22. Zane #2
I make a frustrated sound. “I don’t think you’re shameful.” I catch his hand and try to reposition us so I’m in the lead, but he resists. Trying to force it would cause more attention than allowing him to take control for the moment. “I can’t afford to be out. Not for you. Not for anyone.”
Even talking about this in public has my skin crawling. What if someone’s listening? They shouldn’t be able to hear over the music, but there’s always the possibility.
“Not for anyone,” Hyacinth repeats. “Until somebody better comes along. Until a real person catches your eye.” His voice is as sharp as his nails.
“A real person?” I echo. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I grab his wrist. “You know what? Let’s go somewhere we can talk. This isn’t the place.”
I drag him along, the angry energy wafting from Hyacinth in waves.
Nobody else seems to notice.
They can’t see his expression, after all. But I can feel it.
I take us toward the riverboat cabins. I’ll find a quiet corner, and we’ll talk, and I’ll put Hyacinth in his place like he clearly wants.
A man in a suit nearly bumps into us on the way. He’s white, with thick black hair, and wearing a simple blue mask that complements his navy suit.
“Sorry about that,” the man says. The voice sounds familiar.
Hyacinth’s grip on my hand tightens.
“I… Oh, Zane?” the man says, and I finally place him. Keith Harrington.
Hyacinth’s ex-boyfriend. Partner.
His ex something.
Hyacinth had knelt for him.
“Keith,” I say as pleasantly as I can manage — but it comes out sounding more like a winter storm. “I hope you’re having a good time.” I dig my fingernails into Hyacinth’s wrist in silent warning that I’m sure he has no intention of heeding.
“Yes. I was looking for the restrooms.” Keith peers at Hyacinth. “And who’s this? Your girlfriend?”
Hyacinth might not be my girlfriend, but he belongs to me.
I start to respond, but Hyacinth squares his shoulders. “Something like that,” he says, his voice pitched higher. “Cynthia.” He starts to extend his hand to Keith for a handshake, but I jerk him back, close to me.
Keith is filth. He doesn’t get to touch Hyacinth.
He doesn’t get to touch what’s mine.
Keith lets out an awkward laugh. “There’s no need to worry about me, Zane. I don’t think it’s a secret I’m gay.”
No, it’s not.
He’s able to be out, and with minimal backlash. His Bouchard relatives still support him.
But I’m not him.
Hyacinth lets out a small laugh. “Then maybe I should hope you don’t try to steal Zane from me, instead.”
I tense. “No one’s stealing anyone.” I try to keep my voice light, but I can hear the tension in it. Damn it. I’m better than this. “I hope you’re enjoying the party, Keith.”
Because I’m sure as hell not.
“It’s a novel one, for sure,” Keith says. He keeps staring at Hyacinth, and my hackles ratchet up and up. “You seem familiar. Have I met you at another fundraiser?”
Hyacinth shakes his head. “No. I don’t go to fundraisers usually. I tend to stand out at public events.”
I don’t know what to say to that.
I should say something charming, witty, but all I can think is that I want to eviscerate Keith Harrington for daring to look at Hyacinth.
“In all the right ways,” I say with a brittle smile.
Keith ignores me. “Could you take the mask off? This is going to bother me all night.”
No.
He doesn’t get to see Hyacinth without his mask.
That’s reserved for me alone.
“I rather like my mask. Masks can be such fun,” Hyacinth answers in a sultry voice. He takes a single step toward Keith.
I tug on his arm to remind him of his place. I’ve had enough of this.
I squeeze his wrist in silent warning, tight enough to leave bruises, but my words are directed at Keith. “He isn’t for you,” I snap.
Fuck.
I said he.
Keith is sharp enough to catch it.
But correcting myself will only draw attention to the error.
I need to calm down. I need to retain my control before the whole thing explodes in my face.
Keith frowns and stares even harder at Hyacinth. “If Vilani is bothering you…”
Hyacinth sways closer to me, but he also says, “What will you do? Sweep me off my feet?”
The thought of Keith forcing Hyacinth to kneel sends something dark and ugly surging through me.
My control is slipping through my fingers like sand in a closing fist, and I fight harder to keep my breathing steady, to remain neutral at all.
“My date is my date,” I find myself saying despite everything screaming at me to calm the fuck down before I make a total idiot out of myself.
Hyacinth isn’t my date.
It doesn’t matter.
“And you are, aren’t you?” I ask, turning to Hyacinth with a brittle smile. “Mine?”
Fuck.
No.
This isn’t how this is supposed to go.
This isn’t how it can go.
So why am I losing it like this?
Hyacinth inhales sharply. “Yes,” he says, and the sass from earlier is gone. He drops the feminine affect too. “What are you going to do about that, though?”
We stare at each other, the air between us charged with emotion.
Until Keith says, “Wait. Are you—”
That’s enough. I don’t need Keith Harrington interrupting us anymore. “The restrooms are down the hall, to the right,” I say tersely. “We’re done here.”
Before Keith can protest, I push Hyacinth through the door. He doesn’t even stumble. I force him into the back, where I saw the small private room designated for smaller events.
I shut the door behind us, then turn the lock.
As soon as it’s closed, Hyacinth tosses his mask off and wraps his arms around my shoulders. I tense and prepare myself for an attack.
His lips come down against mine.
I grab his wrists, not trusting that he isn’t going to try to stab me, but there are no weapons in his hands.
Yet.
I shouldn’t kiss him back.
I shouldn’t take this risk.
I do it anyway.