53
Ireturn to the party. The crowd’s mood has shifted while I was gone. The music is louder now. The string instruments have been replaced by a headphone-wearing DJ who bops to the beat as he works the turntables. Guests surge and vibrate on a dance floor, pressed up against the wall of windows.
With Rafe’s words echoing in my mind, I notice details that had previously escaped me. Partygoers are sprawled across plush couches, their limbs akimbo and eyes dilated. There is a layer of debauchery here, buried beneath the elegant surface.
Stewart’s waiting where I left him. “I thought you’d gotten lost,” he jokes and hands me back my half-drunk glass of champagne.
“Just fixing my makeup.” I take a sip of my bubbly drink, letting the alcohol warm me. It’s scary how easily the lies come, but then again, I’ve had lots of practice over the last few months lying to my mom and Mr. Chen. Telling them I’m out studying when I’m actually taking photos on the Strip. Hiding wads of cash in my school backpack until I can deposit it in the bank.
Pointing toward the dance floor, Stewart asks, “Do you want to dance?”
Dancing is one of my least favorite activities. I’m all awkward elbows and knees, never quite sure what to do with my hands. The only dancing I’ve ever enjoyed was in the isolation of Shelly’s room when we were young and would dance wildly to the latest boy-band hit.
“No, thanks. I’m a terrible dancer.”
Stewart lets out a puff of air. “Thank goodness. I loathe dancing. I’m not sure why I asked. I didn’t want you to feel like you’re missing out on anything tonight because of me.”
He’s kind, this man. I wish for a moment that he wasn’t. It makes me more of a monster.
“I don’t think that,” I reassure him.
As I gaze around the room, I notice expensive-looking paintings and statues placed in alcoves along the walls. Artfully placed lighting highlights each one. “Those are gorgeous pieces of art. Does your dad collect them?” I move closer to examine a painting of yellow and orange poppy flowers in a brown vase. It almost looks like a Van Gogh.
“He does but not because he appreciates their beauty. He sees them as another way to diversify his portfolio.”
I sense this is a point of contention between Stewart and his father. “How do you see them?”
After a moment of thought, he says, “When I look at my father’s artwork, I think of the men and women who made it. How talented they must have been. I always wonder if it was hard for them. To make something so beautiful, to pour their heart and soul into it, only to have to sell it away. Hand it off to someone who might not value it the same way they did.” A side glance at me, as he adds, “It must be hard to lose something you love.”
How he says love makes me uncomfortable. There’s too much weight on that word. My eyes scan the room, on the lookout for Rafe or Shelly. I see neither one.
“You didn’t mention that you’re Johnny Stralla’s son when we first met,” I blurt, trying not to sound accusatory, but I’ve been wondering why he never brought it up.
“It’s not something I usually talk about. Too many friends have avoided me after they found out, scared to be associated with my family. I didn’t want that to happen with you,” he confesses. “Besides, most people never know. I’m nothing like my dad. I don’t look like him, and I don’t act like him.”
Pity stirs in me, as I think of the people who have rejected Stewart based only on his last name. Guilt follows. How am I any better? I’m using Stewart for his last name at this very second.
I spot Rafe and Shelly with their heads close together, whispering in the hallway that leads to the office and the safe. I glance away, fearful Stewart will follow my gaze and recognize my friends. Shelly disappears, while Rafe takes up his position as a look-out, using his newly bulked-up body to block the hallway entrance.
“It’s true,” I agree. “You don’t favor your dad.” Johnny’s face is all sharp angles, while Stewart’s is softer.
I try to focus on his response, but it’s a struggle to not constantly check the clock resting on the fireplace mantle to my right, which reads a quarter past midnight. We had timed this all out. How long it should take Shelly to get into the office and turn off the cameras, using Stewart’s keycard. How long to enter a set of numbers that Rafe had mysteriously obtained into the safe’s numeric keypad. How long to put the valuables into the black duffle bag Shelly brought and then for Shelly and Rafe to escape using the stairs next to the elevator. The clock hands turn with maddening slowness.
