Page 26 of His By Contract
Her voice caught for a fraction of a second before she smoothed it away. She forced her lips into what she hoped was a reassuring smile, though the muscles in her face felt stiff, unnatural.
“Everything’s progressing exactly as it should,” Georgia continued, the words coming out with the careful rhythm of a metronome. She spoke about treatment plans and recovery timelines as if discussing the weather, as if none of it carried the weight of what she’d sacrificed to make it possible.
But Evelyn’s eyes never left her face. They traced the tension in Georgia’s shoulders, noted the way her breath hitched slightly between sentences, caught the barely perceptible tremor in her hands as she adjusted the blanket.
Georgia recognized that look. It was the same one her mother had worn when Georgia insisted she wasn’t hungry during the lean years, when there wasn’t enough food for both of them. The look that said she saw through every careful lie, every brave face, every attempt to shield her from worry.
Before Georgia could construct another layer of reassurance, Evelyn’s hand found hers. The touch was gentle, but grounding, her mother’s fingers wrapping around hers with surprising strength.
No questions followed. No demands for explanations about the mysterious benefactor who’d saved them from financial ruin. Just the warm pressure of her mother’s hand, offering the same comfort she had when Georgia was small and the world felt too big to face alone.
Georgia’s carefully maintained facade cracked, just slightly, under that silent understanding. Here, in this quiet room with her mother’s hand in hers, she didn’t have to pretend everything was fine. Didn’t have to be Mrs. Adler, perfectly composed and controlled.
She could simply be Georgia, holding her mother’s hand, letting someone else carry the weight of knowing.
The sleek black car came to a stop before the Grand Plaza Hotel. Georgia stilled at the sight of the magnificent building stretching toward the night sky. Light poured from countless windows, casting golden squares onto the pavement below. The entrance buzzed with activity: men in tailored suits, women draped in designer gowns, all moving with the easy confidence of those born to wealth and privilege.
Adrian stepped out first, extending his hand. Georgia took it, her grip smaller but steady against his. Her heels clicked against the marble steps as they ascended.
Inside, the grand ballroom opened before them like a glittering cave. Crystal chandeliers dripped light onto the gathered elite, their jewelry catching and throwing back sparkles like stars. The crowd parted as Adrian moved through them, not with any obvious gesture, but with an instinctive deference that spoke of power recognized.
Georgia felt the weight of countless eyes tracking their progress. Whispers followed in their wake, too soft to catch, but sharp enough to sting.
Georgia straightened her spine, lifted her chin. She might not belong in their world of old money and older power, but she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her bend.
Then she saw her. Celeste Montgomery, holding court near the champagne fountain, her platinum hair gleaming underthe chandeliers. Their eyes met across the crowded room, and Georgia felt ice slide down her spine.
Georgia plucked a champagne flute from a passing tray, her grip tightening as she watched Celeste glide across the ballroom. The woman’s silver gown caught the light with each graceful step, drawing every eye in the room. Her smile, bright and practiced, never wavered as she wove through the crowd.
A cluster of socialites formed around them, their chatter light and airy. Georgia took a slow sip of champagne, her throat tight as Celeste’s perfume wafted closer.
“Georgia, darling.” Celeste’s voice dripped honey. “That dress is absolutely stunning on you. Adrian certainly knows how to polish a diamond in the rough.”
The champagne turned bitter on Georgia’s tongue. Several women tittered behind their hands.
“Though I must say,” Celeste continued, her blue eyes gleaming, “it’s remarkable how quickly you’ve adapted to our little world. Most people spend years learning the proper etiquette, the right connections.” She placed a manicured hand on Georgia’s arm. “You must have a natural gift for… positioning yourself so well.”
The double meaning hung in the air like poison gas. Georgia felt the crowd lean in, hungry for her response, eager to watch her stumble.
“That’s kind of you,” she said smoothly. “Though I imagine it must be exhausting, spending years perfecting the illusion of belonging when some of us step in and make it look effortless.”
Celeste’s smile wavered—just for a fraction of a second—before she recovered, but the forced ease in her voice couldn’t hide theflash of irritation. “How fascinating,” she said, too quickly, too sharp, removing her hand. “Though I suppose when you don’t come from therightbackground, you learn to compensate in… other ways.” Then, with a razor-thin smile, she added in a low voice, “Some of us are born into this world. Others have to open their legs and hope for an invitation.”
Georgia’s skin prickled as Celeste tilted her head, her smile sharpening. “It’s funny, isn’t it?” she mused. “How some faces just seem to… reappear in the most unexpected places.” Her voice carried through the gathered circle with perfect clarity. “You had such a lovely way of balancing those wine trays.”
The blood drained from Georgia’s face. A woman to her left covered her mouth with perfectly manicured fingers.
“The uniforms were quite flattering, weren’t they?” Celeste swirled her drink. “Black and white, so classic. Though I suppose anything’s an improvement over those dreadful polyester blends from your previous catering company.”
Soft laughter rippled through the group. Georgia felt the walls closing in as more people drifted closer, drawn by the scent of impending humiliation.
“Tell me, Georgia.” Celeste’s voice dripped false concern. “Do you ever miss it? The simplicity of honest work? It must be quite an adjustment, going from serving drinks to drinking them.”
The circle tightened. Women exchanged knowing glances. A man in an expensive suit smirked behind his tumbler of scotch. The predatory attention of the crowd pressed against Georgia’s skin like needles.
“Though I must say,” Celeste continued, each word precise as a surgeon’s cut, “you’ve come such a long way from thosedays of rushing between tables. Who would have thought that spilling wine on my gown would lead to such an… advantageous marriage?”
Heat flared in Georgia’s chest, sharp and sudden, spreading through her veins like liquid fire. The crowd pressed closer, hungry vultures circling their prey.
