MISCHA LIKED WALKING into Wolfram’s party with Ash by his side. It didn’t hurt that she looked stunning. The blue of her dress matched the storm that always seemed to be brewing in her eyes, and her hair was pulled into a bun, with a few strands hanging around her face, the whole effect highlighting her long, elegant neck.

She’d even let him get her a ring. She tried to play it off as no big deal, but the sparkle in her eyes when he slipped it on her finger had been worth it.

But his favorite part of showing up with her was her. Her shy smile, the nervous jokes she’d cracked on the drive here. That she opted not to cover her cast, leaving the art and signatures on display. It was the perfect contrast to her evening wear.

And she was the perfect distraction from the cryptic text Tristan sent as Mischa and Ash were walking out the door.

When you see my date, don’t kill me. I promise I’ll explain.

Mischa had no idea what it was supposed to mean, but it couldn’t be as bad as walking into this lions’ den.

“No way.” Ash’s voice was a whisper, and she squeezed his hand tighter.

Mischa followed her gaze to Tristan, who was on the other side of the room, at the bar. Victoria stood next to him, hand looped around his arm.

If Mischa was looking for an omen this night would go well, that wasn’t it. Tristan caught his attention and nodded for he and Ash to join them. He hooked his arm around Ash’s waist, and kissed her on the cheek. “Let’s do this,” he whispered.

She gave him a faint smile, and fell into step beside him.

“Not what I expected,” Mischa said as means of greeting, when they were close enough to Tristan and Victoria to make conversation. Given Victoria’s approach to Mischa at lunch, this was so far off the expected scale, it wasn’t even in the same universe.

Tristan’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “She blackmailed me.”

“I called in a favor.” Victoria’s tone was deceptively pleasant.

That didn’t sound right. “What kind of favor could he possibly owe you?”

“Don’t ask,” Tristan said. “Short version is, this is a business arrangement.”

Mischa raised his brows. “That doesn’t make it sound any better.”

“Thanks, asshole.” Victoria’s sugary sweet demeanor slipped for a blink before sliding back into place. “He’s introducing me to some of his contacts.”

Small things to be grateful for—that she hadn’t asked Mischa. He was surprised Tristan said yes though. He opened his mouth to say have fun with that.

“Georgia? Georgia Wolfram?” Someone interrupted.

Mischa turned with Ash to find an older gentleman and woman.

Ash’s expression looked painted-on. “Vance. Mary. Lovely to see you.” She’d adopted a similar tone to Victoria’s.

“It is.” Mary turned to Mischa. “Who’s your handsome companion?”

“Mischa Dozniyov. Pleasure.” He could do this. It was bullshit, but the harmless kind. He shook both their hands.

Mary grasped Ash’s fingers. “Is that a ring? We don’t see you for years, and now you’re old enough to be wearing a ring?”

“It is.” A trace of genuine leaked into Ash’s mask. Mischa didn’t think anyone else would know the difference, but it warmed him. “Mischa’s my fiancé.”

“Wonderful.” Vance sounded as though it were anything but. He exchanged a look with his wife that Mischa couldn’t interpret.

Mary gave them one more glance. “It was good to see you, dear. Take care of yourself.”

And with that, the older couple faded back into the crowd.

“That wasn’t so bad.” Mischa didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud until Ash giggled.

“Don’t let them hear you say that.”

Besides the strange surprise of Tristan and Victoria together—which was nothing as far as Mischa was concerned—things were starting off all right.

Mischa steered Ash into the thick of things. “Let’s mingle a bit, you keep making me look good, and we can vanish after we’ve made our impact.” He kept his voice low, and his mouth near her ear.

“I like the way you think.” She pressed into him.

They made their way through a handful of other people who recognized Ash from when she was younger. All of them polite and each having to comment on how long it had been. How grown up she was. Wasn’t that sweet, she was getting married?

As far as he was concerned, it couldn’t be going smoother if it were plotted.

“I have to duck into the little girls’ room,” Ash muttered.

Mischa glanced around, and located Tristan and Victoria a few feet away, talking to a man closer to his age, whom he thought he recognized. “I’ll be over there.” He squeezed her hand. On impulse, he tugged her close and kissed her. “Not for show. Just for you,” he murmured against her lips.

The sparkle in her eye was the perfect reward. “I’ll be back,” she said.

He joined Tristan, Victoria, and, “Junior?”

The man raised a brow. “Dean.”

