Gianna had barely stepped out of the tinted warmth of the SUV before the blinding, relentless strobe of press flashes erupted against her vision.
What in the hell?
Microphones were thrust over low security barriers, and the low hum of professional video rigs hummed as paparazzi and elite society journalists shouted her name.
Gianna caught her breath, freezing for a microsecond before her ingrained aristocratic training kicked in. A smooth, radiant smile snapped onto her lips, masking the sudden spike of irritation surging through her veins.
So the Becketts decided to turn a private dinner into a televised spectacle.
She should have considered it, knowing what manner of people they were, what manner of man Noah was. Of course, they would want this broadcasted, despite it being a private affair.
If anything, it would be good publicity for them, for their companies, for their image…
