[BL] I Didn't Sign Up For This Chapter 22: In Which I Survive High Society (Barely)

Saturday arrived too quickly and not quickly enough.

I’d spent the morning in a state of low-grade panic, the afternoon being primped and styled by François and his team of assistants, and the early evening staring at myself in the mirror and wondering who the hell that person was.

The suit fit perfectly, my hair had been styled in a way that made look sophisticated instead of like I’d just rolled out of bed, even my shoes were expensive, real leather, polished to a shine that could probably blind soone.

I looked like I belonged at a charity gala.

I absolutely did not belong at a charity gala.

"Stop fidgeting," Azryth said from the doorway.

I turned, and forgot how to breathe.

He was in a tuxedo, not just any tuxedo, a perfectly tailored, probably cost-more-than-a-car tuxedo that made him look like he’d stepped out of a magazine spread about unattainably attractive people.

His hair was styled back, his bow tie was perfect, he looked every inch the powerful CEO, the demon lord, the man who commanded rooms with his presence alone.

"You look..." I couldn’t finish the sentence.

"Presentable," he supplied, moving into the room. "You look acceptable as well."

Acceptable, yeah, that’s definitely what I was going for.

He reached up, adjusting my bow tie with practiced efficiency, his fingers brushed my neck, and the binding flared.

"Nervous?" he asked quietly.

"Terrified."

"Good, channel that into focus." His hands moved to my shoulders, straightening my jacket. "Rember, we’re a couple in love, and we’re very happy."

"Of course. Happily in love. Very easy."

His eyes searched mine. "If it becos too much, squeeze my hand twice, I’ll extract us."

The sa signal from the press conference, an escape route.

"Okay," I said.

He stepped closer, his voice dropping. "You’ll be fine, better than fine. Trust ."

The limousine ride to the gala was quiet. Azryth spent it on his phone, handling last-minute business, I spent it trying not to throw up from anxiety.

The Carlisle Foundation Gala was being held at the Grand tropolitan Hotel, a building that looked like it was designed to intimidate anyone making under seven figures annually. Red carpet, actual paparazzi with caras, beautiful people everywhere.

"Rember," Azryth said as the limo pulled up. "Stay close and follow my lead, we’ll be fine."

The door opened, and cara flashes exploded like lightning.

Azryth stepped out first, then turned and offered his hand.

I took it, stepping out into chaos.

"Mr. Valek! Over here!"

"Azryth! Can we get a photo?"

"Who’s your date?"

"That’s his husband! Riven Kael!"

"Can we get a photo of you together?"

Azryth’s arm slipped around my waist, pulling close, he smiled at the caras, that practiced, perfect smile that had probably launched a thousand magazine covers.

"Just smile," he murmured in my ear. "Look at occasionally, let them get their photos."

I smiled and looked up at him, tried to ignore the fact that my heart was hamring and every instinct was screaming to run.

His hand on my waist tightened. Reassuring.

We posed for what felt like an eternity but was probably ninety seconds, then Azryth was guiding inside, his hand never leaving my back.

The ballroom was exactly as intimidating as I’d feared, crystal chandeliers that probably cost more than my childhood ho, tables set with china and silver that looked antique, hundreds of people in expensive clothes making small talk and drinking champagne.

I felt like an imposter, like soone would recognize I didn’t belong here and escort out.

"Riven, breathe," Azryth said quietly. "You look like you’re about to pass out again."

"I might pass out, the odds are fifty-fifty."

"Please don’t, the press would have a field day."

Several people approached imdiately, business associates of Azryth’s, they shook hands, made polite conversation, and looked at with barely concealed curiosity.

"This is my husband, Riven," Azryth introduced , his hand still possessively on my waist.

I shook hands, smiled, said vague, aningless things that Patricia had coached on.

"How did you two et?" one woman asked, eyes sharp with interest.

"Through work," I said, the practiced answer rolling off my tongue. "It was gradual, friendship that beca sothing more."

"How romantic!" She didn’t sound like she believed it. "And the wedding was private?"

"We valued intimacy over spectacle," Azryth said smoothly, pulling closer. "So monts are ant to be kept between the people who matter."

The woman smiled, but I could see her filing away every detail for later gossip.

We navigated the room for an hour, eting people, making small talk, playing the role of devoted couple.

Azryth was perfect at it, introducing with pride, keeping his hand on at all tis, my back, my arm, my waist, small touches that looked affectionate and possessive.

And the terrifying thing was that it didn’t feel entirely like acting, and part of , the traitorous part that was getting harder to ignore, liked having his attention, his protection, his hand on .

We were at our assigned table, finally sitting down, when I made the mistake of going to the bathroom alone.

I should have known better, I’d been warned, but I needed a minute to breathe, to process, to remind myself this was all a performance.

I made it out of the stall and was washing my hands when she appeared in the mirror behind .

A woman, late thirties, expensive dress, cara around her neck, press credentials on a lanyard.

"Riven Kael," she said, not a question.

"That’s ." I dried my hands, trying to edge toward the door.

She moved, blocking my exit. "I’m Dana Richardson, investigative journalist, I wanted to ask you a few questions about your relationship with Azryth Valek."

"I’m not doing interviews."

"Just a few questions, off the record." She smiled, but it was predatory. "The tiline of your relationship doesn’t quite add up, you were a complete unknown until three weeks ago, and suddenly you’re married to one of the most powerful n in the city?"

"We kept our relationship private, that’s not a cri."

"But it is unusual." She pulled out her phone, started recording. "So people are saying this marriage is a business arrangent, a publicity stunt, what do you say to that?"

"I’d say people need better hobbies." I tried to move around her, but she stepped in front of again.

"There are also questions about the legality of the marriage, so records suggest the wedding happened very quickly, almost overnight, care to comnt?"

My heart was hamring, this was bad, this was very bad.

"No comnt."

"Co on, Riven, you can talk to , off the record, what’s really going on? Did he pay you to marry him? Is this about immigration status? Corporate restructuring?"

"I said no comnt." I tried again to leave, she grabbed my arm.

"Just give sothing, anything, my readers want to know—"

"He said no comnt."

Azryth’s voice cut through the bathroom like a knife, cold and furious.