Chapter 461
Jonathan Thomas couldn’t take his eyes off Niamh Rivers, his gaze flickering with an intensity that belied his calm demeanor.
There was a time when he’d believed Niamh was cut out for nothing more than being a devoted housewife-cooking, cleaning, tending to every little chore. Her only virtue, he’d thought, was her skill in the kitchen and her tireless willingness to please. Like a top-tier nanny, really.
Now, sitting in the midst of this glittering crowd, Jonathan found it hard to reconcile the Niamh in front of him with the woman he remembered from their years together.
Ever since their so-called divorce, he’d become increasingly certain that he’d never truly known Niamh at all.
When did she become a master at BYC? What history did she share with
Elmer White? He had no idea.
He could easily hire someone to dig up the answers.
But he hadn’t.
He told himself he didn’t care about Niamh’s past. In truth, he was afraid of what he might find-especially if it involved her and Elmer.
Jonathan’s gaze tracked Niamh as she moved gracefully through the
room.
Tonight, she was breathtaking-not just beautiful, but radiant, exuding an air of effortless luxury. Draped in a white mink shawl, she looked every bit the picture of elegance and poise.
There were plenty of stunning women at the gala-actresses, socialites, women dressed to impress-yet Niamh outshone them all, making everyone else fade into the background.
If Niamh lacked anything tonight, it was a companion worthy of standing
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by her side.
Almost without thinking, Jonathan took a step in her direction. He hadn’t gone more than a couple paces before someone’s hand closed around
his.
He tensed, bristling instinctively, as if a chill had run down his spine.
“Jonathan, it’s me…”
Marina Thornton’s voice came from beside him.
It took him a moment to register-Marina was the one holding his hand.
He quietly slipped his hand out of hers and caught sight of her face, eyes brimming with tears, her lips trembling in a silent plea.
He frowned, but his resolve softened.
He knew all too well that he’d been neglecting Marina lately.
He hadn’t even brought her to the gala tonight. The only reason she was here at all was that she’d begged Michael Burton for an invitation.
Michael had little affection left for Marina, but one extra ticket was hardly
too much to ask.
Marina was convinced she’d see Jonathan tonight.
And Niamh, too.
Now she stood beside him, watching as Niamh wove her way through the
crowd to where Preston Winslow was waiting.
Preston’s eyes lit up as Niamh approached, as if someone had polished them to a shine.
“Niamh, you look incredible tonight,” he said, his admiration unmistakable.
“Only tonight?” Niamh teased, a playful glimmer in her eyes.
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“No, no-you’re always stunning. But tonight, you’re… well, even more so.”
Niamh, a little embarrassed by the compliment, looked down and
rummaged in her clutch. She pulled out a small gift box and handed it to Preston. “I finally finished it,” she said.
“For me?” Preston asked, surprised.
She nodded.
He opened the box to find a lapel pin-sleek, understated, with a touch of modern flair. Crafted in white gold, it gleamed with a cold, elegant sheen. The pin was set with emeralds and tiny diamonds, the design both refined and unique.
Preston was so touched he nearly burst into tears, covering his mouth
with one hand.
Watching his reaction, Niamh couldn’t help but think he was being a little dramatic-like she’d just proposed to him in front of everyone.
“You designed this yourself?” Preston asked.
“Of course. I even set the stones myself!”
“I absolutely love you for this!” Preston declared, pulling Niamh into a fierce hug.
Nearby, Michael adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, his narrow eyes narrowing further behind the lenses as he took in the scene.
Peter sipped his champagne, finding the taste less impressive than the spectacle before him.
And Marina, ever the observer, studied Jonathan’s shifting demeanor. She could feel the storm brewing inside him, every subtle change in his posture betraying more than he realized.
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