One Ring to Rule. Christa Maurice

stared at. A young woman with a lit candle on her headpiece sat down at the table near her and started laying out a tarot reading for the wife of one of the artists. At least the food was good this year. The last time she’d attended, they’d been at some sports-themed place and the food all tasted like it had once been used in play.

      “So you were really once, um, attached to the Kent Farrington.”

      “The late great.” She held up her glass in a mock toast.

      “Oh, he’s still around,” Amy murmured.

      “In fact, he’s right here,” a voice said behind her.

      Lindsey whipped around so fast that half her drink ended up on her hand. Kent leaned on a post three feet away, dressed in black jeans and a black brocade vest. He looked downright sinful. That explained the feeling of being watched.

      “What are you doing here?” she demanded.