“Right. Hey. How’s it going?” Mischa clapped Dean on the arm.

Dean was from one of the wealthier families in the state, and grew up with Tristan, so Mischa only knew him indirectly. But the guy had been nice enough the few times they’d run into each other over the years. “Good,” Dean said. “The company is better here this year than in the past. It’s nice to see other young blood.” When he spoke, he kept his gaze fixed on Victoria.

Mischa kept half an ear on the conversation, chiming in when someone asked him something, but content to let Victoria build her contact list.

The background noise rolled around him, and tuned most of it out until he heard ...Georgia Wolfram.

He tried to pick out the conversation from all the other chatter.

“The nerve, showing up after all these years.” The woman’s voice practically oozed scandal.

“I know. Especially with him. Word is, the man has no idea what keeping a contract means.”

Mischa clenched his jaw. They were talking about him. That wasn’t a big deal—he’d heard it all before—but to cast his past on Ash?

“I wonder if he even knows.” That was a third woman. “About the running away. The way she spit on her mother’s grave, bless her soul, to spite Ralph.”

The gossip drew on, and with each new statement—most of them about Ash—his blood boiled a little hotter. He whirled to give them a piece of his mind, but the group had moved on, and he didn’t know who had spoken.

Where was Ash? He was done here.

“If you gentlemen will excuse me.” Victoria’s voice drew him back to the conversation. She paused next to Mischa. “I’ll get her.” Her voice was so low he had to strain to hear. He didn’t know if that was a good idea, but when he looked up, he saw Victoria’s pinched expression matched what his probably looked like. “I’ll play nice. Pinkie swear.”

He gave her a thin smile. “Thanks.”

*

ASH STOOD IN A BATHROOM stall, back to the side wall, blinking away tears and trying to ignore the sting in her throat. She’d been fine, until she overheard the conversation about what an ungrateful brat she was. How she had no right to show her face here, and she was lucky her father put up with her.

She wasn’t supposed to care. None of these people were a part of her life or mattered. But those few words, as cruel and blind as any she’d ever heard in school, cut deep.

She needed to get herself under control, so she could find Mischa and they could go. Doubt paralyzed her though. She didn’t know if she was strong enough to walk out of here with her head held high, and that was the only way she was leaving.

Each time she thought she’d found the strength, the door hinges creaked, and she heard the telltale click of heels on tile.

What was wrong with her? Hiding in the bathroom like she was sixteen again. Terrified to look anyone in the eye. Knowing it was childish didn’t make the compulsion easier to overcome.

She took a deep breath, and swallowed past a lump. She could splash enough cold water on her face to cool her cheeks, hopefully without ruining her makeup, and she’d be all right.

The door swung open again, and her heart hammered against her ribs. She looked toward the ceiling and cursed whichever god thought this was funny.

“Ash? Doll? Are you in here?” Victoria’s voice was quiet.

Great. The last person Ash wanted to see. She bit the inside of her cheek, focusing on the pain rather than a new wave of threatening tears, and tried to stay quiet.

“I see your shoes.” Victoria was right outside the stall. “No one out there, and I mean no one, is pulling off strappy suede flats with crystal the way you do. Cinderella much? I want to make sure you’re all right.”

She almost sounded sincere and kind, but Ash wasn’t in the right frame of mind to be cut down again.

Victoria sighed. “Are you going to hide in here all night? Mischa’s worried about you.”

“Because you care?” Ash’s question slipped out without permission, carried on a heavy dose of bitterness.

“If I didn’t care I wouldn’t be here. Are you going to make me talk through the door?”

“I’m not making you stay.”

Ash saw Victoria’s feet shift, until they were pointed the same direction as hers, as if she’d adopted a similar posture. “I told you we recognize our own,” Victoria said. “Which means I’ve been the girl on the other side of the gossip. I might not think you’re good for Mischa, but no one deserves to hear that kind of shit said about them.”

“So you’re here to coax me out?”

“I’m here to walk out next to you, make sure you don’t have to look at any of those snotty shits, and let you keep your pride.”

Ash didn’t believe it. “Why? Didn’t you ask to be here?”

“I did. And I’m staying. These people are wallets to me. I don’t care if they sign their checks out of guilt, or so they look better than their friends, as long as my kids benefit from the results. And I just told you why I’m talking to you.”

The conversation helped Ash shove childish impulses aside. What was she doing, hiding out in a country club bathroom? She unlocked the stall door, and stepped out.

