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I took a drink of champagne.
I was still so, so naive. That wasn’t us. You can’t come to understandings when one person holds all the cards.
The worst part was I knew I couldn’t keep up the coldness. Anteros was fire to my soul. Even this morning, when I should have been dead weight on the bed, he’d somehow managed necromancy. His bruises seared like a lover’s caress and my soul was so often tricked. I had to remind myself as if it were a mantra: Beast wasn’t my lover. He was my enemy. This was not a love story, this was a hate story.
He was probably watching the cameras.
Which had me wondering if he saw me in the pantry. Shaking my head, I lifted the champagne. That was not a thought I wanted to spar with. It wasn’t like it was my fault. I hadn’t sought the man out. I put the drink to my lips again, only to have it get immediately knocked away when someone ran into me. Champagne sloshed out of the top and to the floor and Gabby’s hurried whisper filled my ear.
“What did Vic say?”
“Who?” I stared at the liquid gold that would not be going in my stomach, watching as people stepped over it, getting it on their shoes and the hems of their dresses. It was quickly mopped away. Even Gabby’s dress was getting in it, a deep reddish-purple color that shined like satin.
“That man.” Gabby’s satin-clad arm dragged me closer to the middle of the floor. “Donna Lucia sent him.”
“Who?” It was packed, shoulder to shoulder—how did people dance this way?
“Lucia Pavoni,” Gabby said, exasperation leaking from her pores. “Lucio Pavoni’s sister.” My brain strained, remembering the names in the stories I’d read in the journal. There were two Lucio Pavonis, a junior and senior. Lucio Pavoni was the man who owned this museum-townhouse, according to Beast. He also had to be the one in the photo since Sofia had said the senior died. I remembered that Sofia said since the eldest Lucio had died, the younger was planning something, something that made her worry for the fate of them all. That was pretty much it, though. Sofia wasn’t exactly an historian. Maybe what younger Lucio was planning was buying out the Louvre.
So Lucia was his sister. But why?
“Why?” I probed. “Why would she send him?”
“Because you’re the princess,” Gabby said. “Also someone may have sent her a letter about you…” She looked away.
I gripped her arm until my flesh turned hers white. “Are you insane? Don’t you see what’s happening? Nikolai is using you.” Her forehead creased and she stepped back.
“No he’s not.”
“Who brought us together before you murdered your husband? Who told you I was the princess? Who told you to send the letter? He’s using you for something, Gabby. Using us!”
She paused a moment then said, "Does it fucking matter?” My eyes widened. Gabby never swore. “What does it matter if we get out?” I didn’t have an answer for her. For Gabby getting out was everything, for me it used to be and now it was…it was an ache in my chest.
“Lucia is on our side,” Gabby said simply. “She wants to help. She must know something about the photos. Nikolai says she has to know who your mother is.” I paused at her words. My mother? Was it possible the woman was out there alive?
Then I stilled.
I already had a mother.
“This is all happening way too fast.” I spun to her. “Even if I entertain the idea that I’m some princess, you can’t just…just…” Someone bumped into us, pushing us closer. A few golden tendrils from Gabby’s expertly coiffed hair fell from her face. “Just contact the leader of the mafia without telling me!”
Her smile fell. “Without you this entire thing falls apart.”
“I—” With a yelp, my words fell. Someone reached from behind, snaking their hands around my waist and pulling me from Gabby.
“There you are.” His breath was hot against my hair. Though his low, cruelly smooth and seductive voice was unmistakable, I recognized the feel of him most. I recognized the way his fingers splayed against my stomach and how his muscles were like packs of stone against my back. My body hummed for the Beast.
“I’ve been enjoying the party, like you asked.” Did I respond a little too quickly?
“I only have a few moments to spare.” Taking one arm, he spun me around, a ghost of a smile on his face. With his hand now on my lower back, he looked into my eyes. The once crowded dance floor separated for us. It was just him and me, twirling and dancing.
And fuck.
He was an amazing dancer. I knew that a little bit already, though, had seen a glimpse of it the night…the night Arlo tried to rape me. The way he’d dipped me then was exquisite. The way he led me in a dance was how he led his life, with force and surety. I was breathless when he spun me out, my hair whipping fast and furiously.
We were a picture of grace and poise. That night he wore an elegant tuxedo, the epitome of class and sex appeal. In this ballroom filled with strangers, I got to see his electric virility in the wild. Women watched him unabashedly, even now as we danced.
He spun me out and then spun me back, and it was beautiful.
