Tessa felt the back-half of the ballroom wobble like a bad dream: Isabella's lipstick still glimmered on Parker's cheekbone, Diana's perfume still clung to his collar—and half the damn Five Families had been close enough to taste the static. Her grandfather. Her parents. All of them.
She wove past servants with trays and couples slow-spinning under chandeliers, heart jackhammering, mouth already forming an apology she shouldn't have to make. Parker, for his part, leaned against a gilded pillar looking annoyingly un-wrecked, chatting with Maya like nothing catastrophic had just unfolded on the dance floor.
Tessa grabbed his forearm, nails digging through cotton. "Tell me you realize Grandpa Wilder just watched two literal power vixens try to dry-hump you in public."
Parker's dark eyes flicked down; the bastard had the nerve to smirk. "Sweetheart, everybody saw. It was basically televised."
