Unperturbed by my flirting, she replies, “Is that because you are a leader, or a proper lady?”
“Don’t you remember? I’m both. Pay attention.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
If only Papa would emerge so I could see the puffed-up, reddened look on his face as he finds me in the arms of this strange, unfairly attractive woman. And she certainly is attractive. Minimal makeup means her beauty is effortless, with striking facial features and two stunning eyes, the color a light brown closer to the yellow of a jungle cat than any familiar shadeof wood. A lithe, strong body is packed into her suit. Her muscles soften and tense beneath my hands.
“Your suitor is practically green with envy,” she says, nodding toward Jimmy Junior, who’s being orbited like a neutron star by other young, angry men watching us.
“Is that why he’s green?”
“That or the twelve hundred appetizers he consumed since arriving,” she replies.
Chuckling, I tilt my head. “Keeping tabs on the guests? Isn’t that the host’s job?”
“Since Leader Piccolo has yet to notice a stranger took his daughter, I do not think he is too concerned with the gastrointestinal activities of your intended.”
“He is not my intended,” I object with a sharp look. “Besides—” I wet my lips and drop my voice. “It doesn’t count as being taken if I come willingly.”
A full blush creeps below her mask and she shakes her head, adjusting her grip as the music changes. We seamlessly segue into a Viennese waltz, joined by others who nod deferentially in my direction, no doubt murmuring amongst themselves about the woman with whom I’ve chosen to dance. This gossip is heightened by the stark intimacy of this waltz—we are close enough where I can breathe in her breath, see the faint dots of perspiration along her forehead, and the heat of our bodies could melt the gems right off my dress. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, she often deflects and continuously scans the room.
Eventually, the lack of her undivided attention irks me. “You know, it doesn’t make a girl feel special when her dancing partner has their eyes glued on everyone in the room but her.”
“I was not aware it was my duty to make you feel special.” Her gaze settles on me, an unsettling stare. I wonder if hereyes always contain this coiled energy, like a scorpion poised to strike. “Are there not staff Leader Piccolo pays to do that?”
People love to squish me into boxes: spoiled daughter, socialite, or airhead heir. It appears Taylor has at least put me in the first one. “Is he paying you, hero?”
Reeling me in against her chest, I receive a plume of her scent when we touch—cool, like fresh snow. “No.”
“Good.” My heart thuds so loudly my chest, I hope she can’t hear it. “Because I’d tell him to demand his money back.”
She chuckles, breaking the tension. “Are you not enjoying yourself, Miss Piccolo?”
“Lucy.”
“Sure.”
“I didn’t say that. But I’m sure he would be incensed to know some rebel-sympathizing rabble-rouser accosted his only spawn.”
“As if that was not the precise reason you agreed to dance with me.” She’s not wrong, though getting me away from JJ made my decision easy. “Maybe you have some rebel in you.”
Blushing, I roll my eyes. “Everyone is brave behind a mask.”
Taylor appraises me, candlelight eyes twinkling. She tilts her head to catch my eye, hand touching the side of my mask. “Not everyone. Bravery is a choice.”
“Dancing isn’t brave.”
“It can be.”
Suddenly, I wish we weren’t wearing these masks. I want to get to know this woman without this façade of distance. I don’t care whose daughter she is. I am pulled to her like a compass rose toward true north. And that’s not to mention the physical attraction, of which there is plenty. The scandalous rapidity with which I would take her to bed is truly astonishing, even for me.
I’m mentally calculating how best to woo this woman into my bedroom when I see her eyes fixate upward and her body tensesbeneath my hands. Following her gaze, I’m perplexed to see the skylights nearly black—as if a thick layer of soot has overtaken them. My dancing partner’s eyes fall back down with mine, but she isn’t confused. Her eyes are wide in observation, like she’s trying to swallow the room with one look.
COs surreptitiously move closer to us, fingers pressed to their hidden earpieces, trying not to bump into any of the dancers. Instinctively I look around for Papa, assuming he called them to attention. Normally his absence is a blessing, but now I’m craving the sense of security that accompanies his power. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“Lucy?” I nod dumbly as the hand around my back rises and grips my shoulder. “Get ready.”
“For what?”
