“Dad!” Winter barks, but Henrik only laughs.
“Come on, girlie. My son’s quite the player. If you’re really his fiancée, you would know the answer to that one.”
It weirds me out that a grown man like Henrik would know the size of his son’s penis. Maybe he’s just bluffing, but on the off chance that he isn’t, a wrong answer here could ruin everything.
I glance over at Winter to see if he can somehow give me a clue. Is there a sign for “big dick” in sign language I wonder? But Winter is already looking defeated. I guess his dad really does know.
“Well, Mr. Wellington,” I say as I lean closer. “I know your son’s reputation as a player, and that’s why I told him that there would be no sex until after we were married.”
Henrik gives me a look that sends goose bumps up my body. He glances at Winter and then back to me and shakes his head. Shit. I ruined it. There goes our arrangement. Winter is going to kill me.
“I like her!” Henrik blurts out to my surprise. He claps Winter on the shoulder, causing Winter to feign a smile. “Well, son. It looks like you made it. And found a woman to make an honest man out of you.” Henrik turns to me and whispers, “How old are you? Not still in high school, are ya?”
“Nineteen, sir,” I tell him.
He raises his eyebrows and nods approvingly.
“My son does have good taste.”
“Okay, Dad, that’s enough,” Winter says. “We’re going to go mingle now.”
“Not yet,” Henrik replies. “I’ve got to talk to you about a few things. Alone.”
Winter glances at me. “You gonna be all right?”
“Sure she will!” Henrik laughs. “If she can handle you she can handle anyone here. We’ll be right back, sweetheart.”
“See you soon!” I reply, doing my best dutiful-wife impression. It’s not quite Natalie Portman level acting, but it does the job, and Henrik and Winter make their way through the crowd and vanish into another room.
I sigh a heavy sigh of relief and thank God that that went well. Tragedy averted. But as I look around the party and realize I’m now alone in a mansion filled with America’s most wealthy, I feel a creeping anxiety begin to move up my body from my feet.
What do I do now? Without Winter by my side, I don’t even have a backstory. What if someone tries to talk to me about…anything!? Holding my glass as to obscure as much of my face as possible, I keep my head down and make my way to the corner of the room and pretend to be looking over a collection of bound books that look like th
ey belong at Hogwarts.
Just when I’m starting to think I’m safe, I feel someone step up behind me. A man.
“Are you lost?”
Oh God. Did he really just say that?
I want to spin around and ask him if I look lost—if I could have somehow lost my way and ended up at this private, billionaires party, but I remember that tonight I am Winter’s wife and I’m meant to be on my best behavior. So instead, I turn, give the man a quick smile, then turn back to the books.
“Who are you here with?”
“Winter Wellington,” I reply. “My husband.”
“Easy there,” he chuckles. “I’m married myself. Just looking for an opinion.”
“An opinion on what?” I ask without turning.
“My name’s Sebastian,” he says. “I own this house. My ex-wife bought a painting before our divorce, and I’m not sure whether I want to keep it or not. Help me out?”
For the first time, I’m actually consciously wishing Winter was here right now so he could save me. I glance over at the room he went into with his father but see no sign of them. Sebastian looks to be in his early 50s and seems sincere.
“Where is this painting?” I ask.
“Just over there by the stairs,” he says, pointing through the crowd. “It’ll take thirty seconds of your time. Please?”