A Rivalry of Hearts

Chapter 33

The last thing I need is to be close to William right now. What I need is a distraction. Peace in his absence. Which is exactly why I arrived at the ballroom early this evening to help the staff prepare for tomorrow’s gala. William and I already agreed to reconvene at nine to meet with the event coordinator. I figured if I was early for once, I wouldn’t have to risk meeting William on the way. Or getting stuck in an elevator with him and remembering all the delicious things that happened the last time we were alone in one.

So how the hell did I end up setting tables with him? And not just tables in general, but the very same table. Again and again.

At first, it’s enough to simply ignore him. The ballroom holds plenty to admire and keep my awareness of his presence at bay. It boasts more of the hotel’s organic charm, with its curved twining walls that sprout flowering branches at intervals where ornate lanterns hang. The floor is a gleaming cherrywood inlaid with a spiraling floral pattern. The layout for the event is only partially set up, with tables on one side, an empty stage on the other, and a dance floor in between.

But there’s only so much of my surroundings I can admire before they pale against William’s beauty. My eyes are trained on his every move, transfixed as his capable fingers lay out plates and utensils. The air seems to sizzle between us, like a current that fights to drag me closer to him.

“Must you follow me, William?” I say when he tails me to the fourth table in a row.

He arches a brow as if he can’t fathom my annoyance. “It’s faster if we work together.” He retrieves a white silk cloth from a nearby cart and spreads it haphazardly over the bare table. With a nod, he gestures for me to take the other end.

Gritting my teeth, I clasp the edge of the cloth and tug it over my side of the circular table. “Why are you even here?”

“Aubrey mentioned a shortage of staff to help set up tonight, so I offered my services.”

I frown. “Who’s Aubrey?”

“The event coordinator.”

“You met her already? I thought we weren’t meeting her until nine.”

“She visited my room to propose an idea for my auction, but there’s still more to discuss.”

Something hot flares inside me at the thought of an unknown woman coming to his room. I tug the tablecloth so hard, William loses his grip on his side.

A wicked grin spreads over his face. “Are you jealous, Weenie?”

“Of course I’m not jealous. Why would I be jealous?”

His chuckle tells me he’s not at all convinced. He tugs the cloth back toward his side until it’s even. “You have all the power here. You hold the free pass. You hold the ability to let me end our bet and keep me from straying to anyone else.”

I scoff, smoothing out the wrinkles over the tabletop with more force than necessary. “You’re the one who said you don’t want to play with me anymore.”

Silence falls between us until I dare to meet his eyes. His expression has my lungs tightening. It’s the same way he looked at me from across the elevator that night. “I want to play with you,” he says, voice low. “I want to play with every inch of you from now until sunrise, but I don’t want it to be a game.”

I grip the nearby chair to steady myself. “What do you mean by that?”

His throat bobs. “This isn’t a game for me.”

My heart rackets against my ribs. Does he mean…his feelings for me?

He shakes his head and smooths out the cloth on his end. “The contract,” he says as if reading my mind. “It’s not a game. I need it.”

My shoulders slump. Whether with relief or disappointment, I know not.

“Yet I have to play to win, right?” His tone is bitter, and his smoothing motions turn rough. With a heavy sigh, he plants his hands on the table, head hung low. “I really need this.”

I bite the inside of my cheek and retrieve a stack of plates from the cart. I approach his side of the table and hand him half the stack. “For Cassie?”

He doesn’t meet my eyes as he accepts the plates. “Yes, for Cassie.”

Guilt plagues me as I spread out the fine porcelain items. I’m fully aware that my desires stand in the way of those belonging to someone so special to him. He must know it isn’t personal. I have nothing against her. Or him. “She’s a charming girl. I like her.”

“Charming is a word,” he says with a huff of laughter. “She’s a troublemaker.”

“You care about her.”

“She calls it fussing.”

We finish setting out the plates and move on to utensils. I nibble my bottom lip before asking a question I know might be too invasive. “You mentioned before that Cassie is unwell. That you didn’t want her to get a job because of her constitution. Is it a chronic condition?”

He doesn’t answer at once, but when he speaks, his tone holds a serious quality. “She has a degenerative disease, one the medical community doesn’t quite understand. Her immunity is weak. She’s just like Lydia.”

