No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 10

Seeing that Ian had no intention of stopping, Eleanor had no choice but to follow him, swallowing her impatience.

The black Rolls-Royce Phantom cut through the snowy dusk, gliding up the drive of a sprawling private estate.

A doorman in a crisp tailcoat hurried over and opened the door with a practiced bow.

She stepped out, following Ian into the grand foyer. With quiet efficiency, the staff led them down a corridor lined with gilt-framed paintings and marble columns, until they reached a small, lavishly decorated reception hall.

Overhead, a three-tiered crystal chandelier spilled light like star dust, each prism refracting a cascade of glittering colors across the room.

By the rose-gold drinks cabinet, three young men were already seated. A sommelier in a dove-gray vest was mixing cocktails for them with deft hands.

"Ian, there you are!" One of the men stood up, greeting him with easy warmth.

"And this must be Mrs. Goodwin! I've heard so much about you—it's a pleasure to finally meet you." His eyes sparkled as he turned to Eleanor.

"Hello, Eleanor."

"Welcome, welcome. I'm Henry Holt, an old friend of Ian's—and your host for tonight's little gathering."

Eleanor recognized the name—Henry was the second son of the Holt Group, a major real estate family back home.

The other two men also seemed well-acquainted with Ian. They rose to introduce themselves, and though Eleanor didn't recognize their names, their easy confidence suggested they, too, came from prominent families.

"Ian, come here for a second." Henry slung an arm around Ian's shoulders and led him away for a private word, leaving Eleanor by the drinks cabinet.

"Mrs. Goodwin, would you prefer wine or juice?" The sommelier smiled, attentive.

"Juice, please," Eleanor replied.

Just then, new arrivals entered—the door swung open to admit two couples. The first pair, arm in arm, looked every bit the married set; behind them followed a man in an impeccably tailored gray suit and a striking woman beside him—Vanessa.

Draped in a black evening gown that hugged every curve, Vanessa wore a regal purple shawl over her shoulders, set off by elegant jewelry. She was the very picture of refined glamour, with an undercurrent of smoldering allure.

As soon as Vanessa's gaze landed on Eleanor, she froze, clearly caught off guard that Ian had brought his wife. But in a heartbeat, her lips curled into a sly, unreadable smile.

The young man accompanying Vanessa recognized Eleanor and approached her with a polite grin. "Mrs. Goodwin, do you remember me?"

Eleanor thought he looked vaguely familiar, but couldn't place him.

"I'm Xavier Vaughn—I attended your wedding to Ian, remember?"

"Ellie."

"Joel."

She fought to keep her excitement in check. "Joel, I can't believe you're here."

"Neither can I! I never expected to see you tonight." Joel looked her over with a fond smile—it had been months since they'd last met.

Ian and Henry finished their conversation and walked over, just in time to see another man chatting with Eleanor. Ian's brow furrowed slightly at the sight.

At that moment, a pale hand slipped around Ian's wrist—Vanessa, radiant and poised, stopped him in his tracks. "Why didn't you answer my call earlier?"

Ian smoothly disentangled himself. "I'll explain later."

Vanessa gave an understanding smile, but her eyes lingered on Joel, who was still deep in conversation with Eleanor. He was a new face—definitely not one of their usual crowd.

Who was he? Why did he seem so familiar with Eleanor?

Tonight's guest list was stacked with high-fliers from every field. How could a woman who'd spent so many years as a homemaker back home possibly know someone like that?