At the side of the dance floor, I boil with jealous rage, and keep my distance, watching like the fucking stalker that I am. Taylor is an inattentive partner though, distracted and looking around the room.
She makes a good show, but she looks sad to me. Something in her eyes that’s hollow, even as she’s dancing with a son or cousin of someone. I’m not sure anyone else has noticed.
I don’t think she sees me, in the shadows.
When she leaves the dance floor, smiling tightly, I lose sight of her in the crowd, and my heart dips.
I can’t hide from this. I’m going to go after her.
This is obsession, and I’m obscenely wealthy, powerful, and apparently that means nothing, because the one person I reallywant is forbidden to me because I’m too old and too depraved for her.
Taylor.
“Kon.”
I jump as Taylor appears next to me, smile bright and eyes unsure, and suddenly I’m as stupid as a brick.
“Hi!”
I go to reach for her, pull her into my arms where she belongs, and remember just in time that she isn’t actually mine. She’s too sweet and young for me. I’d only break her.
“Thought I’d come over and say hi.” She shifts from foot to foot.
I button up my suit jacket then stuff my hands into my trouser pockets to prevent myself from cupping her face and kissing her silly.
Her smile wavers when I still don’t say anything.
“Just see how you are. You know?”
“Good.” I force the word out. “I’m good. Thank you.”
“I’m glad.” She swings her arms awkwardly, which given how graceful she naturally is, is impressive.
We stare at each other, and it’s like she’s drinking me in as much as I am her. I’m so happy to see her. I could bathe in her presence. There’s music, and sure I’d love to dance with her, hold her, and have her close, but after this time apart, this is enough. It’s life-sustaining.
“And you?” Such a conversationalist. I should take tips from Mortlake.
“Yes.” She nods.
“It’s a lovely wedding,” I observe and that’s not what I want to say. I’m desperate to hear how she really is, and whether she’d like to meet up for a coffee, lunch, cinema night, elopement, evening of hot sex where I tell her that I can’t survive without herand I love her so intensely I make the sun look chill. Any of those would be fine.
“Did you have a good dinner?” she asks. Her gaze flicks over to where her sisters are dancing, as though she’s nervous of being seen with me.
“I was seated with Mortlake.” I make a resigned, ironic face.
She shakes her head in confusion.
“Ah. Yes. Uh. I got more conversation from his baby.” Sweet little thing. “He’s not a great conversationalist, Mortlake. Apparently, he did speak when he was trying to find his wife, and I’m not important enough to justify words. But I’m having a better evening now.”
“Good.” She shifts infinitesimally closer, looking up and me and then smoothing her perfectly in-place hair. “I’ve been wanting to see you,” she says in a rush.
My heart launches itself into my throat. Me too, I want to reply, but the blood-pumping organ where I should have an air pipe prevents me.
“To say thank you.”
Annnnddd then my heart plummets to my feet, down through my shoes, splintering the wooden floor beneath us and keeps going until it’s at the centre of the fiery core of the earth where it burns to a sad black crisp.
“There’s no need.” I sound strained.