“Is that your mother?”

“Cassie’s mother by blood. Mine by love. Our parents met when Cassie was still a baby. Lydia conceived her with a costar from one of the plays she acted in, but he wasn’t interested in compromising his career to raise a child.”

“She was an actress?”

He nods. “That’s how she met my father. He was obsessed with the arts. And women. I thought he’d stay with Lydia. Well, I suppose their relationship held a record for him by the time he left.”

I note the way his tone darkens when he talks about his father. The way he clasps the spoons in his hand a little tighter.

“I wouldn’t wish my father on anyone,” he says under his breath, “but if Cassie shared his blood, she’d have some fae healing.”

The pain in his voice has my heart softening. Cracking. Flooding with warmth and hurt and sympathy. Before I can think better of it, I round the table until I’m at his side. He won’t meet my gaze as he continues to set out flatware, so I lay a hand on his arm, stilling him.

My brows knit as I look up at him. “You’re really worried about her. It’s more than just fussing, as she calls it, isn’t it?”

He meets my eyes and his expression is so broken, so open and vulnerable, my throat constricts.

I swallow the tightness as more and more understanding falls into place. “Did Lydia…did she die from the conditions she shares with Cassie?”

He gives me a slow nod.

My bottom lip trembles. “Will…”

“It scares me that humans can be so fragile,” he whispers, his eyes locked on mine. “I never thought I’d love one?—”

He snaps his mouth shut as footsteps echo over the floors behind us. His vulnerable expression disappears behind a calculated mask, one so convincing it makes me question whether I imagined the soft moment we just shared.

He turns to face the interloper while I’m stuck on what he left unsaid. What was that about love? He was on the verge of confessing something important, I just know it.

Could it have been about June?

Or…could I be so vain as to think it might have had to do with me?

“There they are,” says a feminine voice.

It takes no small effort to draw myself out of my head—until I lay my eyes on the female fae who must be Aubrey. She’s as stunning as the ballroom around us with a curvaceous figure, enormous violet eyes, and blonde hair that melts into a pale blue at the ends. She’s outfitted in a blouse and skirt in a similar style to mine, but the folds and pleats suit her hourglass frame so well they must be custom made. Then there are the iridescent wings folded down her back. They remind me of a dragonfly’s but much larger to match the proportions of her humanoid form.

She stops before us and introduces herself to me. I give her a cordial greeting and hazard a glance at William, seeking any sign of lingering distress after our conversation. He looks fully at ease.

Maybe I imagined it after all. Maybe he was tugging my heartstrings on purpose. Maybe the game we’re playing has changed.

I do my best to cast the interaction out of my mind and remain rooted in the present.

Aubrey details tomorrow’s gala. “There will be dinner, dancing, and over a hundred auctions, all of which you are welcome to participate in. And I do mean all of you, even Daphne and Mr. Phillips, especially when it comes to dancing.”

She hands me two floral-patterned cards, each strung with a silk ribbon. I open one, finding a list of dances and an open space beside each. I haven’t held a dance card in years. Not since my debut social season.

“Please give one of these to Daphne,” Aubrey says, “so she can participate as well, should she so desire. Everyone who turns in their dance card at the end of the night will raise ten sapphire rounds for every dance that is filled. All proceeds go to the Faerwyvae Literary Society to support literacy outreach in rural towns, for seelie and unseelie children alike.”

“That’s a cause I can get behind,” I say as I tuck the cards in my skirt pocket.

“Lovely. Now, as our honored guests, you need to confirm your featured auction. William, have you considered the date I proposed?”

My heart leaps into my throat. A date? What does she mean by that?

“I’ve thought about it.” He glances at me sidelong. “Do you mind explaining it again?”

“Of course. My proposed auction for you is a date with a fan. Bidding starts at ten sapphire rounds. The highest bidder gets to spend an afternoon with you. In public, of course, and you can set the agenda. How does that sound?”

It takes several rapid beats of my heart before my mind catches up with what she’s proposing. My first thought was that she was asking William on a date. I’m only a tiny bit relieved that she was presenting an idea for an auction. There’s still a piece of me that burns to think of him alone with anyone else. Anyone who participates in his auction will surely have romance in mind.

