Sweet Retribution (Rydeville High Elite #3)(60)
“It’s showtime,” Drew confirms, moving to the curtain. “I believe that’s your cue.” I nod, and Charlie loops my arm in his as we start walking. “Knock ‘em dead, little sis,” Drew whispers, and I cling to his words as the butterflies in my chest turn circles. Adrenaline courses through my veins as the announcer introduces us to the room.
I helped plan the setup, yet it’s still a visual assault on the senses as we round the bend, halting at the top of the room while everyone gets to their feet, clapping. The walls have been covered with sheer red drapes, and the bulbs in the chandeliers have been replaced with red-tinted ones. Circular tables, seating ten, are artfully arranged in the center of the room, around the rotating bar. Black silk tablecloths cover each table, and all the place settings are in red and gold except for the smattering of white rose petals tossed abstractly over the top. Tall rose bouquets, consisting of red and black roses, look darkly elegant as centerpieces.
The stage at the back of the room is also decked out in red and black silk drapes, and a row of candelabras in different sizes line the front of the area. Lighting has been deliberately turned down low at that side of the room, and the soft flickering of candles adds an eerie quality to the ambiance. A twelve-piece orchestra is playing my music of choice. A fantastic rendition of “All I Ask of You” from The Phantom of the Opera, complete with a male and a female singer who are nailing the powerful emotion of the piece. I’ve little doubt Father is seething as he listens to the words, especially when he locks eyes on me and all the blood drains from his face.
His eyes trail down my body, his lips pursing, and when he lifts his head back up, the look he gives me is so evil it sends shivers all over me. Gulping, I eyeball him, not backing down from the silent face-off. His eyes burn with quiet rage, and he pulls Patrice in closer to his side, digging his nails into her waist and doing little to disguise it.
Panic bubbles up my throat, but I force it back down.
I knew I’d get this reaction, so there’s no point freaking out about it now.
Shocked gasps ring out around the room as Charlie leads us forward. I don’t know where Kai is, but I feel his eyes burning a hole in my back as we walk along the red carpet, greeting our guests.
“You are my every dream brought to life, Abby,” Kai whispers through my earpiece. “You are exquisite. I could live a thousand lifetimes and never be worthy of your heart.”
I want to tell him he’s wrong.
That it’s I who would never be worthy of him, but I can’t speak because it’s too dangerous.
We continue down the line, proceeding slowly, shaking hands, and accepting congratulations. My handshake is firm, my smile is wide, and my eyes meet every stranger dead on. Apart from my friends, hidden around the room, I know none of these people. I don’t know who is a potential ally or who is a foe.
Eventually, the procession ends, and we make our way to the head table. It’s strategically positioned close to the stage, so we have an excellent view of all of tonight’s entertainment, with the small dance floor at our rear. At least that’s what I told the planner. Truth is, it’s close to the side door that leads to the back area, and it’ll make it easier to slip through to the bastard’s office later.
This is a much larger, circular table, for family and close friends only, so I’m instantly aggrieved when I spot Father leading Kai and Giselle, Atticus and some blonde, and Rick and Isabella toward us.
“What the fuck is he doing?” Charlie hisses under his breath as he holds my chair out for me.
“I’d like to know too,” I murmur, gripping the armrests of my chair painfully. This was already going to be difficult without having to face my love across a table while I’m pretending to be in love with the man who thinks he’s my husband.
How the fuck did I end up here? Seriously. My life is one epic clusterfuck after another.
Dinner is a tedious affair. But at least the loud entertainment means there is minimal opportunity to talk. The orchestra is booked to play throughout our meal, which means conversation is limited to the person directly beside you.
I work hard not to look at Kai, sneaking the odd glance when no one is looking. Giselle is doing her best to drape herself around him, but he keeps removing her hands, pinning her with a dark glare. Alessandra is making minimal effort to talk to Drew, and he looks happy about that fact. Isabella is spending more time fawning over my father, instead of paying attention to Rick, much to Patrice’s disgust.
Father is quietly seething.
Oh, he looks like he’s having the time of his life, stuck between two women fighting for his affections, but the murderous looks he shoots my way, when he thinks no one notices, say otherwise.
Along the other side of the table, Sylvia is knocking back champagne like it’s water, while Trent glares at me instead of paying attention to his fiancée. Shandra shoots me alarmed looks every so often, and the tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife. I take a tiny sip of my champagne, only to look polite. I’m not risking drinking because it’s too fucking dangerous to let my guard down around here.
Even Atticus, who is usually so arrogantly assured, looks on edge, smiling weakly at whatever his date is saying. The only two people who look at ease at our table are Denton Mathers—Alessandra and Isabella’s father—and Christian Montgomery. Deep in conversation, they are ignoring their wives, having swapped seats, and their heads are huddled together.