Tara Pammi - Greek Mavericks - For The Greek's Revenge

“It’s over,” he said softly as he finally drew back, tucking back a dark tendril of her hair behind her ear. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“You think it’s over?” She gave him a trembling smile. “It’s only just begun.”

Darius’s expression darkened, but they were interrupted as a famous white-haired society matron covered in jewels entered the foyer behind them. Her face brightened when she saw Darius. She immediately left her much younger date to come forward and give him air-kisses.

“Darius, how lovely to see you! Thank you again for hosting this important event.” She simpered. “Though I think there will be many broken hearts when they see you brought a date—”

But as the matron turned to Letty, her smile froze. Her expression changed to shock, then outrage.

“Hello, Mrs. Alexander,” Letty said bashfully. “I don’t know if you remember, but I used to go to school with your daughter, Poppy. We were both debutantes at the—”

“Stop.” The woman’s eyes blazed. “Don’t you dare speak to me.” Looking back at Darius, she hissed, “Do you know who this girl is? What she’s done?”

He looked at her coldly. “Of course I know who Letty is. We’ve been friends since childhood. And as for what she’s done—I think you have her confused with her father.”

The woman turned to Letty with narrowed eyes. “You have some nerve coming here. Your father stole money from nearly every person attending tonight.” She looked at Darius incredulously. “And you are insane to bring her. Take my advice. Send Letitia Spencer straight out the door. Or you might find that you suddenly have no guests, and your charity will suffer. For what? So you can get that little tart in your bed?” She looked pointedly at Letty’s belly. “Or perhaps you did that already?”

Letty’s cheeks went hot. She suddenly felt like a tart, too, wearing this low-cut, formfitting pink dress that showed off every curve. Beneath the society matron’s scrutiny, even her beautiful sparkly shoes lost their gleam, and suddenly just pinched her feet.

“It’s only out of respect for those poor foster children that I’m not leaving here right now.” The woman glared between them, then flounced away in her jewels and fluttering silk sleeves.

Letty was left paralyzed from the ambush.

“Don’t listen to her,” Darius said, putting his hand on her shoulder. “She’s a witch.”

“I don’t blame her for being mad,” Letty said in a low voice. “Her family lost a lot of money. Tens of millions.”

“It obviously hasn’t cut into her jewelry and plastic-surgery budget. Forget her. Let’s go in.”

Wrapping her arm securely over his, he marched her into the ballroom as cheerfully as a revolutionary leading a French aristocrat to the guillotine.

But it was no good. The rest of the evening was just as Letty had feared. As lovely and magical as the afternoon had been, the ball sucked the joy out of everything.

Darius insisted on keeping her by his side as he greeted his society guests, each of whom had paid thousands of dollars to attend this ball, ostensibly for the benefit of college scholarships for foster kids but mostly just to have a good excuse to party with friends and show off new couture.

Letty felt their hostile stares, though with Darius beside her, none were as brave or foolhardy as Mrs. Alexander. None of them said anything to her face. Instead, the cream of New York society just stared at her in bewildered horror, as if she had a contagious and fatal disease, then looked at Darius as if they were waiting for him to reveal the punch line of whatever joke had inspired him to bring a pariah like Letitia Spencer to the Fall Ball when he could have had any beauty in the city for the asking.

She heard whispers and felt their hard stares as she and Darius passed through the crowds in the ballroom. When he briefly left her to get drinks, she felt vulnerable, alone. She kept her eyes focused on the floor, trying to be quiet and invisible, as if facing wild animals. If they didn’t notice her, they might not tear her to shreds with their teeth and claws.

It didn’t work.

Within moments, three former debutantes blocked her like bouncers at a bar.

“Well, well, well.” A skinny young woman in a designer gown gave her a hard-edged smile. “Letitia Spencer. This is a surprise. Isn’t it, Caroline?”

“A big surprise.”

Letty vaguely recognized the two women from her school, where they’d been a year older. They were looking at her now with the cold expressions of mob enforcers. She could suddenly imagine how her father must have felt right before that thug had broken his arm.

But the third woman stood a slight distance from the first two. It was Poppy Alexander. She and Letty had once been study partners, sophomore year. Poppy just stood there, looking pale and uneasy.

“Excuse me.” Letty backed away. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“You don’t want trouble?” The first woman’s lip twisted scornfully. “How very amusing.”

“Amusing,” Caroline echoed with a sneer.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“You’re a disgrace to society.”

“If you had any decency, you’d disappear or die.”

Poppy stood silently beside her friends, looking faintly sick, as if she wished she were a million miles away. Letty sympathized with that feeling.

The first woman continued with a sneer, “You might think you’re safe on Darius Kyrillos’s arm, but...”

“Ah, there you are, Letty,” Darius said smoothly, coming up behind them. “I brought your drink.” Turning to the other women, he gave a charming smile. “Ah. Augusta. Caroline. And Poppy Alexander. How lovely to see you.”

“Hello, Darius,” they cooed with weak smiles, then departed, the first two with a final venomous glance at Letty, Poppy hanging her head, looking guilty and ashamed.

Emotions Letty knew well.

“Everything all right?” Darius murmured after they left.

She exhaled, blinking fast. “Fine. Just fine.”

The night only got worse. It was past ten when the formal dinner was finally served, and Letty felt half-starved as she sat down beside Darius at the prestigious head table. But as she felt the glares from the four other couples at the table, she could barely eat a bite of salad or the lobster with white truffle cream. At any moment, she half expected one of the hedge fund millionaires or society wives might smash a three-hundred-dollar champagne bottle against the table and attack her with it.

That might have been preferable to the waves of unspoken hatred overtaking her like a blast of heat from all sides. During the unendurably long meal, Darius tried several times to start conversations with the others at the table. Each time, he succeeded. Until he tried to include her. Then the conversation instantly died.

Finally, Letty could stand it no longer.

“Excuse me,” she breathed, rising from her seat. “I have to—”

She couldn’t finish her sentence. Turning, she rushed past all the other tables and out of the ballroom. Going down the long hall, she found a ladies’ bathroom, where she was violently sick. Going to the sink, she washed out her mouth. She looked at herself wanly in the mirror. She felt like she’d rather die than go back into that ballroom and see Darius trying to stick up for her.

Better for her to just leave quietly. Better for both of them.

After lingering as long as she could in the cool quiet of the empty, marble bathroom, with the old-fashioned elegance of a more genteel era, she went out into the hallway.

She found Darius waiting for her, smolderingly handsome in his tuxedo, leaning against the wall with his arms folded and his jaw tight.

“Are you all right?”