“Sure,” William says after a stretch of silence, sending my stomach plummeting to my feet.

Why did I hope he’d refuse? What reason does he have when I wouldn’t let him dissolve our bet? If this date takes place before the end of our tour, he can turn it into an opportunity to earn a point. That’s why he asked her to repeat his proposal out loud. He’s trying to get under my skin.

“Great,” Aubrey says, then turns to me. “For you, I was thinking of an annotated copy of one of your books.”

A sliver of disappointment strikes me. After her idea for William’s auction, I thought mine might be something a little more sensational or exciting. Something that might make William as jealous as I’m feeling.

I shake my head to clear it. “Yes, that’s…great.”

“You already have an annotated copy.” William bumps his shoulder into mine, and it takes all my restraint not to shudder at the touch.

I blink at him, blinded by the crooked smile he gives me.

“It’s a copy of my book,” he says, “but it is annotated by both of us.”

Heat floods my cheeks as I realize what he’s referring to. The book we’ve exchanged back and forth, now filled with insults and crude altered poems. I tucked it in my carpet bag after the Winter Court signing and haven’t looked at it since.

Aubrey’s gaze volleys between us, amusement dancing in her eyes. “What’s this about? You annotated a book together?”

William turns his attention to the coordinator, his false persona firmly in place. His tone comes out haughty. “It’s sort of a silly game we’ve played, writing notes back and forth during our signings.”

That contrived tone paired with how he called it a silly game ignites a wave of ire in me. Not to mention the fact that he told a stranger about it. I don’t know when our book became a precious secret to me but hearing him dismiss it like that sends a spear of betrayal straight through my chest.

“I love that idea,” Aubrey says with a decisive clap. “Is that your choice of contribution, Miss Danforth?”

“Yes, Miss Danforth, what do you say?” William faces me with a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. It’s a look I can’t read. Is he challenging me? Taunting me? “Might as well get rid of it for a good cause.”

“Fine,” I say curling my fingers into fists while I force a shrug. “One person’s trash is another’s treasure.”

“If it was trash,” William whispers, leaning slightly closer, “you should have thrown it away back when you said you would.”

My pulse quickens. As far as he knows, I threw it away after our Winter Court signing. So how the hell does he know I still have it? Was it just a lucky guess? Or was he baiting me to find out? Damn him. First he stirs my sympathy. Now he sparks my annoyance. What is he playing at?

“Fantastic,” Aubrey says. “Well, that’s everything. Except…William, would you like to have a drink with me? Either my room or yours?” She beams a smile at him so bright it’s impossible not to read the subtext in it. Or in the sway of her hips as she tilts her head coyly to the side.

She…wants him.

This isn’t another case of me misreading the signs or being manipulated into overthinking like what happened with Zane at the Winter Court signing. No, this is obvious. This is unmasked seduction.

“A drink?” William echoes, his fa?ade slipping.

Her violet eyes turn hopeful. Pleading. “We can discuss ideas for your date.”

“Right,” he says. “Give me a moment?”

“I’ll head to the lobby.” She offers me a parting smile, devoid of all malice. It tells me she hasn’t once considered me a rival or that there could be anything between me and William. She’s the epitome of cool, collected, and confident.

William faces me as soon as her back is turned. His haughty mask is gone, and the heat I saw in his face earlier—before our conversation turned somber—returns. He plants one hand on the table and leans toward me until our eyes are level. “Give me a reason not to go.”

My breath hitches.

“Give me one reason, Edwina. Just one.”

There’s pleading in his blue irises. A challenge too.

I open my mouth before I can find the words to say. Then anger heats my chest. I lean closer too, a scowl on my face. “No, William, you give me a reason.”

His eyes widen in surprise.

But he can’t pin this all on me. He can’t taunt me to risk my heart when he hasn’t given me anything concrete to hold on to. As far as I know, this is all about attraction. Seduction. Nothing real or lasting. At least not for him.

For me…

I’m too scared to know what this is for me.

Too scared of that giddy feeling and everything it might mean.

“Fine.” He straightens with a slow sigh. My heart drops with every inch of space he places between us. “Go get rid of that book.”

Without another word, he leaves the ballroom and heads for the lobby.