He had a soft, reassuring smile.

“You can trust him,” Hunter whispered in her ear.

“The pleasure is mine,” Andrew said with a slight dip to his head.

She handed him her purse and he walked away.

Hunter removed two glasses of champagne from the tray and handed her one.

A strange panic washed over her, she tried to push it aside but couldn’t.

Instead of saying a thing, she handed him her glass and took his. Her world settled as he sent her a puzzled look. She knew he had a thousand questions from that simple move, but as luck had it, there wasn’t time to ask or explain.

“Blackwell . . . is this her?”

“Frank Adams . . . I’d like you to meet my lovely bride, Gabriella Blackwell.”

Gabi found her hand pulled into the meaty one of Frank Adams. His accent was pure Texas, his flirty wink comical in the room full of sophistication. He wore a tux and a Stetson. It made her smile.

“My Melissa is going to be terribly disappointed,” Frank said with a lift of the eyebrow. “Then again, I assume there will be plenty of crying women when they hear you’re all snatched up, Blackwell.”

Gabi stood back and watched as Hunter engaged in a conversation with the outlandish Texan before moving away.

She leaned in. “I can’t tell if that was friendly or not.”

His lips nearly brushed her ear when he spoke. “I already told you I have no friends.”

Gabi made a sweep of the room with her eyes. “Then who are all these people?”

“Colleagues, enemies . . . acquaintances.”

From the far side of the room, she saw Andrew standing to the side, watching them. “And Andrew?”

“Well . . .”

So there was someone Hunter deemed a friend.

She didn’t have time to think on that before Hunter introduced her to the next group. “They work in my New York office,” Hunter offered as they walked away.

Gabi calculated the names into memory, moved to the next.

There were employees, partners in different professions . . . all of them eyed her with a mix of speculation and envy. Well . . . from the women, in any event.

“And you remember Tiffany.”

“Of course,” Gabi said, smiling into the weary eyes of Hunter’s personal secretary.

“Maybe now that Mr. Blackwell has a wife, you can make sure his suits are pressed and the flowers are ordered.”

Hunter shot his secretary a look that made Gabi cringe.

“Or not,” Tiffany said before moving away.

Hunter took the untouched champagne from Gabi’s hand and set it on a nearby tray.

“Senator Fillmore . . . I’d like you to meet my wife, Gabriella.”

A face she recognized. “We’ve met,” she managed as she extended her hand.

“We have?” the senator said.

“Yes, last year. I was a guest of Carter and Eliza Billings at the Hollywood fundraiser.” Carter was the former governor of California and was taking a political break for a couple of years while he and his wife adjusted to parenthood. Truth was, Carter was destined for bigger things than the governor seat, and everyone knew it. Eliza . . . well, she and Sam were the best of friends.

“How is it I don’t remember you?”

“There were over a thousand people at the event,” Gabi reminded him.

The silver-haired senator shook his head. “I won’t forget a second time.”

Hunter didn’t give her time to linger and moved them to another set of guests.

After a dozen more introductions, Gabi was ready for a break. She leaned close and whispered. “Restroom?”

“Down the hall, double doors to the master suite.”

For the first time in over an hour and a half, she left Hunter’s side.

The noise of the room started to fade as she made her way to the private, off-limits side of the home. She pushed through the closed doors and leaned against them, absorbing the quiet.

The lights turned on with her movement in the room. Soft light filled the wall behind the massive king-size bed. A dark gray coverlet draped over the mattress and the simple artwork of New York and Los Angeles skylines in black and white were the only pieces on the wall. The drapes hadn’t been drawn, giving the room a slight chill. Drawn to the sight, Gabi moved to the floor-to-ceiling windows to soak in the view.

So this is where Hunter Blackwell sleeps.

She knew he had a residence in New York as well . . . one with a view most likely more magical than the one in front of her now. She wondered, briefly, if she’d ever see it.

Cityscape had its place. The single world, one without a family . . . a life . . . a pet.

Yet even as those thoughts filled her head, she realized that she’d been living in a suburban home without any of those things . . . and no view to speak of.

She’d always wanted a puppy as a child and never had one. After her father had passed, she’d stopped asking. Then again, she was a young teen and Val had taken over as man of the house. Her mother wouldn’t stand for an animal, and then Gabi simply forgot about it.

The image of the house she and Hunter were purchasing surfaced. Maybe she could have a dog after all. An animal to depend on her. Something to come home to.

The gray slate floors and marble counter of the en suite bathroom were masculine but not deprived of texture. A simple flowering orchid sat in the center of two sinks . . . a shaver plugged into an outlet by one of the sinks. Without realizing she did so, Gabi opened a drawer, saw the usual suspects inside. Toothbrush, mouthwash . . . things of that nature. The next drawer housed an open box of condoms.