My blush is in overdrive. “Claudia, it’s on the down-low. I don’t want my father finding out Dax is here.”
“Oh.” She nods knowingly. “Well, it was lovely to meet you. Mister?”
Dax bats a hand. “Just Dax is fine.”
I wink at Claudia. “It’s Mr. Malone.”
Claudia grins brightly, and I tug Dax out of the bedroom. “We’ll get out of your hair.”
Dax waves, following me out. “Bye.”
“Come on, I’ll show you the other side of the house, and then you should get more rest.”
“Believe me, I’m fine. I got more sleep last night than I have in a long time.”
“You seemed pretty restless.”
“Well, I feel better than I have in ages.”
I hold his hand, smiling. “I’m glad.”
When we get back downstairs, I get a jolt of excitement from a nearby room. I veer him closer to the double herringbone doors.
“This is one of the rooms the housekeepers hate the most,” I say, opening the door. “They complain there are too many windows and it’s too hard to reach the chandeliers, even with tall ladders.”
“Wow, this looks like a ballroom,” Dax says, walking across the high-shine herringbone floors and marveling at the exceptionally high ceiling, which boasts three five-tier chandeliers. “Why don’t you have your gala here?”
“We host some events here,” I reply. “But they’re mostly dinners with executives from my father’s companies.”
“You make it sound like this place is low-tier.”
“It just depends on the function. Some events aren’t appropriate to hold on the estate.”
“If you say so. The only parties I’ve ever seen are a bunch of guys getting loaded at the clubhouse bar.”
“Well, our parties are a little more upscale,” I tease.
“No doubt.” Dax pulls me into his arms. “So what kind of stuff happens at a black-tie gala?”
“Oh, it’s a riot,” I say sarcastically. “Old men talk about stocks and bonds, older women drink too many martinis, and my friends rate everyone’s outfits on the harshest scale.”
“Wow. How have I never been before?”
“Wait, how could I forget? There’s also dancing.”
His jaw clenches. “Dancing?”
I stifle a laugh. “Have you ever waltzed?”
His eyebrow raises, and he gestures at himself. “What kind of question is that?”
I giggle and lift my arms into waltz position. “Wanna try?”
He backs away from me. “You’re not serious.”
With my arms still in position, I wave him over. “Come on. Go for a twirl with me.”
“I don’t twirl.”
