16. Salem
SIXTEEN
salem
Something’s wrong with Lee. I should’ve known that he would change, at least a little, in the presence of his family and prepared myself better, but I didn’t think it would be like this.
Since we arrived, parts of the Lee I’ve come to know and love have begun to dissolve beneath every beverage he drinks. The man who’s typically so attentive to my needs is gone and has been replaced with someone who feels like a stranger. His erratic behavior and scattered thoughts have me on edge. I flinch a little inside every time he picks up a new drink.
His mother’s constant presence doesn’t seem to help matters. I wonder if it might help if I got him outside and into some fresh air.
“Sorry,” he mutters, bumping my elbow as we navigate the crowd.
The movement disrupts my careful counting, and I bite back a growl of annoyance upon losing track. I’ll have to start over, but before I can do that, he’s pulling me in a different direction. I try to focus my attention on the pillars around the room instead—a backup method for when things get overwhelming—but Lee’s uneven movements keep drawing my attention.
“Lee?” I touch his arm, silk gloves sliding against his jacket. “Maybe we should take a break?”
“Can’t.” I watch him down another glass of bourbon like it’s water. He gestures to the server to get him another, then continues, “Mother’s watching. Always watching. Gotta keep up appearances, right?” I feel a bitter sting from the impact of each word he speaks.
Further confirmation that this isn’t my Lee—the one who counts tiles with me and remembers exactly how many times to sanitize surfaces. This Lee is sharp edges and frayed nerves, his unwavering grace replaced with barely controlled chaos.
“I think your mother will be okay if we take a five-minute break.” I manage to get the words out moments before my entire body tenses when a server passing by slides between two people, his tray brushing against my dress.
Every muscle in my body clamps up. I hold my breath, waiting for the panic to subside. It was an accident. Everything is okay.
“No, you don’t understand, Salem. You don’t fucking understand,” Lee snaps at me, his once gentle touch now a steel shackle I can’t escape.
I blink back tears and breathe through my nose. Lee doesn’t appear to notice what he’s done or its effect on me. His attention shifts back to scanning the room with increasing agitation. I should walk away, go outside, get the air myself.
“Another lap?” he questions, his lips turning up into that legendary playboy smile.
“Actually, I was thinking …” I don’t even get to finish what I was saying. My reply is irrelevant when he starts steering us back toward his mother’s social circles. It feels like we’re cattle being moved around for all to see. He plucks a glass of bourbon off a passing tray along the way. I try to match his steps but can’t find a rhythm.
Everything feels wrong—the crowd too close, the music too loud.
“Sterling men always marry well,” another partygoer whispers as we pass by them.
Lee’s fingers dig into my waist in response. Even through the fabric of my dress, I can feel each indent of his fingers, his touch bruising.
“You’re hurting me.” I wince, and this time, he’s paying better attention. Like I’m on fire, he releases me, a look of horror flashing in his eyes.
“Shit, Salem, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to … I can’t seem to …” His fingers slice through the strands of his styled dark brown hair, destroying the perfect arrangement. “This entire night is a shit show.”
I know that feeling. God, do I know it? But Lee’s always been my anchor in those moments, steady and sure. Now he’s drowning, too, and I don’t know how to save us both.
To make matters worse, his mother materializes beside us.
“Darling.” Katherine Sterling’s voice could freeze hell. “The Hendersons are simply dying to meet your … friend. Do bring her over.”
Lee’s entire body freezes, every muscle tight, rigid.
Another glass. Another forced smile. Another crack in our perfect facade. I want to count the steps between us and safety, want to measure the distance to our quiet room, want to calculate our escape route. But I can’t because Lee’s usual steady presence is fractured, leaving me unmoored in a sea of silk and judgment.
“Of course, Mother.” His voice sounds strange, strained. “I’d love to introduce Salem to them.” But he wouldn’t. And he knows it. And I know it. And somehow everything we’ve built over these months—all our patterns and practices and perfect understanding—slides away like a dropped strand of pearls.
Lee continues to slip further and further away, even as he stands right beside me. I don’t know this stranger. And all the things we practiced? None of it matters. Nothing would prepare either of us for what’s happening.
Against my better instincts, I let Lee lead me through a crowd of predators while I continue to try to find our rhythm again. But there is no rhythm, no Lee and Salem.
The string quartet starts a waltz, and Lee’s hand finds my waist. We’ve practiced this and perfected it over weeks of private lessons in his apartment. The steps should be automatic, safe, and controlled. Just like we rehearsed.
Instead, he stumbles.
“Shit,” he mutters, his feet getting tangled with mine. His hand slides against my back, missing its usual anchor point.
