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I cover my mouth to muffle my giggles. It’s dumb, it really is, but I can’t help but remember Caelan’s predilection for sharp objects. I point at the ice skates. “I thought… Caelan might like ice skating. ’Cause knife shoes.”
“Knife shoes,” Caelan repeats.
Elias maintains his usual composed demeanor, but he squeezes my hand, and I get the impression from the tilt of his head and the tiniest shake to his shoulders that he’s trying very hard not to laugh.
Caelan huffs. “If you think I wouldn’t slash someone across the throat with one of those, you’re very wrong.”
“Just with an ice skate in your hand or while wearing them?” I ask.
“Either.”
That statement only makes me laugh harder. I don’t doubt he would in the slightest, and as horribly morbid as it is, that only makes the whole mental image even more amusing.
“I-I’m sorry,” I wheeze. “I just. Pictured it with like… a pirouette and a high kick, and I-I… That’s not that funny. I’m sorry.”
I even get a snort and a laugh from Elias with that one, ineffectively hidden by a cough.
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Caelan grumbles, but he doesn’t seem overly annoyed. In fact, he appears to put a bit too much consideration into the idea, a wickedly amused look in his eye, although he’s doing his best not to let Elias see it. I really hope I haven’t given him any kind of inspiration.
He leans over and lightly bites my ear, tugging the shell with his teeth. I’m not even sure if it’s meant to be teasing retribution or simply affectionate, but either way, it makes me laugh lightly again, and I stick my tongue out at him.
I’m still grinning as the three of us reenter the hotel. Rather than lead us back to the elevators and our room, Elias guides us further along the main corridor toward the ceiling-high, arched windows at the far end. There’s a staircase, only a few steps high but wide, carpeted in red, leading up to a set of massive, carved wooden doors.
“Shall we?” he asks, gesturing toward the room.
I cast a questioning glance in Elias’ direction, and he smiles. “I believe I promised you a dance.”
He opens the door, offering me his hand, and we step into the ballroom together.
ChapterEight
The room inside is all high ceilings and arched bays, balconies set into each archway and surrounded by draped curtains. Long banquet tables are lined down the center of the room, surrounded by circular tables draped in fine white tablecloths. The stage at the back of the room is surprisingly small, given what I’ve imagined the room will be used for tomorrow evening and dwarfed by the marble dance floor surrounding it. It is a true ballroom rather than designed for performances.
“This room was used for important awards ceremonies in the earlier days of Hollywood,” Elias explains.
That sort of thing is over my head, but it looks fancy, that much I can tell.
“Shall we?” Elias says, offering me his hand.
I glance back at Caelan, who lets his arm slide from my waist. He pulls a face. “Ain’t my thing, but you have fun or whatever.”
“I theoretically know how this goes, but I’ve never actually danced with anyone in practice,” I warn Elias. But I take his hand regardless, and he pulls me in against him. Close. Closer than any of the instructional demonstrations I’d watched. His other hand slides around my waist, and I place my hand on his shoulder.
“I will give you any guidance you need,” Elias says. “Although technique is hardly a concern. This is purely for enjoyment.”
“Yours or mine?” I ask teasingly.
Elias’ reply is serious, though. “Both,” he says smoothly. “And I intend to make sure you do enjoy this. Very much.”
I’m not entirely sure if he’s talking about the dancing anymore.
He starts us off slowly, with simple waltz steps to let me get the hang of it. It’s easy enough to fall into the rhythm of it, letting him lead as we slowly, steadily make our way in small circles around the dance floor.
I relax into it. It’s nice. A little old-fashioned, cliché almost, and not something I thought I’d ever have the chance or even want to do. But it suits Elias.
There’s something quietly thrilling about it. As Elias had said, technique was hardly the goal here. From what I remember of the instructions, we were supposed to keep our elbows high, but Elias decides to forgo that in favor of simply holding me closer. There’s an elegance, an understated grace perhaps on his part more than mine, and simple pleasure in being held against his chest.
I rest my head against him, burying my face into the crook of his neck, and he raises his hand to tangle it gently in my hair, holding me like that.
