Pace scoffs, waving over the crowd. “Verity Sinclaire, you’ve done more for East End in a year than Rufus Ashby did in two decades. I can’t wait to see what you do with an entire lifetime.” “He’s right, Red,” Wicker says, grinning roguishly. “And I, for one, am completely ready to be your pretty, kept Prince, so get up there and claim that title.” Lex cups my cheek, drawing me closer, and in his eyes, I see a promise that I don’t understand yet. “You’ll never be doing this alone.”
