The engagement party went down the next day at a private estate in Ashbourne.
Rowan had ridden herd on every detail himself. Everywhere I turned there was ivy and pure white roses. I'd told him once that I loved ivy for the stubborn, romantic way it just refused to quit.
The estate was packed with Sterling Street titans, Westbrook celebrities and politicians, and reporters from every major media outlet. This engagement was more than a declaration of love. It marked Rowan's return to the center of power.
Only one seat at the main table remained conspicuously empty: the one reserved for his mother, Margaret Cavendish.
I stood beside Rowan in the custom Vera Wang gown he had commissioned for me, wearing an impeccable smile as I accepted toast after toast.
He held my hand tightly, looking
