Page 96 of Bid For Me
The words hit me harder than I expected.
Am I okay? No. But I nod anyway, because the alternative is falling apart in the middle of my wedding reception. “I’m fine.”
Candy doesn’t believe me. I can tell by the way her lips press into a thin line, but she doesn’t push. She just squeezes my hand and says, “I’ll find you later. Promise.”
I watch her disappear into the crowd just as Seb returns to my side. His hand brushes my lower back, guiding me gently toward the grand ballroom, where hundreds of guests are already mingling. Did he step aside on purpose to give me and Candy that moment alone?
“Ready?” he asks quietly.
No.
But I nod. “Of course.”
The reception is a dream.
And a nightmare.
The grand ballroom has been transformed into something out of a storybook – white roses and lilies cascade in every corner, delicate strings of lights drape from the ceiling like stars, and crystal chandeliers glitter in golden brilliance. A liveorchestra plays in the corner, their music threading through the air, elegant and perfect and suffocating.
The guests are already here, sipping champagne and laughing behind their masks of civility. All the usual suspects – politicians, family friends, business moguls – people who don’t see me as a person but as a title.
The guests. The flowers. The music playing softly. It’s too much – too perfect, too orchestrated. I let Seb lead me through it, smiling and nodding at the endless stream of faces offering congratulations, their compliments blending into white noise.
Seb’s hand rests lightly on my back, guiding me through the sea of people. It’s a performance, every step choreographed, every smile plastered on. I’m introduced to people I already know, their compliments floating past me like static.
“You look radiant, Elle. Congratulations!”
“The perfect couple, aren’t they?”
“Sebastian, you’ve outdone yourself.”
“A sound business match.”
I nod. I smile. I thank them for coming. But I don’t hear them. Not really. My fingers find the pendant at my throat, twisting it as though it might anchor me to something real.
Seb looks every bit the part – Sebastian Sterling-Knight, heir to a billion-dollar empire, untouchable and perfect.
And yet…something’s off.
I wonder whatheknows.
The thought makes me glance toward his father, who stands on the other side of the room surrounded by a circle of men who look just like him – sharp suits, sharper smiles. He’s laughing, his expression one of smug satisfaction. Like all of this is his design. Like all of this is exactly how he planned it.
Seb turns to me suddenly, his voice low. “You look like you’re plotting an escape.”
“Wouldn’t you?” I reply, my smile never faltering.
For once, Seb doesn’t laugh. He just looks at me, his eyes too sharp, too searching. “Not without you,” he murmurs.
The words hit me like a punch to the chest. The tension coils between us, invisible but heavy. I steal a sip of champagne from the flute that’s suddenly in my hand, desperate for something to steady me. It doesn’t work.
I open my mouth to respond, but someone calls his name, and the moment shatters. He turns, his hand falling away from my back, and I exhale slowly, steadying myself.
I glance around the room, my fingers brushing the pendant at my throat as if to remind myself thatsomethingtoday is real. It’s stupid, but the weight of it is oddly reassuring all of a sudden.
I catch Seb glancing toward his father more than once, his jaw tight and his smile a little too practiced. And every time he does, unease coils in my stomach.
They don’t notice me watching as he crosses the room and shakes hands with his father, whose smile looks entirely too pleased. Too satisfied. The elder Sterling-Knight isbeaming.