Chapter 63

Iris

Alice and I pull up to the event, which is situated in one of the historic halls in downtown Ordan. Glittering chandeliers hang from the ceilings, their glow reflecting off the polished marble floors. Ordan socialites from all backgrounds mill around in expensive gowns and tuxedos, sipping champagne as they view the art on display.

We make our way to the bar first, where we each pick up a glass of white wine. As we stand there, sipping our drinks and trying to get a feel for the place, my eyes catch a familiar face across the room.

Arthur.

Just seeing him, even from afar, makes my heart thrum with unexpected excitement. I have to give Selina credit—the tuxedo she picked out for him looks ravishing on his frame, the fabric perfectly hugging each contour of his muscular body.

And what makes him even more handsome is the way he’s smiling. That Alpha President smile of his is dazzling even from afar.

But of course, Selina is on his arm.

She, too, looks utterly stunning in a long red gown. The black fur stole around her slender shoulders stands stark against her creamy skin and blonde hair, the diamonds at her throat glittering beneath the flickering candlelight.

I knock back the rest of my wine and order another.

Alice shoots me a sidelong glance. “Are you gonna be okay?”

Nodding, I offer her a thin smile. “Splendid. I’ll just keep my distance.”

“Fair enough,” Alice snorts, then jerks her chin toward where Arthur and Selina are now standing on the opposite end of the room, completely surrounded by a group of men and women. Arthur is saying something that’s making everyone around him throw their heads back in laughter, but I can sense how fake it is even from here. They’re just trying to butter him up for whatever purposes they may have. “It’s not like you’ll get a chance to speak to him anyway.”

That’s a comfort, although suddenly, I feel a pang in my chest. I don’t want to admit to anyone, not even myself, that part of why I agreed to come was because I didn’t want Arthur going out alone with Selina—that a small, vindictive part of me, driven by our mate bond, wanted to step out in a glittering gown of my own, standing on my own two feet, and show him what he’s missing.

If we could only be together, for real, with no lies or hiding, he could be walking alongside me tonight. But he’s too scared to have a human wife, and that hurts.

“Oh my Goddess!” Alice suddenly exclaims, taking my hand and leading me over to a handsome man in a tuxedo who’s standing nearby. “I didn’t think you would be here! Iris, this is my good friend, Hunter Maverick. Hunter, this is my other good friend, Flora.”

The name makes me blink in surprise. Hunter Maverick—a name that I’m pretty certain is a pseudonym, just like mine—is a famous artist here in Ordan.

He smiles at me, extending his hand. “Flora,” he says, his fingers warm around mine as I return the handshake, “it’s a pleasure. I’ve seen your work. It’s absolutely wonderful.”

I can’t help but blush. As if it’s not bad enough that a famous artist is complimenting my work, but the way his blue eyes lock onto mine—as if there’s no one in the room but us—makes my heart flutter a little.

“Likewise,” I reply. “It’s wonderful to meet you. I’m a big fan.”

I instantly cringe for calling myself a ‘fan’, which makes me seem like some kind of a groupie. But if he notices, he certainly has the tact not to comment on it, and waves his hand good-naturedly. “Oh, nonsense. My work belongs on cereal boxes, nothing more.”

Alice rolls her eyes and smacks his arm. “He’s always pulling the ‘humble’ card,” she says, glancing at me, “but I think he’s full of shit, and he knows it.”

Hunter’s eyes flicker mischievously, and then he shoots me a radiant smile. “Alice tells me that your recent body of work sold out in one night. I couldn’t make it to the art opening, so I’m intrigued. Care to tell me about the collection?”

My face warms, but I happily explain my last collection to Hunter as the three of us stroll through the space. He listens intently, never interrupting except to ask a question or chime in with an exclamation. At one point, Alice slips away to get another drink at the bar, leaving us alone.

The music shifts then, and couples begin moving to the dance floor. Hunter turns to me. “Care to dance, so we can continue this conversation?” he asks, extending his hand.

I hesitate, glancing toward the bar. Alice, noticing the exchange from afar, lifts her glass and shoots me a wink. My cheeks flush as I accept, and we move to the dance floor.

Surprisingly, Hunter keeps a respectable distance as we begin to dance. His palm presses into mine, his fingers gently curling around my own as his other hand settles on my waist.

“So,” I say, “tell me about your work. I saw the recent piece about you in the Ordan Art Weekly magazine.”

Hunter nods. “I created my last collection after my wife and I split,” he says, a sad look crossing his face for a moment. “It was initially meant to be a distraction from my pain, but… well, you know how art is. The way your own sadness has an uncanny way of clawing its way into every piece.”

I can’t help but agree. “I know the feeling all too well,” I say, looking away briefly.

Just then, my gaze catches a familiar pair of green eyes across the room, and my breath lodges in my throat.

Arthur.

He’s staring straight at me, his jaw ticking, his eyes almost… glowing. It’s a brief flicker of incandescent green, as if his wolf is just beneath the surface of his skin. Although he schools it quickly, his eyes remain locked on mine, long enough for even Hunter to notice.

“Do you know the Alpha President personally?” he asks.

I quickly shake my head and tear my gaze away. “No,” I lie. “I only know Selina.”

The artist nods slowly. “Right… I recall seeing a news report on you two. It seemed scathing, but the press always twists things.”

“Yes, they do,” I say, recalling all too well the awful things Selina said with a smile on her face—a smile that made her appear perfectly sweet to the cameras, all the while she was twisting a knife in my belly.

Hunter chuckles. “Well, either way, the way he was just looking at you… If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that was the look of a jealous Alpha who just saw his mate with another man. But I hear his mate is a human woman who left the country.”

My skin prickles. That hit too close to home for comfort, and I need some air. Thankfully, the song comes to an end, and I move away from Hunter. He pulls a business card out of his pocket.

“I’m afraid I need to get going,” he says. “But here, take my card. I’d love to chat some more, especially about that residency at the Abbott Gallery. I’m certain you can get in on your own merits, but I’d be happy to put in a good word for you if you need it.”

“Thank you,” I say, gingerly taking the card. Frankly, I doubt I’ll call in that favor; I want to get this residency on my own, without any help from outside forces. But the offer is nice, and besides, it’s always a good idea to have the contact information of other artists.

With a polite nod of his head, Hunter bids me goodnight and leaves. I swear I can still feel Arthur’s eyes on me, pressing in on me from all directions until I can hardly breathe. Needing some air, I slip away from the main area, searching for a bathroom. But there’s a line outside the ladies’ room, so I choose the next best option: the coat closet.

The room is blissfully dark and cool when I slip inside. I shut the door behind me with a soft click and lean against the fabric of the coats, inhaling deeply. Just a few moments to breathe is all I need.

As I calm down, I slip out my phone, checking the app for the nanny cameras. Miles is sitting at the dinner table by himself with a plate of food in front of him. All looks well, and I smile softly as my finger traces the image of him.

Just then, the door opens. I gasp, putting my phone back in my purse. But it’s not a chagrined staff member who walks in like I expect. It’s a tall, broad figure, clad in a perfectly-fitted tuxedo.

The door shuts quickly, casting us in darkness once more. Warm hands wrap around my waist, tugging me close against a sturdy frame. My breath catches as I press my palms into that familiar chest, but I don’t push away. Not yet.

“I hate seeing you with other men,” Arthur’s voice growls, low and rough and full of want.

And then, before I can answer, his lips crash into mine.