Page 81 of Cruel Lies

"Did I? Well then, I guess this one's extra."

"You can't just bend the rules to suit you, you know," I tease.

"I can do whatever I want. It's my party." He straightens and offers me his arm. "Shall we?"

I take it.

We walk up the steps together. The cameras go off, a billion flashes in a row, voices shouting, begging us to turn and give them a twirl, but I don't look at them. I keep my chin level and my hand on his arm and let him steer.

Inside, the ballroom is enormous. There are glistening chandeliers and tables with white cloths, and a band playing off to the side. People are everywhere in their tuxedos and their gowns, holding little glasses, talking in that low, chuckling murmur rich people do.

I feel every single one of them notice us.

Who's that with Ronan Akov?

Ronan's hand comes over mine where it rests on his arm. He doesn't look at me. He just presses down, once, like he heard the thought.

"Breathe," he says quietly.

Come to think of it, that's pretty good advice. I take a deep inhale and let myself relax on the exhale, all the tension easing out of me in a long, happy sigh.

He's got me. I'm safe. It's okay.

Then he stops us just inside the doorway, off to the side where the crowd thins. "One more thing before we go in." He reaches into his jacket.

"If this is money—" I start.

"It's not money." He pulls out a small flat box. Not wrapped. He opens it himself and holds it out to me.

Inside is a bracelet. It's thin, gold, and simple, no giant stones, no showing off. There's a small charm on it. I lean in to look.

It's an octopus.

I laugh before I can stop myself. It comes out too loud and a couple of heads turn.

"You did not," I gasp.

"I saw it in a shop window and it seemed to be screaming at me that it wanted out of its container. I thought it was appropriate."

I'm laughing, suddenly flushed and giddy. "You are unbelievable."

"May I?" He takes the bracelet out of the box. I hold out my wrist and he clasps it, his big fingers surprisingly careful with the tiny latch. It settles cool against my skin.

"There," he says. "Now, you match the room."

"I don't think anyone else here is wearing an octopus."

"Then you outshine the room. In my opinion, that's even better."

He puts the box back in his jacket and offers his arm again, and we walk in properly.

It feels like time gets put on fast forward from there. One thing stands out above the blur of names and faces, handshakes and champagne toasts:

He'sgoodat this.

Not in the Todd way, not the big-handshake, big-watch, look-at-me way. Ronan moves through the room like he was born to do exactly this. He introduces me to everyone. A man who runs some kind of hospital foundation. A woman with silver hair and a laugh like a bell who turns out to run a museum. A couple who owns half the real estate in Tribeca.

And every single time, he introduces me the same way.