Chapter Two #2
“He invited a friend, who I like a lot.” The woman smiled.
The smile wasn’t for Brice. Her gaze was far away.
Back at the table where her son and his friend were, Brice guessed.
“I think they’re in love.” Her smile grew even warmer.
“Which, if you knew my son, you’d understand how extraordinary that is. He…doesn’t make friends easily.”
Brice had once had many friends. They’d all drifted away after he had retired and was no longer the sought-after groundsman. Now, he supposed he was as friendless as her son, even though hundreds of people would claim they were friends.
“Your son is lucky,” Brice said truthfully. “And I’m pleased for you.” It came out sounding gruff, as though he was just saying it to be polite, which wasn’t the way he meant it. Yet it was out now.
She paused just inside the ballroom area. Some dance that involved everyone moving in a huge circle around the large dance floor had nearly everyone up on their feet, dancing enthusiastically, even if they weren’t graceful. No one was paying any attention to them.
“Well…” she said.
He leaned on the cane. “Can I at least buy you a drink?”
“I have champagne waiting for me, thank you.” Her smile produced a dimple, beside her mouth, which was intriguing. “Have a good evening, Brice Falcon.” She turned and walked away.
He felt a little winded, watching her leave.
It wasn’t often people were more eager to leave his company than keep it.
She hadn’t even bothered with some awkward conversational wrap up like “it was lovely to meet you.” Just “good evening.” A turn that spread the pretty layers of her dress, and a graceful walk.
He could see where she was heading. It was the only table that fit with what she had told him. A tall, dark-haired man and a young woman in a dark green dress, sitting with their heads together. A third glass sat on the other side of the table.
Well, the woman hadn’t been lying about any of it, then. How…unusual.
Brice made his way back to the head table. There were some non-dancers still sitting at the table, and all of them straightened, or glanced and him and moved their gazes away quickly as he sat.
Bronson silently pushed the glass of sparkling water over to Brice.
“You look angry,” Brice told the squat, well-padded man.
“No,” Bronson said, his expression changing to surprise. “I am concerned. Consorting with the enemy and all.”
Brice put the glass back on the table. “What? What enemy?”
Bronson’s surprise renewed itself. “You don’t know who it was? The woman you were talking to?”
“She didn’t give me her name,” Brice growled. “It was a meaningless conversation between two strangers.”
And again, the sensation that he should know who she was drifted through his mind. He lowered his voice. “You’re saying she’s an enemy?”
“More or less. The opposition, shall we say?”
Brice shook his head. “You’re going to have to be clearer than that, Bron.”
Bronson leaned closer. “That was Luciana Hume you were chatting with.”
It took him a second to recall the name, because it had nothing to do with tankball.
Then he had it. “Her?” he breathed, heated irritation expanding in his chest and rapidly spreading.
“That’s Luciana Hume?” Her Forum picture needed updating, and whoever had taken the photo should be fired.
In person, she had little in common with the plain faced woman on the Forum. “It can’t be her.”
“Sorry.” Bronson didn’t sound all that sorry.
Brice turned his chin the few inches he needed to be able to glance casually toward the table where the woman had been heading.
She was seated now. Her back was to him, and she was talking to the couple, who were both smiling at each other.
The tender little moment made his irritation inflate even higher.
Luciana Hume was the Capitol market manager who had been trying to get him to sell the few stalls he owned in the Capitol marketplace. She had been trying for months. Relentless was the word that always floated up in his mind whenever Bronson reported that she’d attempted to make contact yet again.
“I’m never selling, Bron,” Brice would always say. “Get rid of her.” And the matter would be closed. Or, he always thought it had been closed…until she came back again a few weeks later.
Brice stared at her now, his chest tight.
Bronson leaned closer once more. “Still figure it was a meaningless, polite conversation?”
Brice growled. Softly. Had her collision with him been an accident at all? How could he tell? What had she been trying to achieve with her inane chatter about her son?
It was rare for him not to be able to spot someone’s endgame and recognize the tactics they were using to achieve it, and counter them. Only, he couldn’t discern Luciana Hume’s strategy at all. Now her airy, “No one you need to know here and now,” took on weight and meaning.
It had to mean something. Hume was a consummate businesswoman, with a portfolio of investments that included too damn many of the market stalls in the Capitol marketplace. She wouldn’t ignore the opportunity to further her interests when he had been right there.
He just couldn’t figure out what she had been trying to do. And that was going to drive him crazy, all damn evening.