Page 80 of Asher Black (The Five Syndicates)
C.S. Lewis
When we get to the arena and Asher helps me out of the car, I realize that we’ve been holding hands since we left his bedroom.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I nod. “It’s just… overwhelming.”
There are photographers at the entrance, shouting our names. Since our engagement was announced, I’ve been featured on a few New York blogs—walking to lab (the only class I go to) and eating with Aimee when I’m desperate to get out.
This is my first time being bombarded by a horde of photographers, though. I almost prefer the ones that like to stalk me from afar.
Asher shakes me up by pressing a kiss to my temple, which sends the paparazzi into a frenzy of loud clicks. “You’ll be fine. Breathe.”
I take a deep breath and plaster a smile on my face. Asher and I are standing side by side, his arm around my waist. For the next few minutes, I endure the paparazzi’s shouts and actually follow their helpful pose suggestions…
Until someone shouts, “Are you pregnant? Is that why you guys are already engaged?”
I suck in a sharp breath as Asher’s body tenses. I swear I hear an animalistic growl coming from him. Everything happens quickly after that. Xavier steps behind us and Maybe Dominic steps in front of us as we plow our way through the paparazzi, the time for pictures clearly over.
When we enter the arena, we are greeted by a smug looking René.
“Congratulations on the baby,” René says.
I understand now why Asher has waited so long to take us out into public. We’ve been too new. Hell, the paparazzo’s comment is proof that we are still too new. Barely more than four months have passed since we announced our engagement in October, and only five total months have passed since we supposedly started dating—even though it feels like it has been a lifetime since the first time I went to Rogue.
“There is no baby,” I say tightly, though I don’t have to. I was skinny when René met me, and many months later, I am still skinny.
He’s just being an asshole.
Asher squeezes my hand, and I reel my anger back in.
The familiar blonde beside René steps forward. “Asher, darling, don’t be rude. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your bride to be?”
She says it so sarcastically, I admire Asher for not snapping, though I shouldn’t be surprised. Asher’s emotions are locked up in a fortress. If he doesn’t want you to, it’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking. I’m shocked by the sudden realization that Asher confided in me earlier, something I suspect he has never done with anyone else.
This isn’t real.
This isn’t real.
This isn’t real.
“Forgive me,” Asher says, his voice dripping with condescension and bringing me out of my astonishment. “Viola, this is Lucy. Babe, this is Viola, René’s wife.”
We shake hands, the feel of her grip uncomfortable in mine. I remember her standing beside her husband at Rogue the night of my engagement announcement. Viola Toussaint is a gorgeous woman, whose beauty seems ageless. She has an elegant air about her, from the way she dresses to the way her hair is pulled back into an effortless chignon. The only telltale sign of her age is her hands, which are slightly wrinkled.
“Lovely to meet you, Viola,” I lie.
The four of us, plus Xavier and Asher’s guard, walk further into the arena. After we journey further into the place, I can barely tell that we are indoors. The floors are all artificial turf, and there is even natural light shining brightly through the glass ceilings.
The only sign that we are indoors is the temperate weather. While it’s a chilly fifty or so degrees outside in the March weather, it’s a comfortable seventy degrees in here. I’m able to take off my coat and leave it at the coat check.
Asher and I follow René to a tent that is labeled, “Black Enterprises.” As one of the primary donors, Black Enterprises has an entire tent for its executive board and their guests. I’m relieved when I see that Monica isn’t there. She’s probably still licking her wounds.
Asher pulls me to a corner of the tent and says, “See that man René is shaking hands with?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s Martin Weisman. He’s in René’s corner.” He continues, pointing discreetly at several other men. “That’s the rest of the board. Elliot O’Malley, Owen Carter, and Tim Burks. Will you remember that?”
