The waiter actually returned with antiseptic wipes and gauze. After Preston Winslow finished bandaging Niamh's injured finger, he hurried back to his seat.
He had no idea why he'd gotten so anxious about Niamh a moment ago, as if under some strange spell.
Especially with Jonathan sitting right there.
Jonathan might not care much for Niamh, but she was still his wife—at least on paper.
Preston's nerves were frayed, and to cover it up, he busied himself with his lobster, tearing off the shell in silence.
Marina noticed Preston making no further gestures toward Niamh and felt a wave of relief.
She didn't have to like Preston, but Preston absolutely had to like her. Even if he someday fell for someone else, it certainly couldn't be Niamh.
In Marina's mind, Niamh didn't deserve anything except to serve as a foil—someone who made Marina look all the more impressive.
Dinner dragged on. Niamh barely touched her food, her thoughts elsewhere.
In the end, she still didn't get the last coveted spot for Luminous Divas Fashion Week.
All her efforts had been for nothing.
To say she wasn't disappointed would be a lie.
But compared to circling around with Jonathan, only to watch the precious gem he'd promised her end up in Marina's hands, this setback felt almost trivial.
When dinner was over, Niamh paid the bill.
She only covered her own meal and Preston's.
Jonathan took care of the rest.
"We're square now," Niamh said, turning on her heel and heading out.
Preston wanted to go after her.
He wasn't even sure why. Maybe he just wanted to apologize—he hadn't meant for Niamh to spend her money on him. Or maybe he wanted to promise he'd treat her next time.
But Preston didn't get the chance. Marina called out to him.
"Preston, what exactly did Niamh owe you?"
He hesitated. "Oh, it's nothing…"
Jonathan, picking up on his hesitation, glanced over.
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