pictures they hunted her down for. They didn’t want to look for the truth, the deeper truth of who she was, of what she’d survived.
But the man’s expression disappeared so quickly that Trinity wondered if she was just being paranoid because of her current situation. Now his cool gaze trailed down her sapphire gown, one of the few Michael had personally picked out for her. For once, Trinity wasn’t left feeling vulnerable and exposed. Instead a small wave of unexpected heat flowed over her.
“Needed a little breather from the party?” he asked quietly.
Though it was probably a banal piece of small talk, Trinity was shaken at how much it echoed her own thoughts. She tried to brush it off. “These things do tend to get a little stuffy at times.”
“I agree. In many ways.”
Goodness, that grin reached all the way to the core of her. Something Trinity had never experienced before…and wasn’t really comfortable experiencing now.
To her relief, his gaze moved past her to the elaborate cream-and-gold walls of the rotunda, pausing at each of the twelve specially chosen pieces displayed permanently within this space. “This isn’t just peaceful. It’s unique. Gorgeous,” he said, his voice deepening in a way that sent a tingle down her spine.
What was wrong with her tonight?
“You’ve never been here before?” she asked to fill the silence.
Part of her was resentful that this man, and the sensations he seemed to be calling to the surface, had interrupted her time in this special space. The other part of her couldn’t quell the fascination that kept popping up in unexpected, uninvited ways.
I’m a widow, dang it. A recent one.
Unaware of her inner turmoil, the man answered, “No. This is my first time. My first time in New Orleans, actually.” He held out a hand. “I’m Rhett Butler. Nice to meet you.”
Trinity felt her mouth drop open in a most unladylike way. “Seriously?”
“No,” he said, flashing another hundred-watt smile, “actually my name is Rhett Brannon. But when in the South…”
Stinker. “That’s good. I was beginning to think your parents had a strange sense of humor.” Not that his dark good looks and riveting charisma wouldn’t allow him to double for Rhett Butler.
Something deep inside warned her not to make nice. The outstretched hand reminded her of a snake she knew was dangerous. It caused a combination of fascination and fear in her suspicious brain. She couldn’t risk one misstep in the game Michael had begged her to play.
She stretched her hand out and politely shook. “Thank you. I’m Trinity, Trinity—Hyatt.”
Her hesitation was automatic. Even after almost two months, she had a hard time grasping that her last name had changed, that there was now a paramount need to present herself as Michael’s wife. He had counted on her. The charity counted on her. She had to do the right thing.
“Trinity, huh?” Rhett said, not showing any recognition of who she was. Was he simply a good actor? Or did he really not know? “That’s an interesting name, too.”
Definitely. “My mother was highly religious.” She let a small smile stretch her lips. “I’ve always wondered if it was a reminder to me. To never forget the Father, Son and Holy Ghost.”
“And have you?”
She was startled enough to answer honestly. “Some days are easier than others.”
The rueful grin that stretched his lips fascinated her more than it should have. “I can agree with that,” he said.
A small silence fell, bringing with it that uncomfortable sense of awareness of his masculinity and presence. It only eased a little as he motioned for them to stroll farther around the rotunda.
At least she didn’t have to look directly into those mesmerizing eyes. But the silence didn’t sit well with her. “So what brings you to NOLA?” she asked.
“Business. Some people I’ll be working with brought me along tonight.”
“Generous of them.”
His grunt could have been a confirmation, but she suspected she heard a bit of skepticism behind the sound.
“Are you here with your husband?”
Surprise shot through her, until her quick glance found his gaze resting on the band encircling her ring finger, the tiny cluster of emeralds and diamonds twinkling in the lights from above. “No,” she murmured. “I’m a widow.”
It still felt weird saying it out loud. It still felt strange to realize she and Michael had been married. For her, it had essentially been a business proposition—with infinite benefits considering the fortune she stood to inherit. And a favor to the man who had been her best friend, even if it had turned out to be the hardest job she’d ever faced.
And she faced it alone, now that Michael was gone.
Rhett cocked his head to the side, an obvious question in his expression.
“My…husband, Michael Hyatt, passed away recently in an accident.”
Rhett’s nod was slow and sage. “Yes, I believe I heard about that. Helicopter accident, wasn’t it? Very sad.”
Of course, he would have heard of it. Michael had not just been a lifelong friend and the owner of the charity Trinity had run for him, he’d also been a wildly successful, multimillion-dollar businessman. The question was, what else had he heard?
As if he sensed her subtle withdrawal, Rhett paused to meet her gaze head on. There was nowhere for her to hide. “Please accept my sincere condolences for your loss.”
Startled, she felt pinned by both his look and his words. His wasn’t one of the trite I’m sorrys that preceded the endless questions she wished she never had to answer again.
“Thank you,” she said simply.
“You’re welcome.” A smaller version of his grin appeared, but dang if it wasn’t just as charming.
For a moment, Trinity found herself drifting, wishing she wasn’t Michael’s widow, wasn’t the most talked-about person in New Orleans at the moment, and was simply a woman who could respond to that smile without a worry in the world.
But she wasn’t. Time ticked inside her head, counting off the seconds until someone realized she was missing from the elite crowd.
“I really should be getting back,” she said. Someone had surely noticed she was gone by now. Especially Michael’s aunt and uncle. They didn’t miss a move that she made.
And neither did the press.
Defeat weighed down on her as she remembered reading today’s post and photos on the NOLA Secrets & Scandals blog. She’d never have noticed it on her own. Jenny, her secretary, had pointed it out. The hints about a money-hungry widow threatening the livelihoods of countless families gave her an