Stewart grimaces, continuing our conversation. “My dad wanted a sporty, aggressive kid, but instead he got me—nerdy and shy.” He sighs, swirling the champagne in his glass.
Guilt bites me even harder, digging in. I’m about to respond when the same security guard with the earpiece appears at Stewart’s shoulder. He talks softly to Stewart, who frowns and listens intently. I’m convinced the guard is telling him about Shelly and the safe. Any minute now, alarms will sound and the guards will grab me. I hold my breath, muscles tense.
After the man leaves, Stewart tells me, “I’m sorry for the interruption, but I need to talk to my dad and then I have to do a few things in his office. I’ll be gone 20 minutes tops. Is that okay?”
My heart slams loudly against my ribs. All I can hear is the word office. The room where Shelly is right now. Stewart can’t go there.
Forcing a smile I say, “Of course. No problem.”
As I watch him walk toward Johnny, my thoughts spin. What can I do to stall him until Shelly finishes with the safe? Panic makes my mind go blank.
Rafe’s normal look of studied indifference slips when he sees me walking his way, replaced by alarm. This isn’t what we discussed. I’m supposed to ignore Rafe and Shelly. To walk out of this evening on Stewart’s arm—the perfect alibi. Now that plan is blown, but what am I supposed to do? Let Stewart catch Shelly? Watch the police drag her away? No way. I’ve battled for her before, and I’ll do it again. After all, she’s family to me.
I come to a halt, standing a few feet away from the hallway that leads to the office. “Stewart’s coming here in a minute,” I hiss at Rafe under my breath as I stare through the crowd, fixated on Stewart. Judging by body language, he’s almost done talking to his dad.
I whisper more desperately, “Rafe!”
His eyes roam the room, looking for a solution.
Stewart leaves Johnny and makes his way toward us. Thankfully, he’s preoccupied, looking down at his phone as he walks.
“What’re we going to do?” My voice is tight with anxiety.
“Distract him and buy Shelly more time,” Rafe says decisively. He jolts into motion like a man waking from a dream. For the second time this evening, he grabs my arm and drags me along, heading for the dance floor.
“Distract him? How?” My voice rises in panic as I watch Stewart approach.
Rafe halts on the edge of the dance floor and pulls me to him. “Easy. Jealousy.” With that, he draws me close and begins to sway. The song is a slow one, with an underlying sensuous beat. He moves like liquid mercury, with fluid limbs and glinting eyes. I hadn’t been lying when I told Stewart I’m not a good dancer, but it doesn’t seem to matter with Rafe. His grip on me is firm, and all I do is follow his rhythm.
He brushes his hands down to my waist, pulling our lower bodies flush. His hips roll in time to the music, brushing against me in a rhythmic pattern. Desire rises, scalding through me at his touch. Rafe stares down at me with a dark intensity that makes me press closer, wanting more of him. His fingers tighten, digging into the tender flesh just above my hip bones. My arms wrap tight around his neck, and I push up into him. I tilt my head up, imagining what it would be like to kiss him, right in front of everyone. The rest of the room and the fear about my mom and this robbery all fade until I only focus on the points of my body that are in contact with his.
Rafe gazes intimately into my eyes. “Is he looking?”
“What?” I ask dreamily, picturing what it would feel like to have his bare skin glide over mine.
More impatient now, Rafe says, “Is he watching us? Is it working?”
As if a bucket of cold water has been poured over my head, I snap back into the here and now. “Oh.” I peer over Rafe’s shoulder, searching for Stewart. He’s standing at the entrance to the hallway leading to the office, staring at me with obvious confusion and pain.
Guiltily, I try to push away from Rafe, to put some space between us, but he holds me tight.
“He’s by the hallway entrance,” I tell Rafe, my head dropping with embarrassment. Stewart had seen it all. He had seen the way I looked at Rafe, the way our bodies moved together. I had told him I didn’t want to dance but here I was, brazen on the dance floor with another man. Even though it’s necessary to protect Shelly, the burn of shame is hot on my cheeks.