Page 23 of A Vicious Love

I looked through the glass doors, here nobody seemed to have noticed I was missing except possibly Emmie, who would worry if she knew.

“Yes,” I said softly. “Please. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” His smile was small.

I nodded, clutching my coffee in both hands. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Sienna.”

He remembered my name.

Everyone in Harlan knew everyone’s names. That was not special.

He opened the terrace door and let me go first.

At the front desk, Alistair spoke quietly with staff while I sent Emmie a message using his working signal.

Going back to Harlan. Safe ride with Alistair Ashbourne. Thank you for tonight xx

Her reply came almost immediately.

Are you okay?

I looked at the message for a long moment. Write back yes. Her response came with three dots, then stopped, then came again.

Text me when you arrive. Marcel is furious.

I swallowed hard and locked the phone. Alistair’s car pulled up beneath the awning, with a driver and two security vehicles. The staff held the door open as we stepped out.

CHAPTER FOUR

SIENNA

Imissed the next two social events because I injured my ankle. It was a stupid landing in rehearsal. Sending a clean shock of pain up my leg. Madame Aveline went silent in the way that terrified every dancer more than yelling.

A strain, the doctor said to rest, ice, no pointe work, rehearsals, no standing in heels at dynasty events pretending everything was fine. I had almost laughed at that last part. Pretending everything was fine was practically my full-time role.

Still, for once, my body had given me an excuse no one could politely argue with. So I stayed home. I missed a conservation dinner in St. Verity. Then I missed a gallery opening in Harlan’s north quarter.

Jamison didn’t contact me.

A month passed since I last saw him at Bellweather. A whole month. Long enough for my ankle to heal, and for the gossip to worsen.

Crow problems had started spilling into society. A hotel wing had burned down. Which society said in those clipped, rich voices, as if “only” made fire less hungry. There were whispers about insurance disputes, missing ledgers, a former manager found half-dead in a private club bathroom, and two families suddenly pulling investment from Crow entertainment holdings.

By the time I saw Jamison again, half of Harlan had decided the Crows were either under attack or starting one.

The event was at the Harlan Glasshouse, a black-tie benefit for private medical recovery wards. The kind of event where everyone pretended compassion was the reason they gathered beneath imported chandeliers and drank champagne from crystal.

I arrived with my mother because Jamison had not answered when I asked if we were arriving together.

She spent the car ride telling me my ankle brace was unattractive, my dress was too soft, and my smile looked “needy” when I practiced it in the window reflection.

I stopped practicing after that.

The Glasshouse was full when we arrived. Winter roses climbed indoor trellises. White candles lined long mirrored tables.

It was beautiful.