Chapter 17
Iend up back at the table nursing a mock cocktail. Before I took the first sip, I’d watched the bartender’s every move while she made it. Landon and Elise left a while ago, and Ford’s off doing Ford things.
Hugo makes his way through the room, shaking hands and lending an ear to one deep-pocketed donor after another. But every so often, his gaze drifts back to me, a quick check before he turns to the next conversation. My shadow, even with a foundation to charm.
Near the bar, Pax stands with Frieda on his arm. Tonight, she’s dressed less like a slave and more like his plus-one, all gown and jewels, the thin band at her throat passing for an elegant choker. I’ve spent time on their floor, so I know exactly what that collar means.
A few feet over, Mr. Bordeaux turns a full glass in his hand, and I can’t tell if he’s bored senseless or just resentful at being dragged here.
With a tired sigh, I rise to my feet, rest time over, and step into the fray to make myself available.
“I’ve never seen you so gorgeous.” Liam’s devastating smile shakes the ground under my heels. In that moment, with the heat in his eyes threatening to make me question my choices—like the decision not to dance with anyone but Hugo—I can’t find my voice.
“Is it the tux that has you speechless, my sweet girl?” He leans in, his mouth at my ear. “Or maybe you’re as excited about tonight as I am. I’ve been counting the hours.”
I take a sip of my nonalcoholic concoction, stalling for a few seconds to gather my spiraling thoughts. After all this time, he still has the power to turn me to mush when I least expect it.
“You said you wanted to talk about something?” I lift my chin toward the main exit, knowing I’ll be leaving with him through it tonight.
“Yes, but first,” he says, holding out a hand. “Dance with me.”
He has a talent for asking without asking at all.
I open my mouth, with no idea whether a yes or a no will come out.
Hugo materializes at my elbow and saves me from having to find out.
“Forgive me, Chancellor, but there’s a guest who’s been waiting all night for a word with you. Old money, generous, terribly impatient.” He nods toward the man in question, then drops the hook. “I’d consider it a personal favor.”
Liam’s jaw tightens, but he’s too practiced to refuse his host in front of two hundred guests. He lifts my hand and presses a kiss to my knuckles. “We’ll talk later.”
He’s barely taken five steps when Oliver peels off the wall, chestnut eyes fixed on me. I didn’t even spot him until now.
The men in this tower are too stealthy for my sanity.
He’s closing in when Hugo takes my hand. “Would you like to dance?”
Oliver falters.
I bite back a smile. “I’d love to.”
For a man who swore he doesn’t dance, Hugo manages just fine.
We sway more than dance in a back-and-forth rhythm that keeps us clear of everyone else.
“You said you didn’t dance,” I tease.
“I said I don’t like it.” He leads me into a smooth turn. “I’m making an exception.”
He makes more than one.
Five songs later, he’s still acting as my shield. This whole time, we’ve talked shop, because that’s where our passions lie.
“Twenty minutes, this guy went on about tax write-offs.”
“It’s a good thing you decided to dance with me, then. I saved you from boredom.”
“That you did.”
Boring is its own kind of gift, though. Like his nights recently. He hasn’t suffered a single episode since his sleepwalking incident in the kitchen. No more screaming or wandering through the house in the middle of the night.
Did talking to someone, if only briefly, help release the pressure valve just a little?
I hope so, for his sake.
By the next song, his hand has grown warm between my shoulder blades. A handful of guests have slipped out, but the party’s still in full swing. I’m the one fading, the adrenaline that carried me through the evening bottoming out.
Hugo’s leading me off the dance floor when Liam comes into view again, heading straight for me as if I’m the only one in the room.
But unlike earlier, his mouth draws down in concern. “You seem tired.”
“It’s been a long night.”
“Which means you need pampering. It is your birthday, my sweet girl. Are you ready to get out of here?”
Leave the ball? More than ready. Spend the rest of the night in his penthouse, just the two of us?
Not even a little.
And yet I can’t deny that part of me tingles with something suspiciously close to anticipation.
I turn to Hugo. “Thank you for the dances, and for an unforgettable evening.”
“Of course, my queen.”
I slide my hand into Liam’s waiting grip, and he turns us toward the doors. Whatever he means to tell me is waiting upstairs, making my pulse trip ahead of my feet.
As we reach the main doors, they burst open, and my heart slams to the bottom of my gut. All at once, the voices cut out, and the room drops into a strange hush, as if everyone’s been suspended in time.
A camera flashes, breaking through the collective breath-hold. More flashes, then the murmurs reach a fever pitch as chatter spreads through the crowd like wildfire. My hand slips from Liam’s, my legs already taking me past the press and the whispers.
All the people who bought the lie.
Because he’s here.
“Sebastian.”
His name rips out of me, soaring through the ballroom on a joyous cry as I fling myself into his arms, fallout be damned.