Becoming Mrs. Blackwood
I drew in a slow breath, forcing my jaw to unclench.
If I react in anger, Camille would win. She would have succeeded in provoking me, belittling me, which was what she wanted. And I refused to give her that satisfaction.
Slowly, I lifted my chin, locking eyes with her. I smiled calmly, the kind of smile that said her words hadn’t landed nearly as deeply as she’d hoped.
“Thank you, Miss—”
“Mrs.,” Camille corrected me immediately, her jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. She lifted the hand holding her champagne flute, just enough for the enormous diamond on her finger to catch the light. “Mrs. Devereux.”
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