“That’s a no comment.”
He smiled. When the quartet played a slow song, Christopher held out his hand. An invitation.
I took it because refusing would have looked strange and because, if I was being honest, I wanted to. We moved to the dance floor. His hand settled on my waist. Mine found his shoulder. He pulled me closer than I expected, and I let him. I was tired of fighting it.
“You’re a good dancer,” I said.
“You sound surprised.”
“I mean, you’re an actor. It’s expected.”
“Your rhythm is perfect too.” He turned me, slow, his hand firm on my waist, and when I came back to face him, we were closer than before.
We looked at each other. The music played. His hand was on my waist and mine was on his shoulder. Our faces were inches apart and I could see every shade of blue in his eyes. A certain shade that reminded me of distant sea horizons fading into the sky.
He was extremely handsome. A man who stayed in your thoughts longer than necessary.
The song ended. We stepped apart.
I reminded myself.Fake.All of it. The flowers, the compliments, the way he was looking at me. He was an actor. This was what he did.
Fake. Fake. Fake.
The mantra was getting harder to believe.
Halfway through the evening, I was alone near the bar while Christopher spoke with a few board members across the room. A man appeared beside me. Thirties, well-dressed, with a face that blended into a room full of wealthy people without leaving an impression.
“Mrs. Vale?” He extended his hand. “I’m James. I work with Dominic, his personal assistant.”
I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Dominic asked me to pass along a message. He’s been wanting to see you again. He really enjoyed your visit. Said your cooking was the best thing that’s happened to him in that hospital.” James smiled, pleasant and professional. “He’d love it if you could come by when you have time.”
Christopher’s face in the hospital doorway flashed through my mind—the last time I’d been near Dominic.
“That’s very kind,” I said. “Please tell Dominic I appreciate the invitation, but I’ll have to decline.”
I smiled politely and walked back toward the main room. I made it approximately twelve steps before a hand caught my elbow. Firm in a way that wasn’t aggressive but wasn’t optional either.
Christopher.
“Who was that?” His voice was casual. His eyes were not.
“Just someone saying hello.”
“About what?”
“Does it matter?” I asked.
“It matters if it involves my brother.”
I looked at him. The gala carried on around us, champagne glasses clinking, the quartet playing something smooth and elegant.
“He works with Dominic,” I said. “He passed along a message. I declined. That’s it.”
“What message?”
“Christopher.”
