Stephanie
THREE
Beneath the glitter and glamor lies the rot.
I’d forgotten what it was like to be in a sea of people stuffed inside a grand room with tinkling glasses and politics disguised as polite chatter. In another life, I flourished in this environment, but from firsthand experience, I’m aware that too many of these people think themselves untouchable.
I suck in a breath as I step out onto the balcony during the auction being run by Honor.
Her mission, her charity, is amazing. I’ve met so many people who have escaped dangerous situations this week alone, many of whom might not have taken the risk without Honor’s help.
That woman is a miracle. To be whole and smiling after the horrors she’s suffered is a testament to her enormous heart and to her husband who supported her.
“Are you tired of the glitz and glamor?” a cultured male voice asks.
I spin, my pastel pink ballgown flaring around me, and come face to face with a man. My attention flicks toward the open doors. One scream, and a tidal wave of rich folk would come stampeding in.
“I love the glitz and glamor. It’s the crowds I’m not a fan of,” I explain as he strolls closer.
He’s around six feet tall with blond hair and wearing a suit that fits him like a glove.
One of the elite for sure, but even as my hackles rise, I have to remind myself not all men are like the ones in my nightmares.
I see danger everywhere, and that’s one reason I wanted out of the institute.
I can teach my mind not to react within the confines of a controlled environment, but that’s not truly testing the lessons I can recite by heart.
Trauma has rewired every instinct into a fire alarm.
His attention sweeps over me before he stops beside me and tilts his head toward the star-streaked sky. I follow suit, rolling my shoulders. He smells good. Woodsy, understated, and dangerous in the quiet way smoke is.
“Are you not a fan?” I ask.
“It’s a good cause. I’m here to support an important charity, but I’d rather be on my sofa at home chilling with a good book and a glass of wine.”
My lips lift. It’s not the image I’d expected from a man carved from frost and sharp edges. “What book?”
Well, would you look at that? I’m talking to a stranger without internally combusting. Suck on that, brother.
He chuckles. “Right now? The latest Dean Koontz.”
“A mystery fan. I can get on board with that.”
“I took you for a romance girl.”
He sounds like he’s storing that information for the future, which is a little intense for a chance meeting on a balcony.
“If the book is good, regardless of genre, I’ll read it. Mood reader, as the saying goes.”
“What book are you reading right now?”
I’m struggling to place his age, but I think the smattering of salt and pepper hair puts him in his late forties.
But he doesn’t make my heart skip a beat, unlike the man who rescued me from hell and now acts like I’m a stranger.
Every family gathering only tightens the ache in my chest. I need to stop romanticizing a man who doesn’t even see me.
This harmless flirtation seems like a good step.
“Fantasy romance,” I answer.
“Like fairies?”
I grin. “No, dragons.”
“Dragons,” he murmurs. “Damsel in distress works for you.”
I bristle. I am not a damsel, and I’ll be avoiding distress for the rest of my life.
But the book I’m referring to would likely make his head spin because the leading lady hasn’t captured the hearts of one, but four dragons.
I resist the urge to share that nugget. I turn my head to make sure the doors remain open.
My escape route and call for help sit within reach at a moment’s notice.
“I don’t believe I’ve seen you before,” he observes, his attention still fixed on the night sky. The distance of it lends me enough bravery to keep the conversation going.
“I’ve been away,” I explain. In a mental institution. I don’t voice that though, since that would be oversharing. I’m not ashamed of it. I worked damn hard to get healthy again. But that’s difficult to explain to someone untouched by violence.
“You’re missing the auction.”
“I’m here to help the Aldridges.”
“Ah, that makes sense. I can’t see you throwing ridiculous money away for a week in the Alps.”
I wouldn’t say no. I love the snow. There’s something probing in his words, like he’s trying to figure out where I fit in the evening’s hierarchy.
Good luck, because not even I know my place in this world.
I’ve got that to figure out. “The point isn’t the prize; it’s the donation.
And that makes the money warranted, not ridiculous. ”
“Fair point,” he mutters as he angles his body toward me and tilts his head. “You’ve not shared your name.”
“Stephanie.”
“Nice to meet you, Stephanie,” he says, offering me his hand. I stare at it as my chest tightens. Chatting with a stranger is one thing; touch is another. Baby steps. My mind spins with how to extract myself from this situation.
