“Making the media fall in love with us, obviously.”
Anger grips me. Internally, I remind myself to stay calm.
Questions fly from the reporters, their cameras still clicking, flashes aggressively blinding me as we pass.
“Are you two dating?”
“When did you first become a couple?”
“Does this mean August St. Jean is officially off the market?”
The moment we reach the steps, I bound forward, stomping up them so I can put as much distance between us as possible.
I’m fuming—anger rolling off me in waves—by the time I make it to coat check.
To my dismay, August is still following me, sauntering behind with his hands in his pockets as though he has not a care in the world.
Slamming my clutch down on the coat check table, I turn to him and point a finger in his face. “You had absolutely no right to do that.”
Swiftly, he grabs my hand and presses a chaste kiss to my finger, putting on a show.
“Quiet,” he growls lowly, glancing behind me. “You’re causing a scene.”
Ripping my hand from his, I snap, “Stay the hell away from me, August,” before I turn back to the coat check attendant and take the number from her.
While walking away, I discreetly shove it into my bra and continue into the ballroom.
Thankfully, a waiter is passing by as I enter, so I grab two glasses of champagne, downing one as I walk further into the room. My eyes sweep past the tables as I look around, keeping an eye out for any friendly face.
Unfortunately, I come up short.
Placing the empty champagne flute on a nearby high top, I retreat to a corner where I can watch everything and wait for Raina.
I want to cry. The bitter sting of tears burns my eyes, but the last thing I will do is allow them to fall. Not when I know August is still watching. And probably my brother, too, for that matter.
Tossing back the last drop of champagne left in my second glass, I see a man approaching from my peripheral.
“Miss Paladino!” he greets me when he makes it over. “I was hoping I’d see you here. How are you?”
My entire body sighs with relief to see AnselEmmons, a kind older gentleman I met at the masquerade ball in July. He’s wearing a suit with tails, his round glasses sitting at the tip of his nose.
“I’m doing well, thank you, Mr. Emmons. How are you? How’s your wife doing?”
“We’re both well, child, thank you. She’s holding our spots at the table. I saw you from across the room and wanted to come say hello. Abigail wanted me to pass along a request,” he chuckles, beaming up at me.
“Oh?”
“Yes, well, she’s asked me to request that you come rescue her from dancing at some point tonight. You see, she has two left feet, and I could dance for hours.” His eyes wander across the room, pinpointing where his wife’s seated.
Grinning, I wave at her, and she returns the gestures.
“The pleasure would be all mine again, Mr. Emmons. Please let your wife know I’d be happy to take you off her hands for a while.”
“Please, call me Ansel.”
“Then you be sure to call me Vinnie.”
Taking my hand, he brings it to his lips and kisses the top of it. “I will, Vinnie. Looking forward to dancing with you later. Enjoy the party.”
