Chapter 5 PUBLIC APPEARANCES

Ivy's POV

It felt like a gradual march to my demise on the vehicle trip to the gala. Even though my clothing was lovely, it felt too tight and confining, and my palms were slippery with perspiration. Sitting next to me, poised in his fitted suit, was Griffin. The man appeared as though he had just stepped out of a magazine, utterly unaffected by the experience that lay ahead of us.

He broke the heavy stillness by saying, "You'll be fine."

"Simple for you to say," I retorted, sounding harsher than I meant to. "This is what you've been doing all your life."

His expression softened slightly as he turned to face me. "Ivy, you don't need to win over everyone. Simply follow the fundamentals. Grin. Give a nod. Let me take care of the rest.

"Remain true to the basics?" I said it again in a disbelieving tone. "Griffin, rubbing elbows with millionaires and posing for cameras are not the basics for me."

"It does now," he stated plainly, his assurance both frustrating and somehow comforting.

I inhaled deeply while gazing out the window at the hazy city lights. For the next six months, this would have to be my world even though it wasn't.

The enormous ballroom, a setting only seen in movies, served as the venue for the gala. The mellow notes of a live orchestra blended with the hum of conversation, and the throng was bathed in a warm glow from the crystal chandeliers. As soon as we entered, I felt like there were a hundred eyes on me, and I put my arm around Griffin's.

He muttered, his lips hardly moving, "Breathe."

I whispered back, "I am breathing," even though my chest felt constricted.

With the ease of someone who owned the place, he guided me around it, pausing occasionally to greet me. Every introduction was a jumble of faces and names that I couldn't recall. As he had directed, all I could do was nod and grin.

"Griffin, my love!"

The air was sliced like a knife by the sugary voice. A tall, beautiful woman with confidence in every step walked toward us, and I felt sick to my stomach. Her outfit fit her body like it was custom-made, and her dark hair was styled in a sophisticated updo.

With a clipped and icy tone, Griffin said, "Marissa."

Despite his lack of enthusiasm, she purred, "It's been too long." Her calculating, piercing eyes darted to me. "And who is this?"

Without wasting a beat, Griffin tightened his arm around mine and whispered, "My wife." "This is Marissa Blackwell, Ivy."

My heart stopped beating. Blackwell? I was smacked with the name like a ton of bricks. She was, of course, his former fiancée. She didn't appear overly excited about being replaced, based on the way she was staring at me.

She offered me a hand and said, "Charmed." Her tone was as phony as her grin.

"The same," I said, making myself shake her hand. Her nails dug a little into my flesh, and her grip was tight.

Her eyes darted to my outfit as she remarked, "I must say, Griffin, you've certainly... downgraded," with a cheesy smile. "But everyone has their reasons, I guess."

My cheeks started to go hot, but Griffin intervened before I could react.

"Be careful, Marissa," he urged in a low, menacing voice. "Ivy is far more than you could ever imagine."

Marissa's eyes narrowed and her grin wavered. After a minute, she remarked in a cold voice, "Touché." "Well, I'll let you two do it alone. Have fun this evening.

With her head held high, she strolled away. I released a breath I had been holding without realizing it.

"What was that about?" I turned to Griffin and asked.

With his teeth clenched, he remarked, "Marissa has a knack for making things unpleasant."

"Obviously." I looked around, acutely conscious of the inquisitive looks directed at us. "Is she always...?"

With a concluding tone, he interrupted, "She's always been like this." "Avoid letting her affect you."

I nodded, albeit it's easier said than done.

Forced smiles and courteous banter filled the remainder of the evening. In the sea of unknown faces, Griffin remained by my side, his presence a steady anchor. But even after his assurances, I continued to feel as though I didn't belong.

Before we could respond, a photographer arrived with his camera flashing as we were about to depart.

"Mr. Blackwell! Mrs. Blackwell! A fast picture for the headline tomorrow? His tone was enthusiastic as he requested.

Griffin pulled me in by slipping his arm around my waist. "Obviously," he said with ease.

I was temporarily blinded by the brilliant flash as the camera snapped. With my heart racing, I turned to face Griffin as the photographer eventually left.

"Isn't that going to be everywhere?" I inquired.

"Yes," he said, his face inscrutable. "That's the main idea."

I took a deep breath as the truth of our arrangement struck me once more.

I was exhausted both mentally and physically by the time we returned to the penthouse. As soon as we entered the room, I sank down on the couch and kicked off my heels. Griffin undid his necktie while observing me with a mixture of interest and an inexplicable other emotion.

After a minute, he said, "You did well tonight."

I laughed a little dryly. "Yes," if you mean "didn't completely humiliate myself" when you say "well."

He sat down opposite me and grinned. "You were better than most at handling Marissa."

"Is she that way all the time? I rambled on, trying to find the correct term.

"Vicious?" he said.

"Unpleasant is what I was going to say, but that also works."

Griffin's smile vanished as his face became grave. Marissa is a person who dislikes losing. She also considered herself the loser tonight.

As his words sank in, I scowled. "What made you stand up for me?"

His strong, unwavering gaze was fixed on mine. You are my wife, that's why. No one treats you disrespectfully when you're with me, whether that's true or not.

His comments made me feel strangely warm, and I gasped. He rose before I could answer, his imposing presence resonating throughout the room.

With a calmer tone, he said, "Get some rest." "Tomorrow will be equally challenging."

He then turned to leave, leaving me to think on my own. My thoughts were racing as I leaned back and stared at the ceiling. This was intended to be a straightforward, transactional agreement. But, it seemed as though the boundaries were becoming morehazy with each second that went by.

Furthermore, I wasn't sure how long I could avoid getting emotionally involved.