had switched to something slow and romantic, and they swayed together while people watched.
"Everyone's looking at us," she said.
"I don't care." He spun her, pulled her back against him. "I just want to be close to you."
"We're literally pressed together."
"Not close enough." His mouth was near her ear, his breath warm. "I keep thinking about later. When we get home and I can take this dress off you."
"Callum."
"What? I'm just being honest." He kissed her neck, right below her ear. "You can't wear something like this and expect me to think about anything else."
"You're supposed to be networking. Charming other donors."
"I'd rather charm my wife."
They danced through two more songs, Callum holding her like she might disappear if he let go. She let herself get lost in it, in the feeling of being wanted this completely. Tried not to think about the encrypted drive hidden in her closet at home, or the week ticking down until they found Jake.
"Mr. Westbrook?" A voice interrupted them. One of Callum's major investors, looking apologetic. "Sorry to intrude, but I was hoping we could discuss the Singapore expansion."
Callum's grip on her waist tightened. "Can it wait?"
"Just five minutes. I'm flying out tomorrow morning."
He looked at Lennox, clearly torn. She smiled. "Go. I'll get a drink."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure. Go talk business."
He kissed her once more, quick and sweet. "Five minutes. Then I'm coming to find you."
She watched him disappear into the crowd with the investor, then headed for the balcony. The museum overlooked Central Park, the view spectacular even in February. She stepped outside, grateful for the cold air after the stuffiness of the gala.
"Beautiful night."
She turned. Victor stood in the doorway, immaculate in his tuxedo, champagne glass in hand.
"Victor."
"I hope I'm not interrupting. You looked like you needed air." He moved to stand beside her at the railing. "You look beautiful tonight. Callum is a lucky man."
She kept her face neutral. "What do you want?"
"Just admiring the view. And perhaps complimenting you on how well you've played your role." He took a sip of champagne. "The devoted wife. The reformed woman. Callum actually believes you love him."
"I do love him."
"Do you? Or do you love what he can give you? The money, the status, the protection from your past?" His smile was pleasant, almost friendly. "It's impressive, really. The way you've convinced him. Convinced everyone."
She turned to face him fully. "When?"
"When what?"
"When are you going to tell him?"
Victor's smile widened. "Soon. Very soon. Enjoy the time you have left.
And for the umpteenth time, the fear took hold of her and she wished she was just a normal girl who had fallen in love with Callum Westbrook