Chapter 89 Refusing to Go Public
Bianca gasped for air, her eyes glazed with a mix of desire and reproach. She kicked weakly at Terrence, more out of frustration than anger.
He caught her ankle and rose from the water, scooping her up in one fluid motion. Without a word, he carried her toward the house.
After they had changed, they pushed open the wooden door and knelt beside Jasmine at the low table.
Steam drifted upward from the truffle chicken soup, its rich aroma warm and inviting.
The first spoonful slid down Bianca's throat, spreading heat through her chest. The earthy depth of truffle mingled with the delicate sweetness of chicken, each flavor distinct yet perfectly balanced. The meat fell apart with a touch of the spoon, releasing a burst of savory juice.
Bianca set down her bowl and looked up at Terrence.
His hair clung damply to his temples, the dark strands framing his face. She frowned.
"Ms. Rodriguez, the hair dryer you requested." The manager appeared, offering it with a respectful bow.
Bianca took it and turned to Jasmine. "I'm going to help Terrence dry his hair. Wait here for just a moment."
Jasmine's brow furrowed slightly. She did not understand why his hair was wet, but she nodded anyway. "I'll be here, Bianca."
The dryer hummed to life. Bianca's fingers threaded through Terrence's hair, the strands soft and unexpectedly pleasant to touch.
Over the noise, her voice reached him, muffled but clear enough.
"Terrence, is being with me difficult for you? Does it make things harder?"
"No." His answer came without hesitation.
Satisfied, Bianca's lips curved into a small smile. Then she voiced what had been weighing on her mind.
"Terrence, I can't wait anymore. I want to go public with our relationship."
The dryer clicked off. Her words hung in the air, sharp and undeniable.
Terrence did not respond immediately.
It was not that he did not want to. It was because he did that he hesitated. Going public now would complicate things. Bianca was still in school. The media would tear into her. The gossip would follow her everywhere.
He could not let that happen.
He turned to face her, unwilling to let her misread his silence. His eyes were dark, serious, as he reached up to smooth her hair with careful fingers.
"Just a little longer. You're still in school. If we announce it now, the press will make your life hell. I don't want that for you."
Bianca understood. She did. But disappointment still flickered across her face. She nodded, her voice quiet. "Okay. I'll listen to you."
Terrence saw the shift in her expression. He leaned in and kissed the corner of her mouth, the touch gentle, meant to soothe.
"When everything settles, I'll give you the wedding you deserve. The biggest one this city has ever seen. Everyone will know you're mine."
Bianca's arms slipped around his neck, surrendering to the reassurance in his kiss.
When they finally pulled apart, he spoke again.
"There's a charity gala next week. The Anderson Group is sponsoring it. Come with me."
"Okay." Her mood lightened. She nuzzled his jaw, accepting his comfort.
A week later.
The Anderson Group's classical music charity gala was held at the city's most exclusive hotel.
Crystal chandeliers cast fractured light across the room. The air was thick with perfume and the soft, winding notes of a harp.
Bianca entered on Terrence's arm, her gown in a shade of pale silver flowing around her like liquid silk. Its simplicity only made her more striking.
They had barely taken their seats in the VIP section when a middle-aged man approached. His tuxedo was impeccable, his hair slicked back without a strand out of place. He was a moderately well-known musician, and his reputation for arrogance preceded him.
He looked Bianca up and down, a flicker of appreciation crossing his face, only to sour into condescension.
"Mr. Anderson, is this your assistant? For such a formal event, her attire is rather... plain. Hardly appropriate for an occasion of this caliber, wouldn't you say?"
The air around Terrence turned icy.
His hand tightened on Bianca's, his gaze glacial. "Watch your mouth. She's my wife. If I hear one more disrespectful word, I'll make sure you never speak again."
The man's face went white, his pupils contracting. The woman he had dismissed as an assistant was Terrence's wife.
Damn it. How had he not known? There had not been a single whisper in the press. He would not have made such a catastrophic mistake if he had known.
Sweat beaded on his forehead. He bent at the waist, his voice shaking. "Mrs. Anderson... I misspoke. Please, don't take it to heart."
Bianca waved him off, her tone icy. "If you know you're an eyesore, then leave."
She was not going to ruin him over a single comment, but she was not going to forgive him either.
The man practically fled, stumbling over his own feet in his haste to escape.
Terrence's gaze softened as it returned to Bianca. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Don't let him get to you."
Bianca pouted. "I'm not worried about him. Besides, I have you to protect me, don't I?"
She leaned into his arm, her voice teasing.
Terrence's ears flushed pink. He pinched her cheek lightly, the coldness in his eyes melting into warmth.
After that little scene, everyone in the room knew who Bianca was. Eyes followed her, a mix of curiosity and calculation, but no one dared approach.
As the gala wound down and the crowd thinned, Barry appeared at Terrence's side. He flipped through a folder, his voice steady and efficient.
"Mr. Anderson, all the closing arrangements for the charity gala have been finalized. Tonight's auction raised eighty-seven point two million dollars. The funds have been transferred to the foundation, and the public disclosure will go live tomorrow morning.
"Several corporate heads have requested meetings to discuss future philanthropy partnerships. I've tentatively scheduled them for next Wednesday afternoon. I'll send you the full itinerary by email."
Throughout his report, Barry kept his eyes on the folder. His professionalism was flawless, his discretion absolute.
"Understood." Terrence's fingers brushed against Bianca's collar, straightening it where it had gone askew.
His touch was feather-light, as if he feared disturbing something fragile. The man who commanded boardrooms and bent industries to his will now moved with a tenderness few ever witnessed. Even his breathing seemed softer.