“Stephanie?” Fox calls from the door.
“Duty calls,” I murmur, hurrying inside.
Fox shoots a stare over my shoulder. “Are you okay?” he whispers as I reach him.
“Yes. I was just engaging in a bit of idle chitchat,” I explain.
“Stay where I can see you, or your brother will have my balls.”
A woman gasps from behind him and clutches her pearls in a comical, theatrical move that makes me giggle.
“I will,” I say as I snatch a canapé from a server passing with a silver platter. Yum. Honor sure knows how to pick good food. Indulgent, but not too pretentious. I saunter away from Fox, sticking to the edge of the grand ballroom to take in the parade of stunning gowns.
Someone bids on a famous interior decorator designing their bedroom.
Only the rich. If you pay close enough attention, the people here still resemble school groupings.
Maybe they aren’t signaling geeks and jocks through their clothing, but through the way they position themselves and respond to conversation.
A group of eight people surround the central cocktail table, four pairings each styled to perfection like dolls released from their boxes for the first time.
They seem like friends on the surface until you catch their covetous glances at each other.
The tallest guy with dark cropped hair lusts after the red-headed beauty who displays a dangerous amount of cleavage. She wants to be seen and desired.
Another grouping toward the front of the stage have their heads close together, genuine friends who raise their wooden paddles at practised intervals to signal a bid.
The opposite corner showcases the most aggressive bidders in the room, who are trying to outdo each other. My guess is new money and the need to throw their wealth in each other’s faces. Old money doesn’t do that. Their name is weight enough. I should know.
My thoughts touch on my estranged parents.
If they were here, they’d be stationed toward the back with a few acquaintances while discussing how to engineer situations to their benefit, like an arranged marriage for their children.
I shudder at the life mapped out for me before it all crashed down.
I would give anything to make different choices that night, but if I focus on the silver lining, it would be the narrow escape I made not to repeat my parents’ cold, callous, calculated life.
People don’t enter it soulless, but a loveless marriage will soon steal it from you.
My eyes meet icy-blue ones across the room. The stranger from outside tracks my path around the edge of the room. I blink, trying to break his attention. Unfazed, he lifts a champagne glass to his lips, but holds my attention captive.
I bump into a wall. No, not a wall—a hard chest.
“Steady,” Fox rumbles.
My shoulders relax. “Sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“No shit. What’s caught your attention?”
I scan the room, taking a moment to find the stranger glaring at Fox with his lips pressed into a thin line. “No one. I was admiring the dresses.” It’s not a lie. I love the silk, lace, and ruffles on show. There aren’t many things I’ve missed about this world, but this is one of them.
“Honor is wrapping up. I don’t know about you, but I’m about done with pretentiousness for the month.”
“It’s a necessary evil,” I say. Fox understands; he was born into this life like myself. However, his grandmother never placed traditional values on him. He was always free to follow his heart, which led him straight to the woman I admire.
“True, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy it.”
“Focus on all the good Honor does with their obscene wealth.”
“I like the way you think.”
Honor thanks everyone and encourages them to take their last sips of the free-flowing champagne before making their way home.
She meets us at the edge of the room, wearing a huge smile as she links my arm.
“We just raised more money in one night than in the entire year,” she whispers.
“I’m so excited about what we can achieve. How was your night?”
I glance over my shoulder before we disappear from the room and find him still staring after me. The hairs on my nape rise. He should have moved on by now when it became clear I’m not one of the auction lots.
Honor senses my change in mood. “What’s wrong?”
“Blond hair, blue eyes. Do you know who he is?” I murmur with a jerk of my head.
Fox twists around, searching the crowd. “The dude you were talking to outside?”
“That’s the one,” I say.
“Christopher Burnside, fashion mogul.” Fox cracks his knuckles. “Is he giving you grief?”
“No, but if creepy were a currency, he’d be on Forbes.”
Honor frowns as she studies him. “Did he say anything to you?”
I shake my head. “No, it’s stupid. I’m overreacting. Ignore me.”
She pulls me from the room with determined steps. “There’s something I haven’t told you, Stephanie.”
“What?”
“Always trust your instincts.”
But my instincts were always screaming danger, and that’s not sustainable.