Behaving had never been my strong suit.

I was standing beside the governor’s son, overlooking the crowded room, when I reached my limit.

“I don’t know which sags more.” He gestured at an older lady on the dance floor. “Her tits or her ass.”

Giggles erupted from his flock of socialites. The meaner his insults, the louder they laughed.

“What do you think, Tinsley?” He flashed a reptilian smile.

“I think she’s lovely.” I stroked the rim of my wineglass. “Which is more than I can say for the past ten minutes in your company. You’re such a miserable sack of shit you can’t stop the stench from bubbling past your lips.”

Fury reddened his cheeks. “You little fucking—”

I tripped, feigning clumsiness, and splashed red wine across his face and down his tux.

“Whoops. Looks like I need another drink.” I handed off my empty glass and breezed past him, relishing his stunned silence.

Childish? Totally. But oh-so-satisfying.

My mother would hear about it, and I couldn’t bring myself to care. Though I should.

It didn’t matter that I’d moved away from Bishop’s Landing and fallen in love with an outsider. I was still the precious princess. The belle of every ball. Heiress to the Constantine dynasty.

Every day, I endeavored to be something more.

Something deeper than money.

Stronger than privilege.

Better than my family name.

I’d spent the past year in the White Mountains in Maine, sowing my dreams, surrounded by rescued animals, and isolated from the greed and the corruption and the power games.

There, I could pretend I wasn’t a Constantine.

There, my smile was as pure and real as the alpine air.

But I had obligations, and one of them was to spend the winter holidays here, attending formal events while wearing a smile that felt like plastic on my face.

Grin and bear it as they say.

My husband wasn’t thrilled to be here, either. But if Magnus could endure my mother’s dinner parties, I could, too.

Maybe.

Tonight was supposed to be a small gathering, just close friends and family to welcome me home. But Caroline Constantine’s idea of small amounted to dozens of the most powerful players in Bishop’s Landing.

Oh, how my mother loved her fancy parties.

Cultured voices swirled around me as I strolled among the glitter of gowns and tuxedos. Clinking crystal. Cloying perfume. The thrum of a harp. Amid it all, I felt him.

His gaze traced the length of my exposed spine, licking my skin with fire. He chose this backless dress for me and hadn’t let me forget a single cutout, slit, or cinch of its fabric since the moment we’d arrived.

The clingy gown wasn’t the reason he watched me like a calculating predator. Magnus kept me under constant surveillance because he was protective, jealous, and possessive. Because I was his.