Chapter 6: The Engagement Party

Friday came and went, and Whit didn't send a cent.

So on Saturday night I wore the green dress.

I'd sewn the broken strap back on properly, with green thread, and I'd let my curls down.

Cian picked me up in the gray suit, the black signet ring on his finger, his watch on his left wrist.

He looked at me on the sidewalk outside the laundromat for a long second.

"That's the dress," he said.

"That's the dress."

"Good." He offered his arm. "Let's go ruin a man."

The Chisholm ballroom was gold and white and full of people who had dressed to be photographed.

A banner over the bandstand said CONGRATULATIONS WHIT AND in looping script, followed by his fiancee's name in letters twice as big as his.

When we walked in, the room did something I'd only seen in movies.

It turned.

Heads, then shoulders, then whole groups, swiveling toward the door.

"Smile," Cian murmured, without moving his lips. "You're married to the most boring billionaire in Nevada. They've never seen him with a woman."

"Is that true?"

"Wyatt's a monk. It's Ewan's fault. He runs the calendar."

I smiled.

The resort president came toward us first, a big silver-haired man with a tan, both hands out.

"Wyatt! I didn't think you'd make it. And this must be..." His eyes went to my thumb, then to my face, and stuck there.

"My wife," Cian said. "Rosalind."

"Your wife." The president laughed too loud. "Well. Well, congratulations. My daughter will be thrilled."

His daughter was coming up behind him in silver sequins.

So was Whit.

Whit had seen me from across the room.

I knew because his face had gone the color of the tablecloths.

He arrived at his fiancee's elbow just as Cian turned to shake hands with someone from the board.

Keep reading free with an account. Start Four Brothers and a Bride from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.