GRAYSON stepped toward her, his presence instantly drowning out everyone else in the room.
He didn't apologize for the night before. He didn't ask if she was okay. He simply reached out and took her hand. His grip was firm, but this time, he didn't squeeze.
"You look... acceptable," he said, his voice a low, gravelly rasp.
"You look like the villain from a very expensive movie," she whispered back, her voice shaking only slightly.
A ghost of a smile—the first one she had seen on this 'new' Grayson—flickered across his lips. "Good. It would be a shame to disappoint the guests."
"Are we ready?" Lucson asked, checking his pocket watch. "The limo is waiting."
"Limo?" Mailah asked. "I thought we were taking the car."
"Duchess, please," Carson laughed, throwing an arm around her shoulder—a move that earned him a lethal glare from Grayson. Carson didn't seem to care. "We're going to the Ashford Gala. We don't 'drive' just any car. We arrive."
