ASHLEY
A senator’s daughter, wrapped in couture and scandal, dancing with the man she’s supposedly marrying. We’re the center of the room—no, the whole universe right now—and still, I’ve never felt smaller.
Remy’s hand rests on the small of my back .
We’re turning slowly under the chandelier and there are hundred pairs of eyes watching us.
Earlier, when they announced what this is all about, I wanted to run. I wanted to rip the mic from the emcee’s hands and scream. Honestly? I still want to run right now. My knees twitch with the impulse on every turn.
But I don’t. I’m trained too well. Too many years of learning how to choke on my own panic without moving a muscle.
Remy leans in like he’s whispering something romantic, but I see the tension in his jaw. The slight narrowing of his
