Chapter 13
The woman speaking watched as Edith approached, her gaze cool and distant. She frowned and said, “I don’t remember inviting any staff today. How did you get in? Who are you looking for?”
Edith shifted awkwardly, gift bag in hand. “I’m here to see Justin.”
“You’re here to see Justin?” The woman’s voice shot up several notches, her previously dismissive glance turning into a sharp, appraising stare.
Edith was a pretty enough woman, delicate features and clear eyes, but at first glance, she didn’t seem like someone who’d catch Justin’s eye–nothing about her screamed high society.
After sizing Edith up, the woman let out a mocking little laugh. “Where did you get Justin’s address and personal info? You know, we could call the police for this kind of thing…”
She was cut off mid–threat by a sudden warmth on the back of Edith’s hand.
Someone’s palm, gentle and firm, had taken hold of hers.
Edith looked up and was met with the classic, chiseled profile of a man–strong brow, sculpted nose, and a jaw so sharp it seemed cut from stone. Even the slight prominence of his Adam’s apple lent him a striking, magnetic edge.
Her gaze dropped to where he held her hand. The crisp cuff of his shirt revealed the lines of his wrist, his knuckles defined, veins faintly visible beneath pale skin.
“What’s this about calling the police?” Justin’s eyes narrowed as he turned to the woman. “Miss Hart, I think you’re a little confused.”
At first, Yvonne Hart hadn’t noticed that Justin was holding another woman’s hand. She’d been delighted to see him, thinking he’d come over to rescue her from the tedious schmoozing.
She slipped her hand onto Justin’s arm. “Justin, you found time to come over here? Are you done charming all those uncles and family friends? Were you worried I’d be bored on my own? I’m really fine, you know-”
Halfway through her sentence, Yvonne finally noticed Justin’s other hand–still holding Edith’s.
Yvonne’s friend standing nearby saw it too. They exchanged confused glances.
Edith stared at the man gripping her hand. So this, was Justin?
1/2
15:07
She couldn’t help but focus on his hand–the subtle tension of the veins, the elegant shape of his fingers. It was almost surreal.
They’d met once as children, just a fleeting moment when both sets of parents were present. Back then, Justin had been a serious, reserved boy, his hair meticulously combed, thick–rimmed glasses perched on his nose.
Now he’d grown into that aura of gravity and distance, but there was something new–an unexpected edge she couldn’t quite name.
Yvonne’s expression soured. She stammered, “Justin, do you… do you know this woman?”
Justin’s brows arched slightly. Edith sensed a strange note of pride in his voice. Was she imagining it?
“Know her? That’s an understatement. Let me introduce you–this is my fiancée,
Edith.”
The moment he spoke her name, Edith felt her heart skip a beat–the warmth of his hand seemed to radiate straight into her chest.
“Fiancée? Justin, are you kidding me?” Yvonne was stunned, and the look she shot Edith was instantly dripping with contempt.
Her friend muttered under her breath, “Wait, is that the twice–divorced woman who can’t even have kids?”
Justin’s face darkened in a heartbeat. The warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, cutting glare fixed unblinkingly on the woman who’d spoken.
“As I recall,” he said icily, “this lady isn’t on the Hawksley Family’s guest list, is she?” Yvonne glanced nervously at her friend–Susan Johnson–faltering, “Justin, I just didn’t want to be here alone, so I asked Susan to come with me…”
Justin’s frown only deepened, his gaze growing even colder as it settled on Susan. She shrank beneath the weight of his stare, unable to summon the courage to meet
his eyes.
She shot a desperate look at Yvonne, silently pleading for help.
But Yvonne was at a loss. She’d known Justin for years–he was always the perfect gentleman, but if someone crossed him, all bets were off.
Right now, she didn’t dare say a word in Susan’s defense.
2/3
15:07
Justin’s eyes narrowed dangerously, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “Miss Johnson, you were not invited.”
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.