Chapter 17 #2
“You’re observant.”
“I’m interested.” He sets down his cup and moves closer. “What’s wrong?”
The direct question catches me off guard. I’ve spent so long deflecting and minimizing that genuine concern feels like a foreign language.
“My mother’s birthday party,” I hear myself say.
“The famous Carmen Solis.”
“You know about her?”
“Bianca mentioned her too. Also, there’s a portrait of her in your office that radiates intimidation.” He tilts his head. “When is it?”
“Next week. The fifteenth.”
“And this is causing tension because...?”
Because she’ll judge me. Because nothing I do is ever good enough. Because she’ll find some way to make me feel small even as she smiles for photographs and accepts compliments on her accomplished daughter.
“Because she asked if I’m bringing someone.”
Understanding dawns in his eyes. “Ah.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Family usually is.”
“She’s not—” I stop, frustrated by my own inability to articulate. “My mother loves me. I know she does. She just shows it in ways that feel more like evaluation than affection.”
“The eternal pursuit of perfection.”
“Something like that.”
Mal is quiet for a moment. Then he reaches out and takes my hand, his thumb tracing circles on my palm.
“I could come with you.”
My heart stutters. “What?”
“To the party. If you wanted.” His voice is careful, neutral. “I clean up reasonably well, I’m told. And I have centuries of experience navigating difficult social situations.”
“Mal—”
“I’m not pressuring you. It’s an offer, not an obligation. But if having someone in your corner would make it easier...” He shrugs. “I’d like to be that someone.”
I stare at him. At this chaos demon who showed up in my studio with terrible technique and too much money, who somehow became my partner and the person whose presence in my bed felt like coming home.
“You’d willingly subject yourself to Carmen Solis?”
“I’ve faced elder demons, infernal bureaucrats, and a particularly aggressive basilisk in Constantinople. Your mother can’t be worse.”
“You haven’t met her.”
“I’m intrigued by the challenge.” A smile tugs at his mouth. “Besides, someone needs to be there to remind you that you’re extraordinary, regardless of her opinion.”
Extraordinary.
No one’s ever called me that. Talented, yes. Disciplined, certainly. Accomplished, in carefully measured terms. But never extraordinary.
“Okay,” I say.
His eyebrows rise. “Okay?”
“Yes. Okay. Come to the party with me.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel obligated just because I offered—”
“Mal.” I squeeze his hand. “I’m asking you. Not because you offered, but because I want you there.”
Something shifts in his expression. Something raw and unguarded, a flicker of emotion so intense it takes my breath away.
And then I notice the bracelet. The leather cord with its seven stones, five of them now gleaming ruby-red in the afternoon light. Five. I count again, certain I must be wrong. There were four yesterday. Four rubies, three black stones. But now...
“Mal.”
He follows my gaze, and his jaw tightens.
“I know,” he says quietly.
“That’s five.”
“I know.”
“When I asked you to come to my mother’s party it counted as an invitation?”
“Apparently.”
I should be scared. We’re past the halfway point now, five of seven conditions met, and the contract approaching its culmination with every casual request I make. But all I feel is a strange sort of rightness, like pieces of a puzzle clicking into place.
“Two more,” I say.
“Two more.”
“And then?”
He meets my eyes. In the afternoon light, I can see the faint threads of red in his irises, the subtle tells of his nature that I’d missed for so long.
“And then we find out what the contract actually requires.” His voice is steady, but I hear the fear underneath.
“I know I’ve been avoiding the full explanation.
I know you have questions. But some of this I genuinely don’t know.
” His grip on my hand tightens. “Whatever the final terms are, I won’t let them hurt you.
I need you to know that. If completing the contract means—”
“Stop.” I step closer, close enough to feel the heat of his body. “We’ll figure it out together. Isn’t that what partners do?”
“Partners.” He says the word like it’s precious, like it’s something to be protected.
“Dance partners. Life partners.” I shrug. “Whatever we are.”
“Whatever we are,” he echoes.
The silence stretches between us, warm and full of possibility. Then his expression shifts, and the familiar gleam returns to his eyes.
“So. This birthday party.”
“Yes?”
“Do I need to worry about poison in the hors d’oeuvres? Rivals to duel? Ancient family curses requiring navigation?”
“Just my mother.”
“Just your mother.” He nods gravely. “I’ll bring my best armor.”
“She’s not that bad.”
“Isadora. You’ve spent twenty minutes looking like you’re preparing for battle. She’s exactly that bad.”
“Fine. She’s exactly that bad. Are you reconsidering?”
“Not even slightly.” He lifts my hand to his lips and presses a kiss to my knuckles. “One week to prepare. I’ll be ready.”
“She’ll interrogate you.”
“I’ve been interrogated by better.”
“She’ll find flaws.”
“Everyone has flaws. Mine are particularly charming.”
“She’ll—” I stop, laughing despite myself. “You’re impossible.”
“Remarkably so.” He grins. “Now. Shall we practice? I believe we have a showcase to prepare for, and I’d rather not embarrass you in front of the entirety of Bellamy Cove.”
“You could never embarrass me.”
The words slip out before I can stop them, honest and raw, and his grin softens into something gentler.
“No,” he says quietly. “I don’t suppose I could.”
He leads me to the center of the floor, positions my hands, and adjusts my frame with the careful attention of someone who’s been paying attention to every lesson.
The music begins. And as we move together, the bracelet on his wrist catches the light—five rubies gleaming like promises, two black stones waiting to transform. Waiting for me to want something else. To need him for something else. To invite him deeper into my life.
What will trigger the sixth invitation?
For now, I don’t know. So for now, we dance.