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“It’s so romantic,” Lucy croons.
Kelsey and Marilee both sigh, hands over their hearts, and I fully understand the sentiment. Somehow, of its own accord, my hand finds Frederick’s on top of my knee, and I run my fingertips over his veins, tracing each one up and down, slow, steady—the exact opposite of the rhythm of my heart in this moment.
His eyes dart to me, surprise flashing in them before he pulls his hand away and wraps it around my shoulders instead.
A proper admonishment then—just like at the Moon Bay Inn courtyard yesterday when he pulled his hands away from me.
Watch out, Chloe, my brain says.Your feelings are showing.
My cheeks flush. And now Ireallyneed that water. “I’ll be right back.” Before he can protest, I inch out of the booth and leave him to finish answering the barrage of questions. He won’t like me being away from him like this, but he should still be able to see me across the room with his super spy eyes.
Cutting through the crowd on the dance floor, I nearly slip on a puddle of something sticky, but right myself just in time. Bodies press against me on all sides, but no one gives a care or extra consideration to me. I suppose this is what it feels like to be normal, eh?
And maybe what it feels like to have a broken heart too.
* * *
What does it take for a girl to get a drink around here?
I’ve been waiting an eternity (okay, fine, more like ten minutes), but still haven’t been served by the bartenders. It appears they only want to chat up the male clientele. Sighing, I slump onto a stool and glance back at our table. The others are still talking, laughing, but Frederick’s gaze is narrowed in on me. He gestures at me to come back and starts to get up, but I put up my hand in a HALT motion.
I need my space, and I’m hoping he respects that.
He hesitates a moment, then gives me a nod. But his eyes never leave me. If our new friends see him, they’ll likely think he’s of the jealous sort, the kind who doesn’t want his woman going off without him. I should probably go back there, save our cover. After all, I want them all to like us.
But at the moment, I just don’t care.
So I flip back around in my stool and face the bar, awaiting my turn to grab a blooming glass of water.
Two hands alight on my back, skimming down toward my waist—but they arenotFrederick’s hands. And it’s not Frederick’s voice in my ear. “Well, aren’t you just all curves and sweetness. Want to get out of here, Pretty Lady?”
My hands grip the counter as I whip around and find the “jolly” giant who ran into me on our way in. His eyes are now completely rheumy, his long black hair is greasy and tangled, and he’s grinning at me like I’m a prize steer he’s trying to rope.
“Hi, sorry, not interested.” I say this in a gentle but firm way, because I have no wish to make him angry. Who knows what the result ofthatwould be, given his obvious inebriation.
“Oh, come on now, sweetheart. Give old Ricky a chance.” His words slur but his movements are surprisingly quick as he leans both hands on the counter, trapping me on the stool. I don’t really want to touch him but in trying to duck away, my nose smacks his meaty arm.
“Please go away.”
“You like it, sweetheart, don’t you now?”
How does nobody around us seem to notice what’s happening? But karaoke has begun and most everyone’s attention is on the stage where someone is massacring a beloved ’N Sync song.
Still, I have bigger problems with this bloke’s face getting closer every moment. “I have a fiancé, and he’s not going to like this.”
“I don’t see him anywhere.”
My heart rate kicks up a notch and I open my mouth to scream for help—
“I’m right here, mate.” Before I know what’s happening, the guy is wrenched away from me and Frederick is there, his eyes flashing with something I’ve never seen before. Controlled rage pools and lingers, just itching for an excuse to leak out. “And I thought I told you not to touch her again.”
Seeing him like this … it’s both terrifying—and exhilarating.
Ricky staggers for a moment and punches right then left, but Frederick easily outmaneuvers the overgrown idiot without laying another finger on him. The big guy finally gets so dizzy that he falls to the floor.
I lean down to see if he’s okay, but then Frederick has me by the arm and is tugging me down a dark hallway toward an Exit sign I never would have seen or known existed. To my knowledge, nobody is pursuing us, but Frederick doesn’t stop, slamming his palm into the door’s crash bar and pulling me into the alley behind the bar, which is backed by the forested side of Main Street.
We round the corner, and he presses me up against the building, covering my body with his own in a protective stance—his palms flat against the wall on either side of my head—as he glances around the bend.
