Page 61 of Royal Deception
I glance toward him, irritated at the interruption but already shifting into work mode. “What’s up?”
“Something’s going on outside,” Finn says, his gaze scanning the room. “It looks suspicious. You might want to come take a look.”
I turn slightly to Callie, my hand still on her waist, and give her an apologetic smile. “Excuse me, just a second.”
Without waiting for her response, I signal for Finn to follow me, already making my way out of the ballroom.
We step outside into the cool evening air, and I spot the suspicious figures immediately—it’s two teenage kids, standing just a little too close to the entrance. Their eyes flick back toward the venue every few seconds, as if they’re waiting for their chance to slip in.
I approach them without hesitation, my tone low and threatening. “What the hell are you two doing here?”
One of the kids freezes, his wide eyes darting toward me. “Uh, we were just, uh… hoping to meet Callie Fitzgerald,” he stammers.
I glance back toward Finn, who just raises an eyebrow at me, clearly unimpressed. “Callie’s not available for fan meet-and-greets,” I reply, stepping closer. “This is a private event. You need to leave.”
The kids exchange nervous glances, and it’s clear they’re not eager to press their luck. “Sorry,” the second kid mumbles. “We didn’t mean any harm.”
I watch them both turn and scurry off, no longer interested in causing a scene. Finn chuckles quietly as we head back inside.
“Easy enough,” he says, the tension already easing out of him.
But my focus is already back inside. I stride through the hotel, scanning the room for Clary, and my stomach tightens when I realize she’s not in sight. I glance around, my gaze sweeping over the guests, the tables, and the dance floor.
No sign of her.
I make my way down the hallway by the bathrooms, half-expecting to find her there, but it’s empty. A cold knot starts to form in my gut.
What the hell? Where did she go?
I’m halfway through the ballroom when I catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye—a figure standing just beyond the entryway. It’s too far away to make out clearly, but something about their stance feels off.
I don’t hesitate. My feet move instinctively toward the entrance, but as I push through the crowd, the figure vanishes, disappearing into the shadows.
The fuck?
I freeze for a moment, scanning the dimly lit space. There’s nothing there, just the usual buzz of guests and staff, but that feeling in the pit of my stomach doesn’t go away.
I step outside, already running a mental checklist of everything I’ve secured, making sure I didn’t miss anything. I glance to the left and my eyes lock onto something else—an old, beat-up delivery van creeping away from the venue, its tires grinding against the gravel as it pulls out of the parking lot.
That van wasn’t here before.
Feeling in my gut that something isn’t right, I rush back into the ballroom, still searching for Clary when I spot her, face pale, a sleek-looking, black briefcase in her arms.
26
CLARY
The gala is a dream, like something out of a fairytale. The twinkling lights, the way the chandeliers glisten like stars, the soft melody of the orchestra—it all makes me feel like I’ve stepped into another world. But nothing compares to dancing with Rory.
Being in his arms, feeling the steady, commanding way he moves, the warmth of his hand on my back—it’s intoxicating. For those few minutes, I forget about everything else. It’s just us moving together, his touch grounding me in a way nothing else can.
And then Callie sweeps in like a storm in her dazzling sapphire gown, taking Rory’s hand and pulling him away with a charming smile and a teasing remark about needing to thank him properly for his security work. I watch as he goes, ever the gentleman, leading her onto the dance floor while my own arms feel suddenly, achingly empty.
I know it’s not personal. I know it’s just duty, just business. But I can’t help but feel the sting of frustration. Every time I have him to myself, something pulls him away—work, responsibilities, duty.
I let out a slow breath, my fingers brushing over the smooth crystal pendant resting against my collarbone. This means something. What we have means something.
Even still, the weight of it all presses down on me, and I slip away from the ballroom, weaving through the guests toward the bathrooms. I just need a moment. A moment to breathe, to clear my head.
