12. Chapter Twelve #3
I hate these people. I hate that Dacre was right.
I hate that, for the first time in my life, I want to give up, leave this room, and never set foot in this terrible place again.
And I hate the woman I was an hour ago—the woman fueled by a little girl’s dream and nothing else.
No way I can reach for the safety of optimism again—it isn’t there.
“He’s right. It’s not really fair to your family. You’d be so rich if you used your blood for bartering, like it was intended,” Verity says.
My hand slips from the table to Dacre’s hand, which is resting on my thigh, and I dig my fingers into his skin. He lets me, saying nothing. Never once stopping his soft caress on my thigh.
Is that really how these elite families view blood?
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“If your mother were smart, she’d have taken the deal.”
“Deal? What deal?”
Verity takes a sip of her drink and shakes her head. “Nothing.”
“Wait, no. Tell me what you know about my mother.”
“Just that she was offered a sizable amount of money to attend the Donor Gala, and she turned it down.”
“What’s the Donor Gala?”
“The Donor Program puts on bidding wars for people with desirable blood. Marries them off to the highest bidder.” Verity smiles. “Don’t look so horrified. It’s completely voluntary.”
Mom never told me that story. Does that mean she turned it down for an opportunity to stay with my dad?
“All right. That’s enough. The night is done. I’m leaving it up to you all to clean up this room before you turn in for the night.” Dacre stands, steadying me when I wobble back on my aching feet.
“What the fuck? That’s what we have a maid for,” Luther says.
“It’s midnight. Her time as your maid is over. Everyone, say goodbye, and make sure to greet her early Monday morning for her first day.”
Dacre doesn’t give me a moment to speak as he drags me out of the room. Everyone claps and thanks me as the door closes behind us.
He speaks when the silence settles around us.
“Are you okay?”
In the safety of the hallway, the anger dissipates, and I’m painfully aware of how sober I am. And cold. And sad. And—
Dacre takes the pocket square from his pocket and starts drying off the top of my head and the wine that must have dripped onto my cheek.
“Emma.” His voice in my head snaps me out of my dissociation.
“I want to go home,” I say softly. “I’m really tired.”
“I’ll walk you. Is that okay?”
I nod and kick off the heels they gave me in the hallway. When we get close to the common room, the sound from the party leaks from behind the door.
A whine leaves my throat.
“Here.” He places his blazer over my shoulders, and I nearly fall to the floor at how good the heat of his jacket feels on my damp clothes.
And the smell. Stars above, the smell. Maybe everything tonight was worth it for this moment alone.
He places an arm around me and guides me through the party and past the threshold of the front door.
No one looks in our direction. Dacre has an aura about him that easily blends into the shadows, and for once, I’m happy to garner no attention at all.
I don’t even mind the cold ground under my feet as we venture outside. I take a deep breath.
“You did well back there. You didn’t give them anything useful to use.”
I’m still replaying the night. The embarrassment. The wine trickling down my back. I’ve never been the butt of a joke, and I never want to be again.
A soft sob leaves my throat.
“Just say ‘I told you so’ and get it over with.” I stop a tear, but they keep coming. “I didn’t think . . . they’d be that cruel. I-I feel so stupid.”
“I’m not really in the mood to gloat.” He hands me his pocket square to wipe the glitter that’s stinging my eyes. “Just know . . . It’s not personal. For them, it’s how their parents taught them to be. I know that doesn’t help, but it’s not your fault or anything you did.”
“Can we just . . . add this to the list of things we pretend never happened?” I sniff.
There’s so much to process about the night, and I’m too tired for that. Dacre’s help is the most complicated thing. Why would he comfort me? He knew that they were going to try to upset me, and he went out of his way to comfort me. There’s no reason for it that makes sense.
“I can do that.”
We don’t talk for the remainder of the walk to Luxxia. I even let him walk me to my door because the thought of arguing on the stairs is exhausting, and I don’t want to be alone.
I savor the comfort of not worrying about someone messing with me.
When he leaves, I fall into bed, barely moving as I strip off the stupid costume.
Like many times before, Dacre stays on my mind, but this time, it’s different.
I replay his thumb rubbing over my thigh over and over.
That’s the only reason I didn’t lose my composure.
Maybe I should shower. I still smell llike wine, but mostly like his cologne. And that’s embarrassing, right? I grab the ends of my hair and sniff. I wonder what Weres and vampires smell because all I smell is Dacre’s cologne lingering like fresh linens in my hair.
No, I’ll do it in the morning.
“Thank you,” I say in my head, knowing the potion has probably already run its course.
“Good night, thief.”