The Heiress' Revenge

Chapter 212: The Performance

Ariana’s POV

I was dressed in a midnight blue floor-length dress, and low at the back in a way that felt bold. I chose it for tonight for the cameras, for the headlines, for him because I knew he would be here.

He needed to see how much I’ve moved on, and that way he could maybe back down and our kids could be safe.

"You’re nervous," Phillip said, his hand resting lightly on my elbow.

"I’m fine."

"You’ve checked your phone six times in the last three minutes."

I slipped the phone back into my clutch and forced a smile. "Old habit."

"Old habit or old flame?" He studied my face with sharp gray eyes. "Dante... I—"

I cut him off, "I said, was the one who ended things, and I’d like it to remain that way"

"Because ending things and moving on are two different things, Ariana." He offered me his arm. "But that’s not my business, I’m glad you finally gave us a chance"

I took his arm. "Thank you for not asking too many questions."

"I’m a patient man. I figure you’ll tell me when you’re ready." He paused. "Or you won’t?"

Something stirred in my chest, guilt maybe or gratitude or both.

Philp deserves better than me, and I know that, but then what choice do I have now? He had no idea I was using him as part of a plan to protect everyone I loved.

All he knew was that I had finally agreed to give him a chance.

And I was about to make him part of a lie.

"The press will be brutal," I warned as we approached the entrance. "They’ll ask about my past relationship since now they know I’m back alive"

"Then let’s give them something to react to." He smiled, softening his sharp features. "I’ve been trying to get you to say yes to dinner for months. If the whole world finds out tonight that you finally gave in, I won’t complain."

"You’re using the charity gala as a public announcement?"

"I’m using whatever advantage I can get." He squeezed my hand. "Relax, Ariana. You’re supposed to have fun."

"Fun," I repeated like the word was foreign.

"Yes, fun. That thing people do when they aren’t busy running companies and carry too much weight"

I almost laughed. "I’ll try."

The cameras started flashing the moment we stepped out of the car.

"Arians, over here!"

"Ms. Ariana, is it true you’re here with Phillip now?"

"Are you two together?"

"Does Dante know you’re here tonight?"

I kept my smile in place.

Phillip’s hand rested on my lower back, steady and reassuring.

"She’s with me," he told the nearest reporter, warm but firm. "And yes, before you ask, I know I’m the luckiest man in London tonight."

"Are you two officially dating?"

"We’re here together. I’ll let you decide what that means."

"Ariana, any comment on the divorce? Or why did you disappear?"

I turned to the reporter.

"The divorce is finalized," I said, choosing to only answer that "Dante and I have both moved on, I wish him the best."

"And Mr. Ashworth? Is he the reason you moved on so quickly?"

Phillip stepped in before I answered.

"That will be all."

The reporters laughed, the tension eased as we moved into the ballroom, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

"That was smooth," I murmured.

"I know, right?" He looked down at me, suddenly serious. "Oh, and I know you’re so whatever pace you need, whatever boundaries you want, I won’t push"

That guilt returned sharper now.

"Phillip—"

"You don’t have to explain, I know you’re not over him." He said it calmly, without blame. "But you’re here with me. That means something, and I’m willing to be patient."

"You deserve better than someone who’s still—"

"Let me decide what I deserve." He squeezed my hand. "Now come on. There’s champagne, dancing, and at least three ambassadors I need to charm. Let’s give them a show, darling"

We gave them a show.

Phillip was good at this small talk, charm, and making people feel important. He kept one hand on my back all night, steady and grounding, as he laughed at my jokes; he leaned close when I spoke as if every word mattered.

He looked at me like I was the only woman in the room, and the cameras loved it.

"Ms. Watson and Mr. Anderson, a quick photo?"

We posed together with his arm around my waist, my head tilted toward his shoulder. By morning, the photo would be everywhere.

"You’re a natural," Phillip said as we walked away.

"I’ve had practice."

"That wasn’t practice but rather instinct." He studied me. "You’re very good at pretending to be happy."

"Who says I’m pretending?"