Page 29 of Arranged To Be Mine

“You could have just interrupted the conversation. Changed the subject. Literally anything other than kissing me.”

“Would that have worked?”

She didn’t answer, which was answer enough.

“They wanted blood,” I continued. “They wanted you to crack. The only way to derail that was to give them something bigger. Something more interesting than watching the ice queen squirm and flee in panic again.”

“So you made me into a romance story instead.”

“Everyone loves a romance story.”

“This is insane,” she finally said.

The song ended. I reluctantly released her, though I kept her hand in mine as we walked back toward the table where my family waited. Every single one of them was watching us with expressions ranging from shocked to amused to deeply suspicious.

Jeremy was the first to speak when we sat down. “Did you two just kiss?” he whisper-shouted the question. “In front of everyone?”

Cleo leaned in from the other side. “Beau, what the hell?”

I kept my voice quiet, pitched so only they could hear. “Just go with it. We’ll explain later.”

“Go with what?” Jeremy demanded.

“The girlfriend thing. Just trust me.” I met his eyes, then Cleo’s. “Let’s just get through this party.”

They exchanged looks, clearly confused, but they were Blackwells. We knew how to present a united front when necessary. And maybe we’d inherited some of our mother’s acting ability.

“Fine,” Cleo said slowly. “But you owe us an explanation.”

“Tomorrow. I promise.”

Darcy sat beside me, close enough that it looked intimate but not so close that she couldn’t maintain her own personal space. She was struggling, but she looked pretty doing it. I snagged her another glass of champagne, giving her something to do with her hands while also making her look like she was actually enjoying herself.

She was a quick learner. I had to give her that. She laughed, smiled, and occasionally touched me.

“Oh, it’s time to announce the auction winners,” Cleo said. “Did you guys bid on anything?”

“Darcy bid on the typewriter,” I said.

And she won. Her bid had been the highest by a significant margin.

“Good job,” I said.

“It’s not like I had to do anything except write down a number,” she said.

“But you won. Winning anything is awesome.”

After the announcements, one of the event coordinators approached our table with a small package wrapped in tissue paper.

“Mr. Blackwell? The fox sculpture you purchased.”

Darcy’s head snapped toward me. “What?”

I took the package and handed it to her. “For you.”

“I can’t take that from you.”

“Sure you can.” I raised my voice just enough that the people at nearby tables could hear. “Anything for my girl.”