Page 110 of Petrify

One two three.

And then it’s over in the blink of an eye, almost too quick, and I wonder for a second if I’ve botched the ending.

There’s some polite applause by the partygoers closest to the piano.

My head’s spinning. I stumble onto my feet in search of a glass of water, but before I get very far, a woman stops me.

“I saw Bran give you his card, so I thought I’d give you mine.”

She’s tall and lithe, with short black hair that curls around her ears.

“Violet Lavigne,” she says. “I’m an agent. I’ve been looking for someone to play in a few clubs in New York. Do you travel that far?”

“I—yes, I’m actually from the city.”

“Perfect.” She beams. “There’s a soul in your music. You have talent, that's for sure, but also something else.”

“Good isn’t she?”

Leo decides now is the time to feign interest. He has that confident smile, his dark hair combed back. His cologne is too strong.

He puts his hand on my shoulder.

It takes everything in me not to cringe.

“Very,” Violet says.

“Trying to steal my tutor?” It sounds like he’s just teasing, but after a month of living in the same house as Leo, I can discern the sharp edge of his words.

“You know how it is, Beauchene,” Violet laughs.

“Excuse me,” I say, my tongue going dry, too thick to swallow around.

“Think about it Mallary.” Violet’s smile turns genuine again.

“Thanks,” I say for the thousandth time tonight, sliding out from under Leo’s hold. “I’ll be reaching out.”

The guests give me a wide berth the rest of the night. I take a moment outside to breathe, to down a whole glass of water, lingering as long as I can. A small part of me hopes Baz will appear.

I force myself to go back inside when the tips of my fingers begin to turn white.

My only comfort is the familiar faces of the staff, even Maxim constantly scanning the crowd for the next anticipated need. Every now and then, I see him whisper an order to one of the other guys, and they run off to carry it out. The hired staff listens to his every word. He is nothing if not efficient.

But the anxiety in my chest has not faded.

I can only hope my pleas for Henri and the staff were heard.

I stand by the window as the clock strikes midnight and a cheer erupts around the room. Everyone holds a flute of champagne, which they all quickly down. Henri is given sparkling grape juice. He doesn’t finish his drink before he is whisked away for bed.

My glass stays poised at my lips, my fingers pinching the thin stem. Eyes scanning the crowd, waiting forsomethingto happen.

I haven’t felt his eyes on me in hours. Not since I sat at the piano bench. And I want nothing more than for him to be by my side, pretending we are normal. I can imagine it: circling the room, arm in arm, starting the new year with a kiss, while the guests can’t keep their eyes away. The face in my imagination is a blur, only the bottom half committed to my memory. I imagine kissing those lips in front of all these people. Claiming him for my own. Letting him claim me for all to see.

And I imagine smashing this glass against the wall and slicing his jugular for making my heart beat so rapidly—why hasn’t he done anything?

The plan has changed. This is the only explanation.

I throw back the rest of my champagne and set the glass on a passing server’s tray. The crowd is beginning to thin, guests wandering away from the ballroom and outside for brisk air, or further into the house to do god knows.