“Lee, please,” I whisper as we narrowly avoid running into another couple. “Slow down.”
But he’s not listening. His eyes keep darting to his mother, who stands at the edge of the dance floor with the Hendersons. Their daughter, Charlotte, sparkles like a diamond in her all-too-appropriate white dress, everything about her screaming suitable.
Lee’s next turn is too sharp, and I lose my counting rhythm completely. The crowd seems to press closer, the music grows louder, and the lights brighten. His usual steady presence feels like static electricity—unpredictable and dangerous.
“Another drink,” he says as the waltz ends, already pulling away. “Need another drink.”
“You don’t.” I grab his sleeve, silk catching on expensive wool. “You need air. We both need air.”
“Can’t.” His laugh is hollow. “Mother’s watching. Waiting for me to fuck up.”
A server appears with fresh drinks, and Lee grabs two. Katherine Sterling’s voice carries across the space: “The Henderson girl would make such a lovely addition to the family.”
The glasses in Lee’s hands shake.
“Bathroom,” I manage to get out as the walls around us start to close in. “I need …”
“Okay. Yes.” He looks around wildly like he’s forgotten the careful map he made me memorize. “It’s … wait …”
“Through the south doors,” his mother supplies, once again appearing beside us. “Do let me show you, dear. Lee, darling, Charlotte was just asking about your new apartment …”
The mask Lee wears so well slips, and I catch a glimpse of horror as it slowly forms on his face moments before his mother separates us. It takes but a second for him to get swept away, and without a second thought, he charges off toward the glittering Charlotte. I watch as he drops one of the glasses on a tray, now empty, and my confidence in him and us dwindles.
The turbulent pit of despair becomes deeper and deeper the longer I stand there. The bathroom isn’t what I need. What I need is Lee— my Lee, not this scattered, frantic version who can’t remember how many steps there are to the quiet room or how many times to sanitize his hands before touching me.
Those are small things, stupid things really. What I want is Lee to be normal, himself. Not the masked version, inhaling liquor to make it through the night.
This is wrong. All wrong. My gloves are too tight, the silk suddenly suffocating instead of luxurious. The room grows smaller, conversations blending into white noise, making my head spin. I spot the balcony doors past the dancing couples.
Fresh air. Quiet. Space to breathe and count and try to find my center again.
“Just a moment,” Lee says from somewhere behind me. “Salem, wait?—”
I won’t wait. I can’t. I’m already moving, already counting steps in my head, already trying to remember our safety protocols. The last thing I see before slipping through the doors is Lee taking another sip of his drink, his perfect posture crumpling as Charlotte Henderson places her hand on his arm.
Right where I should be.
Where I now see even more clearly that I don’t belong.
The balcony air hits my face like salvation, sharp and clean compared to the stuffiness inside. Out here, the music is muffled, the voices distant. I suck a ragged breath into my lungs and press my silk-covered hands against the stone railing, focusing on the rough texture beneath the smooth fabric.
“Ahhh, so much better of a match than that odd girl he’s been seeing.”
Katherine Sterling’s voice drifts through the partially open doors, and I freeze. I know I’d be saving myself a lot of headaches if I just moved to another spot or returned to Lee, but I can’t. It’s like my body knows I need to hear what is being said.
“The Masters girl?” another woman asks. “The one with the … gloves?”
“Nothing more than a phase,” Katherine dismisses.
Another voice speaks up. “Lee’s always had a rebellious streak. Remember that awful business with Tommy Rodriguez behind the gymnasium?”
Katherine’s stilted laughter follows, brittle and cruel. I press further into the shadows, silk catching on rough stone.
“Charlotte Henderson, though,” Katherine continues, “now there’s a suitable match. Her family has connections to every board in town. And she’s absolutely normal. No peculiarities.”
“There is no denying that they look lovely together,” the other woman agrees. “Do you see them dancing?”
I guess it’s a good thing I got some air. I couldn’t stomach watching it.
It doesn’t matter, not when I feel Lee’s absence like a physical ache.
“Charles Henderson and I have already discussed arrangements,” Katherine’s voice drops lower, her tone conspiratorial. “Lee is stubborn, just like his father. Sometimes they just need a gentle push in the right direction. In Lee’s case, away from this unsuitable infatuation.”
There’s a tightening in my chest that I can’t explain. Unsuitable. The word echoes in my head, matching the erratic beat of my heart.
“But what about the Masters girl?” Someone else joins the conversation. A man. Lee’s father? “She seems … attached.”
