Chapter 16 Glass smiles
Hannah
I stayed by his side.
Not because I wanted to but because it was easier than drifting alone in a room that felt designed to devour me whole. Timothy moved with practiced ease, greeting people with firm handshakes and cool smiles, his hand occasionally resting at the small of my back like a reminder of where I was meant to stand.
I was meant to be seen. Not heard.
Most of the men barely acknowledged me at all. Their eyes skimmed over me like I was part of the décor, an accessory that came with Timothy Blackwood, no more significant than his watch or his cufflinks.
And when they did notice me, it was never kind.
“Well done, Timothy,” one of them chuckled, swirling his drink. “Didn’t take you for the type who needed a pretty distraction so soon.”
Another smiled thinly at me. “She’s quiet. Train her yourself, or did she come that way?”
Heat rushed to my face. My fingers curled into my palm.
Before I could force a polite laugh, Timothy spoke.
“That’s enough.”
His voice was calm. Too calm.
The man blinked, startled. “I was just joking…”
“Then you should learn better jokes,” Timothy said icily. “You’re speaking about my wife.”
The word hung in the air.
The man backtracked immediately, muttering apologies, his bravado dissolving into embarrassment. The group shifted, suddenly awkward.
We moved on a moment later.
I glanced up at Timothy, hesitant. “You… you didn’t have to do that,” I said softly. “But, thank you.”
He didn’t look at me as he replied.
“Don’t misunderstand,” he said coolly. “It’s not because I care. You’re my wife. People thinking they can speak about you like that reflects poorly on me. I don’t tolerate that.”
Territorial.
The word echoed sharply in my head.
“Oh,” I said, the gratitude curdling into something painful. “Right. Of course.”
I lifted my chin, forcing my expression back into something neutral, something acceptable.
He left me with a group of women while he stepped away to greet someone important.
They smiled at me the moment he was gone.
All teeth. No warmth.
“So,” one said lightly, her eyes raking over me. “You must be exhausted. Being married so… suddenly.”
Another tilted her head. “It takes a certain kind of ambition, doesn’t it?”
“I admire the confidence,” a third chimed in. “I don’t think I could ever live with myself.”
Their words slid beneath their polished tones, sharp and deliberate. Each comment tightened the knot in my chest. I nodded where expected. Smiled where necessary. My anxiety thrummed louder with every second.
I felt small. Exposed.
Then Timothy was back.
His hand closed around my arm, not unkindly, but firmly. “We’re moving.”
Relief washed through me so fast my knees nearly buckled.
We stopped next with a man Timothy seemed to know well. They spoke easily at first; business, acquisitions, the usual. I listened quietly, my gaze drifting, my attention snagging on something across the room.
Timothy’s voice faltered.
Just slightly. Enough that I noticed.
I followed his line of sight.
And my breath left me.
Because Loretta stood across the room.
Perfectly composed. Impeccably dressed. Her face was calm, unreadable like the last month hadn’t happened. Like she hadn’t disowned me with ice in her eyes.
She hadn’t seen me yet.
But Timothy had.
And the way his grip on my arm tightened told me everything I needed to know.