Chapter 913:
“That’s it! No more massaging!” Robin tried to jerk his arm back. “I’m going to find Margot—she’s probably missing me.” In truth, he hadn’t seen Margot since arriving at the Scott estate. She was the perfect excuse to escape Dylan’s grip.
“Yes, that’s enough,” Christina said, her tone soft. “He’s going to see Margot. Let’s not keep him.”
Dylan let go without protest, but not without that faintly disdainful look that made Robin’s blood boil.
Gritting his teeth, Robin jabbed a finger at Dylan. “I’ll go see Margot first—and then I’ll settle this with you later.”
Robin resolved that once he saw Margot, he’d make sure she heard his side of the story.
He turned to Christina. “I’ll find you later.” With that, he strode off.
Watching his retreat, Christina chuckled. “He’s really like a kid. It’s nice to have so much energy.”
“You…” Dylan started, but stopped himself. He wanted to ask if she appreciated men like Robin—lively, full of spark. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. If she said yes, then what chance did he have?
Dylan had always been steady and reserved. Even as a child, he had never been as lively as Robin. Maybe people like Robin were simply more endearing. His grandmother certainly preferred Robin’s type—she lit up whenever Robin was around.
“What?” Christina tilted her head, her eyes full of laughter. “What were you going to say?”
In those bright eyes, Dylan thought he caught the reflection of Robin’s every move. He pushed the thought away and changed the subject. His tone softened. “Before the banquet starts, Chloe’s arranged a little game. You should check it out—or join in.”
Ⲟⲛ𝓵𝔂 𝓿𝓲𝓪 𝓬𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓼𝓲𝓽𝓮: g⍶𝓁𝓃𝗈ν𝓮𝗅𝓈⦚ⅽ𝗈𝗺
“What kind of game?” Christina asked. Chloe hadn’t said a word about it.
“No idea,” Dylan replied, shaking his head.
“Then I’ll go see for myself,” she replied, intrigued.
“Okay.” Dylan watched her go, something possessive sparking in his eyes. He wasn’t giving up—not now, not ever. Brendon wasn’t like Robin’s type either, but Christina had once chosen Brendon. That meant he still had a shot. One day, he’d be the one standing beside her—as her husband.
Christina strolled back into the banquet hall, only to find that no games were underway. Perhaps the round had already ended, or maybe it hadn’t even begun yet.
Christina plucked a glass of red wine from a passing waiter’s tray, her eyes drifting lazily over the crowd.
“You’re quite something. Robin roughed someone up for your sake,” a cutting, sarcastic voice chimed at her side.
Christina didn’t need to look. She already knew who it was—Lorraine. Lorraine’s remark made her pause, her brows drawing together in a faint crease. So Robin hadn’t fought over some personal slight—it was because someone had dared to insult her.
.
.
.