AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He laughs. “You seem surprised.”
“That’s because I am. What other talents do you possess?”
“None really.”
He twirls me around, extending his arm, and then gracefully folds me back into an embrace.
“Where did you learn to do this?” I ask, blissful.
“After my grandfather passed away, I became my grandmother’s dance partner. She taught me.”
“That’s kind of sweet. I take it, you two are close?”
“Somewhat. She’s just partial to me because I was named after her husband.”
As we continue to naturally sway to the rhythm of the tune blaring through the reception hall, I sink further into him, not realizing until this moment how much I’ve missed the feel of his body next to mine. Closing my eyes, I relish and savor my tiny fantasy—the one where he and I somehow have a happily ever after. It’s a pleasant place for my thoughts to wander.
When the song ends, I come back to the reality of the dim lights and the harsh lines of the world.
Over Foster’s shoulder, I spy Sasha and Elton still at the bar, having a drink. While part of me wants to stare daggers at Sasha for what she did to Foster in the past, my gaze keeps wandering to Elton. There’s a certain properness to be noted about the way he holds himself, his glass, and the movement of his arms. His mannerisms and gestures are not that of many people I’ve come to know while attending college, and he appears to be no older than twenty-three. In some ways, he reminds me of Gerard. The way he’s dressed and the way he carries himself tells me that he’s been groomed in some way. It’s somewhat unnatural—almost like me.
“Foster?”
“Yes, EJ?”
“Who is Elton?”
He halts and takes a step backward, distancing himself from me. “What are you asking?”
“He’s just…different. And I’m not talking about the European thing. He has this air to him…and I was just wondering if I was missing something.”
“Well, besides being a total asshole, he’s also the son of a duke. Is that what you mean?”
“Like, as in royalty?” I question, shocked, recalling when Foster called Elton the Lord of Tool-ing-ham. I thought he was just kidding around.
He chuckles. “Yeah, he’s considered a commoner, but he’s around number six hundred in line for the crown.”
“Is that what you meant when you called Sasha a status seeker?”
“You caught that?” Foster pulls me back into his arms, swaying us from side to side, matching the slow beat of a love song being serenaded throughout the room.
“I did.” Savoring him, I rest my cheek on his solid shoulder. “Status is grossly overrated.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
