Page 136 of Hide and Keep

It’s a job. It’s just a fucking job.

So what if she’s dancing with someone? They’re in full view of Arthur, the man who writes my checks. It’s his concern. She’s his concern. Ever needs something, she can run to Daddy.

I deserve a break and I could use some fresh air away from all this stuffy-ass bullshit.

The open bifold back doors in sight, I swivel at the last second and head for the kitchen instead. Arthur hired me to protect his daughter’s reputation. I chose to protect her body. But Ever needs me to protect the rest of her. That’s exactly what I’m going to do…with or without my boss’s permission.

Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go.

I watch past Mallory’s arm as Crue disappears through a door, triggering a tremor that begins in my heart and works its way outward to my limbs.No.Where is he going? He said he’d stay close. He swore. Him being in an entirely different room isn’t close at all.

“Most of the time, the fox survives.”

Still searching the crowd in hopes Crue’s face will magically appear, I don’t bother with more than a “Mm” to my dance partner.

Mallory either doesn’t notice or care, because he just continues on, mansplaining fox hunts to me despite my father partaking in the pointless expeditions every winter. A bunch of people on horseback, along with twenty hounds, and depending on the terrain they’re going through, maybe even a whipper-in traveling in a vehicle, go on a wild goose chase, except there is no goose. They chase a fox…if they’re lucky enough to pick up one’sscent. Typically, guns aren’t involved, so they literally follow a fox through the woods for “sport.” It’s just an excuse for men like my father to drink hard liquor at seven in the morning and feel the anticipation of murder without technically murdering anything—usually. Like Mallory said,mostof the time the fox survives. Sometimes the dogs get a little too eager, sometimes the hunters do. Sometimes the fox just dies of natural causes because it’s a wild creature living its life. The hunts my father goes on have scouts up ahead that keep the fox fed—essentially alive—along the way, ensuring the hunt is worthwhile because although chasing a heavily outnumbered, ten-pound fox through the woods is thrilling, chasing nothing through the woods is embarrassing. To him.

To me, it’s all embarrassing. Of all the frivolous things we waste money on, fox hunting has to be the dumbest. And Mallory seems to be a huge advocate for fox hunts, so much so he’s still talking about them two months after the season ended.

“…rode his horse right into a ravine and it took five of us to get them both out. I told my father we should’ve left him in there.” His deep chuckle stretches several moments too long for a joke that didn’t land.

At least I hope it was a joke. It wasn’t the horse’s fault its rider was an elitist dumbass.

“But I love it. I’m hoping to become Huntsman myself one day and lead my own hunt. The Huntsman has five buttons on his jacket…” Mallory stops dancing to point out five spots down his torso, his expression serious. “Everyone else only has four.” Grabbing my hand again, he resumes our dance in a room full of people who are not dancing, completely unconcerned with that or the fact that I couldn’t care less about anyone’s buttons, let alone his. “I already have three American foxhounds I’ve been training myself. Unlike other breeds of hunting dogs, Americanfoxhounds are great with kids so they’re sound long-term investments.”

I drop my eyes to the floor, wishing it’d fall away like a sinkhole. Not only is he already planning for a family, he’s referring to dogs as investments. This is our first time meeting and these are the things he says to me?

Thankfully, the classical music stops, causing a hush to fall over the party. My father appears on the second-floor landing, tapping a tablet in his hold before returning it to a docking station on the wall beside him.

The house has never been lived in. World-renowned artist, Bardolph Villegas, was commissioned to make several sculptures for the property, including this one, making it an ideal location for private events.

As I turn to see Father better, Mallory wraps an arm around my back, trapping me against his side. That tremor kicks up, rattling my insides as if my skeleton is just floating in a hollow shell.

But if that were true, why does everything in there hurt so bad right now? Being hollow would be a dream compared to this.

Leaning down, Mallory nuzzles my ear.

I have to force myself to stay still and not jerk away from his touch. I don’t know him for him to be so close.

“I’ll have to thank your father for telling me you were a dancer.”

I internally scoff. What did he get out of our dance other than the sound of his own voice?

My hand on his chest pushing to create some space between my ear and his hot mouth, I gaze up at him, and through a grin, reply, “I’m a cheerleader.”

One of his eyes partly closes before he corrects it, his own smile growing. “That’s over now though, right?”

The corners of my lips quiver with the added strain to keep them up. After a swallow, I nod.

Mallory gives my father his full attention while I, once again, give mine to the floor.

He’s not that bad,I tell myself.

From what I’ve seen so far, he’s not that great either. Would he stand for ninety minutes straight—without complaint—just to see how someone does my hair? Would he learn how to stunt just so I can fly? Would he insist on putting my shoes on me even when they’re pumps and I’m perfectly capable of slipping them on myself?

Nobody compares to Crue Brantley. He’s… Still missing. Where is he?

I send another glimpse around the room for him.

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