“Please.” Katherine’s laugh could cut glass. “Look at her. The gloves, the obvious anxiety. She can barely function at a simple charity gala. How could she possibly handle being a Sterling wife? Our social obligations alone would destroy her.”
The truth is they’re not wrong. I can barely handle tonight, even with all Lee’s careful preparations. Even with silk gloves and practiced moves and counting every tile in every room. But that doesn’t give them the right to judge me or make decisions for Lee.
“Charlotte, on the other hand,” Katherine continues, “was born for this world. Poised, elegant, appropriate. Everything the Sterling name needs. Everything Lee needs, whether he knows it yet or not.”
The sound of laughter draws my attention back inside. Charlotte Henderson stands beside Lee near the bar with her hand resting casually on his arm. Nothing is special or wrong about the way she touches him, but it annoys me. Everything about her annoys me. She’s stunning—confident and polished in ways I’ll never be.
No gloves. No counting. No carefully measured distance between herself and others.
Normal.
Suitable.
Everything I’m not.
“It’s really just a matter of time,” Katherine says. “Soon enough, the Masters girl will realize she doesn’t belong in our world. And Lee … Well, he’ll remember who he is and the legacy he has to follow.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Oh, that’s the fun part. Then we simply remind him of what’s at stake. The Sterling name carries certain expectations. Certain standards. He will fill the shoes he needs to fill, or we will take everything from him.”
I dig my silk-covered fingers into the palms of my hand. Standards I’ll never meet. Expectations I’ll never live up to. A world I’ll never truly belong in, no matter how many designer dresses or custom gloves Lee buys me.
As hard as it is to see, to admit, this is the reminder I needed. Lee and I, we can never be together. Not in any real way.
I press against the balcony railing, things spinning out in my head when a hand scented with soap and alcohol slides over my mouth. I flinch, and my eyes widen when I spot Aries standing there, his hair disheveled, his bow tie undone. I’d shove him away if I didn’t realize at the same time he’d cleaned his hands just to do this. Had he been out here this whole time watching me spiral? Overhearing … that?
Katherine’s voice fades away, along with her friend, and Aries slowly lowers his hand. “I didn’t want to leave you in that piranha tank,” he whispers into the quiet night air.
I don’t know what to say so I don’t say anything at all.
“It’s unfair to play a game when your opponent has no idea how to play…” he adds, raising his voice now that there’s no danger of being overheard.
“What do you mean?”
“This is all a game, destroying the lives of others at the expense of their own boredom.” Aries rolls his eyes. “They think they have you beat simply because you don’t know how to play.”
I’m not sure what’s made me so curious. Maybe it’s the soft look in his eyes. The way his new haircut makes him look a little less dangerous. He’s still massive compared to me, his frame towering, but tonight, he doesn’t look like he wants to hurt me. “Do you know how to play the game? Destroy the lives of others out of sheer boredom?”
He shrugs one shoulder and smirks. “We all play a version of this game, no matter your social class. I used to be better at it, but then I had to learn different games. New ones. Adapt and change.” There’s a faraway look in his eyes as he stares off into the distance over the balcony and the twinkling city lights. “There are games for every stage of life, and the only way to succeed is to be the best at every single one. That way, there isn’t a single move that can surprise you.”
I get the feeling there is a hidden meaning beneath his words, and I stupidly want to know the meaning. “What game are you playing right now?”
His gaze finds mine again, and it’s then I see a sliver of the haunted darkness he keeps tucked beneath his mask. “A dangerous one. One where I intend to win everything with a mere sweep of my hand across the board.”
“That sounds …” Honestly, a little unhinged, but what do I know about this world?
“Psychotic?” he questions almost curiously, and all I can do is shrug. “If it makes you feel better, it’s nothing you need to worry about. You aren’t my opponent, Salem.”
“Happy to hear that. I have enough of those already.”
His gaze softens, and the mask he wears so often slips back into place.
I guess that means he’s done sharing, then?
“I should probably go home. Lee and I … we aren’t selling it.” Admitting it out loud makes me cringe.
Aries shrugs and skirts me to lean over the railing on the balcony. “Okay, so the only way to win is to make a move that no one else sees coming.”
“How?”
Another shrug of that too broad shoulder, then he skims his eyes down my dress, my gloves, returning to stop at my eyes. “Let’s make sure Lee is all in too. He seems rather distracted this evening.”
“The alcohol,” I mumble, looking away from the sudden intensity in Aries’s eyes.
“I’ve seen him murder a rival football team after downing a bottle of Jack. This is nothing.” He extends his elbow and stands straighter. “I think what he really needs is a little motivation.”