He was watching me constantly, his glass of scotch held loosely in his hand, but his shoulders were tense.

He wanted to make sure I didn’t stray from the script.

I paused near the fireplace, where Richard Lindell was chatting with two other partners.

“The warmth of this fire is wonderful, Monica,” Richard’s wife, Clara, said, wrapping her hands around her wine glass.

“Thank you, Clara,” I said. “Derek made sure it was built up before everyone arrived.”

“He really is a thoughtful husband,” Clara said, smiling warmly.

“He cares very much about how things look,” I replied, keeping my voice soft and pleasant.

Derek appeared at my side a moment later, his arm wrapping around my waist, his fingers digging into my hip through the silk.

“Are you doing alright, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice dripping with affection. “Should we get you a chair?”

“I’m perfectly fine, Derek,” I said, looking up at him. “The pain is quite manageable right now.”

Richard turned his attention back to us, his eyes dropping to my arm once more.