Page 23 of Forsaken Trail (Runaway 4)

“You chose the table closest to the bar.” Aria smiled as we walked past our new seating assignments. “Excellent choice.”

“Thought you’d approve.”

We slipped into the hallway, our steps unhurried as we meandered back to the cocktail room.

There were more people now, more waiters milling about with trays of food. I caught one with a tray of champagne and lifted two flutes, handing one to Aria as we settled next to a table conveniently close to the wall. Like the other tables, it held a floral bouquet.

“These are gorgeous.” Aria touched the tip of a white rose. “This visit wasn’t entirely wasted. I do love the floral arrangements.”

She leaned in, drawing the flower’s scent into her nose. Her eyes closed as she inhaled. Savored. The smoky shadow on her eyelids and the dark moons of her lashes were a beautiful sight. Differen

t than her normal makeup-free look.

I stepped closer, close enough that anyone watching would think I was wooing my date. Really, I wanted to talk without prying ears, and if we looked like we were engaged in an intimate conversation, maybe people would leave us alone.

There were enough colleagues and acquaintances here, it wouldn’t be long until I was inundated with business conversation. Before that happened, I wanted a quiet moment with Aria.

To apologize.

“And I’m sorry about my grandmother’s comment.”

“Which one?” she asked, moving away from the bouquet to sip her champagne.

“When she called you a stray.”

“Oh.” Aria’s gaze dropped to the floor. “Does she know? How Clara and I grew up?”

“No, not to my knowledge.”

“Then she was just lucky with her shot.”

“Still, I apologize on her behalf.”

“Don’t. She doesn’t deserve your grace.”

Maybe that was true. But Aria hadn’t deserved Grandmother’s disdain.

“This is good.” Aria raised her glass. “Keep ’em coming, Carmichael.”

I chuckled, drinking from my own flute. Aria was right. This event wouldn’t be a total bust. And having Aria in Clara’s place had already been entertaining.

Clara wouldn’t have given Grandmother grief. Clara wouldn’t have looked this beautiful in the green dress. Clara wouldn’t have pulled me in, closer and closer, until we touched.

Clara might have drawn plenty of eyes from the guests and other men in the room, but she wouldn’t have drawn mine.

Clara wasn’t Aria.

And Aria had my attention.

“How much do you know about my childhood?” she asked.

“Not much. Enough.” Clara and Aria’s parents had died in a car accident when they’d been only ten. A drunk driver had crossed the center line and smashed into their car, killing their parents on impact. Afterward, the sisters had gone to live with their uncle. “Clara told me that after you ran away from your uncle, you lived in a junkyard with four other kids.”

“That about covers it.”

“She said you lived in a van. A delivery van.”

A faint smile whispered across Aria’s lips. “The other kids, our friends, had their own places. Katherine and Gemma lived in a tent sort of thing, though it was more like a fort. Karson and Londyn lived in the Cadillac that I drove to Arizona. Obviously, it’s been restored.”