She stepped past Victoria with a soft, “Thank you,” washed her hands, and dried them.

“Ready to face the world?” Victoria met her gaze in the mirror.

“No.”

“How long have you been faking smiles? Your whole life?”

Ash shook her head. “Just the first two thirds.”

“Just like riding a bike.” Victoria took her hand. “You only have to sell it for the next five minutes.”

Together, they stepped back into the ballroom, Ash wearing the shiniest mask she had in years. She focused on Mischa, the one bright, genuine spot in the room.

“Trade you dates?” she asked Tristan, making sure to keep her tone light and carefree.

He pulled Victoria to him. “I’d love to.”

“Are you ready to get out of here?” Mischa wrapped an arm around Ash’s waist.

“Only if you are.” Please, yes. Go now.

On their way out, he wished a few people farewell. The moment she was settled in the passenger seat of his SUV, she relaxed against the leather, and worked her face to unstick her expression.

“You all right?” Mischa climbed in next to her.

“I’ll get there.”

The radio made up for the lack of conversation on the drive home. Ash tried to climb out of the downward spiral she’d stepped into. She kept coming back to one thing, though. Her engagement to Mischa wasn’t doing him any favors.

It wasn’t that she was being down on herself. She was enjoying his company, and she believed him when he said he felt the same. But if part of the arrangement was to help him impress his colleagues, her being there had the opposite effect. Hell, it was almost definitely going to cost him when it came to her dad.

She couldn’t do that to him.

They walked through the front door, and he turned to her. “What are you thinking?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I do want to. That’s why I asked. Remember, it’s all right to be angry.”

She wished she could be. Fury would be better than this resignation. “I’m not angry. I’m just trying to accept reality.”

“What reality is that?” A shadow leaked into his voice, blending with concern.

“It doesn’t matter.”

He grabbed her wrist, and looked her in the eye. “Don’t. We’re not doing this shrug it off thing. If you’re pissed, get pissed. Nothing those people said about you is true.”

“I know that.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“The problem is, they believe it. I know you said we’re not trying to change minds, but you are. That’s the reason we got engaged, right? So you could try and change minds?” Frustration was building inside. She didn’t want to take it out on him.

He frowned. “That’s different.”

The dismissal—or whatever it was—snapped something inside. “It’s not different. All this lecturing about getting angry—”

“I’m not lecturing.”

“—is bullshit.” She talked over him. “Tonight was proof of that. They weren’t just talking about me, they were talking about you. And we stood there and listened. The night was supposed to be rubbing my father’s nose in the fact that we’re happy regardless of what he thinks, and instead it was the same shit I’ve seen my entire life. We stood there and took it.”

“That’s not fair, Ash.”

Maybe not, but it still hurt. “And the reason we didn’t say a word is because you want their money.”

“It’s called earning a living.”

“I’ve heard that story before. My entire life. Behave, otherwise this deal won’t go through. We’ll lose these clients. Blah, blah, bullshit.” Now she was stepping beyond the childish line. Of course Mischa had to get along with people to make the business work. But with so many old wounds reopened, she didn’t want to think about that.

“What am I supposed to do?” He spoke through clenched teeth.

“I don’t know. Spit in their faces. That’s what you expect me to do, right?” He’d never said that, but it was implied.

He made that growl she usually adored. The one that made her feel safe. But tonight it clawed at her, eating away another layer of reason. “How am I supposed to do that?” he demanded.

“I don’t fucking know. Give one of those buildings to Victoria. That would piss Dad off.”

“If I could afford to do that, I’d keep all of them.”

“Fine. Do whatever you think is best. What do I know, right?” She hid her wince as the words slipped out. They were too fatalistic. Too much like the old her.

He clenched and unclenched his fist several times. “Don’t take things out on me because it was a bad night. I’m here to listen, but not to be your punching bag.”

“Fine.” She didn’t need him to listen. Not if he wasn’t going to actually hear what she was saying. “I’m going to bed.”

“Good. Lovely. Sleep well.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice.

She turned and strode up the stairs, refusing to look back or to run. She took the steps one at a time, as calmly as she could, while hurt and anger fed the furnace raging inside.

When she was in her room, she closed the door softly—she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of slamming it—and dropped onto her bed, burying her face in her pillow.

What was wrong with her? She was pushing away the one good thing in her life, and she knew it, and she still couldn’t silence the voice insisting losing Mischa would be nothing worse than she deserved.