The invitation was embossed in gold and smelled of old money and malice.
"The Winter Solstice Gala," Clara read aloud, her voice flat. "Hosted by the Blackstone Foundation. Julian, this is a suicide mission. Your father is literally inviting us into the lion’s den."
"He’s not just inviting us, Clara. He’s daring us," Julian said, pacing the length of the small living room. He had been in the "Silent Treatment" phase for three days, but this had broken the ice. "The entire legal board of New York will be there. If we don’t show up, it looks like we’ve folded. If we show up separately, he’ll spend the night whispered rumors that I’ve dumped you and crawled back to his side."
Clara looked at the invitation, then at Julian. The "Hidden Anguish" was still there in his eyes—the shadow of the secret his father had planted—but he was right. In the world of Modern Royalty, perception was the only law that mattered.
"So we go," Clara said, her chin lifting. "As partners."
"No," Julian countered, stopping in front of her. "We go as a united front. We go as a couple. We show them that the 'Prince' and the 'Ice Queen' aren't just a business arrangement. We show them we’re an empire."
Clara’s heart did a traitorous somersault. "You want us to... fake date? Julian, we can barely be in the same room without the temperature dropping forty degrees."
"Then we’ll have to be very good actors, won't we?" Julian reached out, his hand hovering near her waist before he caught himself and pulled back. "Put on your most expensive armor, Sterling. We’re going to war in black tie."