Bound By Their Nine-Month Scandal (The Montero Baby Scandals 3)

“This is exactly what happened to my mother,” Angelo said as they stepped away from the entrance to a nearby alcove. “Any friends she might have made in her early years disappeared, not standing by her at all. They preferred to suck onto my father like lampreys and continue to benefit from his influence. They’re still doing it. How can you want to be counted among these blue-blooded parasites?”

“I don’t,” Pia said stiffly. “You know my feelings on parties. These weeks of making appearances, providing nothing but fodder for gossip, have been hell. I’m here for you.”

“For your parents, you mean,” he shot back. “And your father’s delicate reputation.”

“If you and I slink off, never to be seen or heard from again, my parents will be better than fine. My mother would prefer our notoriety die a quick and permanent death. No, I’m dragging myself through all of this for you. I don’t agree with your methods, but I do agree that people are backing the wrong horse. Even more, this is about how our child will be accepted in the future. That starts with us staking our right to be here now.”

She had pulled out her phone and was scrolling through her contacts as they spoke. She tapped out a text, throwing her phone back into her clutch.

“Who was that?”

“Someone who had better remember the numerous alibis her cerebral roommate provided in a desperate effort to fit in.”

“To hell with that.” Her words about their child had struck home. He took her hand and glared down the greeter as he drew Pia into the party. If this crowd thought they could ostracize him, they could try saying it to his face.

Inside, the decor marked the year change with balloons and streamers. Champagne cascaded down a pyramid of glasses. Hundreds of vintage clocks littered the ballroom, meant to be taken home as swag. A chanteuse presided over a dance floor, crooning a modern pop tune, but she was barely audible over the din of convivial guests.

The chattering voices slowly petered off as heads turned to stare, leaving the breathy singer sounding overloud. She was a professional, however, and didn’t miss a beat as she transitioned into a rendition of something from a film soundtrack.

Pia, however, wasn’t as unaffected. She dug her nails into the back of his hand.

Angelo was genuinely sorry to put her on the spot this way, but he would be damned if he would back out now.

“As usual, mi sirenita, your beauty is turning heads.” He lifted her hand to kiss her knuckles.

In the last few weeks, she had begun embracing bolder colors and styles. Tonight, she was stunning in an aqua gown with a mermaid skirt that inspired his endearment.

Predictably, a composed Mona Lisa smile was her only response.

“You have a nerve,” a man said, weaving forward through the crowd.

Darius. Angelo recognized him with a lurch in his chest. Drunk and mean, as usual.

Angelo felt both sickened and murderous. He was fourteen and helpless again, yet mature and powerful and cold-bloodedly willing to fight this man to the death.

He instinctively tried to draw Pia behind him, but she set her cool hand over his knuckles and wiggled her fingers, drawing his attention to the fact he was crushing her hand in his grip. His lungs burned and he would have shoved forward to confront Darius, but a scantily clad redhead emerged from the crowd.

“Pia!” She waved off the security guard who had been about to put his hand on Angelo’s shoulder. There really would have been bloodshed if he’d managed it.

“I’m so glad you could come!” The woman air-kissed Pia’s pale cheeks. “You all know Pia Montero,” she announced to the crowd at large. “One of my dearest friends from my misspent youth. Don’t say a word about our exploits,” she warned Pia with a girlish laugh. “And this is your infamous fiancé.” She batted her lashes at Angelo. “We’ve been hearing so much about you. Please let me introduce you around.”

* * *

As hideous evenings went, this one took the prize, but Pia recognized a turning point when she stood on one, mostly because it twisted her stomach into knots.

This had been the most blatant attempt to snub them yet, and she’d had to gather every shred of courage she possessed to tackle it. She had hated leaning on one of the very connections Angelo found so contemptuous, but it had worked. Much to her astonishment. She rarely reached out to any of her acquaintances, especially young women from boarding school. They might as well have been a different species, she’d had so little in common with them.

But along with understanding how difficult it would be to come back from any sort of retreat, she had wanted to make Angelo see that not everything in her family’s titled life was a false front for dark acts. Maybe this wasn’t “their” type of people, but that didn’t make every single person here a terrible one.

Of course, there were definitely some awful examples, she noted with an inward groan as a drunk staggered up and poked his finger into Angelo’s ruffled tuxedo shirt.

“You—”

Angelo grabbed the man’s hand in what looked like a warm, thumb-grabbing handshake that drew the man in close. Only Pia saw that he squeezed tightly enough his knuckles went white and so did the man’s face. Angelo used his other hand to grip the man’s bent arm. His thumb dug into the soft flesh above his elbow as he said, “Darius,” through gritted teeth.

Dios mio. She saw the resemblance, but only vaguely. Any good looks Darius had once possessed had been sacrificed on the altar of poor life choices.

“Angelo,” she murmured, affecting a calm smile as she glanced around.