I smoothed the fabric of my dress for the hundredth time, my fingers catching on a loose thread that wasn't actually there. My stomach twisted with a familiar anxiety—the same knot that had formed whenever I'd disappointed my parents throughout my forty-five years of existence. But this time was different. This time, the disappointment came with newspaper headlines, public statements, and a mate mark on my neck that felt both like a declaration of independence and a target. I glanced at Christian, his steady presence beside me on the settee a reminder of why this confrontation was necessary—and why, despite the churning in my gut, I wouldn't change a thing.
"You're going to wear a hole in that dress," Christian murmured, his hand covering mine to still the nervous movement. "It's quite lo
