Page 121 of Chaos

“Uh-huh.” Eyeing the champagne flute clutched between my fingers, I briefly consider licking the rim in search of a lingering liquid before I realize that is, in fact, unhinged behaviour. “It’s just Finn. No big deal.”

It’s just Finn, I repeat to myself as I turn on my heels—my fucking stiletto heels because apparently, curb-stompers on a wedding day is where Luna draws the line—in search of Finn.No big deal.

Though I don’t look particularly hard, I still find him easily. While most guests litter the dancefloor, he and Adam linger on the sidelines, nursing drinks.

I swallow. I hike up my metaphorical big girl pants. I summon a whole lot offuck itenergy, and I march in their direction.

Two gazes watch me approach, the darker one abruptly flitting away. A large hand moves to an unbuttoned collar, tugging at it in what I easily recognize as a display of discomfort because I’m doing the same thing, yanking on the soft fabric flush tight against my chest like it’s the reason my breaths aren’t coming as easy.

By the time I reach the guys, I’m not breathing at all, and it seems like Finn isn’t either. He doesn’t greet me like Adam does. He doesn’t smile at me like Adam does. He doesn’t say that I look pretty like Adam does either. He just stares into the distance, looking… distressed. Like he’s dreading something, whatever comes next—as if he already knows what I’m about to do.

When I wrap my fingers around his wrist, wide eyes drop to me. Shocked eyes. Wary eyes.

But when I tug, he doesn’t hesitate to come. As I move towards the dancefloor, he follows, and my back burns as his tangible gaze roams over it. I weave through the crowd, burying us in the middle of it, sucking in one, two, three deep breaths before finding the guts to turn around.

I put a hand on his shoulder.

He drops one to my waist, his fingers so long, they reach the seam where my dress becomes skin, and I have to fight tooth and nail to stem a shiver.

Swallowing, I slide my left hand into his right one.

His fingers close gently around mine. The ones grazing my back dig in slightly, urging me closer, making it so I would have to reel my head back to meet Finn’s gaze—which I don’t do. Like the very coward I accused my twin of being, I stare steadfastly over his shoulder.

And even though I think it’s pretty obvious, Finn quietly asks, “What’re we doing?”

I pull back just enough for my gaze to skate across a defined jaw. “Don’t tell metheFinn Akello doesn’t know how to dance.”

That jaw drops an inch, bringing a pair of full lips into view. “Don’t tell metheLottie Jackson does.”

“I don't look like I know how to dance?”

“Oh, you do.” The tiniest hint of a dimple dents his cheek, and I stare at it like it’s an oasis and I’m parched. “Slow dance, though…”

I huff a laugh, eyes tracing the slope of a fine cheekbone. “Don't let this dress fool you. I am an extremely classy girl.”

“I like your dress.”

“Bet you do.”

Finn chuckles and the noise rattles me, the fingertips blindly tracing the outline of delicate, inky wings rattle me,thisrattlesme because how is it so easy? The last time we spoke was nothing short of tragic, we’ve barely interacted since, yet we melt into familiar, quippy roles with no real effort to speak of. It’s just that simple. It’s comfortable. Just like that, it’s as though nothing happened at all.

Except it did. I haven’t forgotten.

And evidently Finn, despite my pleas, hasn’t either.

“Am I allowed to tell you that you look beautiful or will you think I’m confused about that too?”

I suck in a breath. Right. Okay. Guess we’re not dancing around the elephant in the room—we’re beating the thing with a stick. “That’s the word, then?” I call back to that conversation that feels so long ago, where he sneered at the wordprettylike it was a synonym fordogshit. “The one you’ve been looking for?”

“Disappointed?”

“It is a little boring.”

That chuckle sounds again. That mouth dips a little closer. That voice lowers, thickens, murmurs, “Got a lot of words, princess. None you wanna hear though.”

Try me, I almost dare. With any other person, I would. But Finn’s got that glint in his eye, the same resolute one from the other night, and I’ve already warded against it once. I don’t think I could do it again.

I drop my gaze, finding the gleaming gemstones decorating his collar. Running the pad of my thumb over the light blue face of one, I follow the thin connecting chain to the other, my knuckles grazing a smooth neck.

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