Page 37 of Goldrage
Eleanora sighs dramatically. “I hate dancing.”
“And yet you’re already moving toward the floor.” Lorenzo’s grin spreads wider as he guides her into position. “Curious, no? You want to see how I move.”
“I absolutely donot.” She glances at me. “But we’ll keep up appearances. You okay?”
I nod. “Yeah. Go have fun dancing.”
“It won’t be fun with him,” she spits out. But her body has softened and she’s letting Lorenzo take the lead.
They sweep into motion. Lorenzo moves with the natural grace of someone raised in this lifestyle, while Eleanora’s movements carry a different rhythm—controlled, alert, ready to shift from waltz to warfare in a heartbeat. She’s not happy about dancing, that much is clear from the set of her jaw, but she doesn’t fight him either.
Their heads tilt together as they turn, lips moving in what looks like lovers’ whispering. But I know better. They’re talking about our plan, about anything they’ve discovered, ideas on how to get Adrian out. Still, there’s something in the way Eleanora’s hand rests against Lorenzo’s shoulder, not quite pulling away, not quite leaning in. She’s certainly a sea of contradictions when it concerns my cousin.
I’m happy for Lorenzo, because he seems to really like Eleanora, but I also feel bad for Emeric. Somewhere across an ocean, Emeric is building his family’s empire,blissfully unaware that the woman he’s loved for years is engaged to another man. The thought of his face when he learns the truth—God, it makes me want to turn back time to when our biggest problems were sneaking out past curfew.
How did we all becomethis? How did we grow from angsty teenagers who just wanted to be adults and make our own decisions, to adults now fighting for our lives? Adults with complicated relationships and the power to destroy each other?
When Emeric returns, I really don’t want to be around when he learns the truth. I’d rather not witness that pain.
“Wine?” A server appears at my side, balancing a silver tray of glasses filled with blood red wine. He must recognize me because his eyes widen. “So sorry, miss. My apologies. Would you like some sparkling cider?”
I shake my head, touching my stomach in a gesture that’s become automatic.
The server bows and melts back into the crowd, but not before I catch the way his eyes linger on my midsection. Another believer in the myth of the Harrow heir.
My eyes wander as a song by Beethoven flows around me. These beasts look almost normal tonight. Everyone is dressed in fine clothing, and there’s no hint of the depravity and greed they show at other gatherings.
All lies.
I catch Olivia Marlowe staring at me from a group several feet away. She’s too far away for me to read herexpression, but she’s definitely staring.Great. What could she want?
She was involved that night Lady Harrow humiliated me and had Consortium members burn me with a cigar. Olivia only left one small mark on my breast, but she still participated. I have no idea what she might be thinking right now as she glares at me. I angle away and return to watching my cousin and best friend dance.
Lorenzo and Eleanora spin and they’re actually smiling. I think they’re actually enjoying this dance together. I’m happy for them but it also makes me sad. The graceful arc of their movements, the way two bodies can speak without words… it makes me miss Adrian.
Adrian.
The name burns through me like a fever. My skin remembers the weight of his arms, the careful way he held me. God, what I wouldn’t give to dance with him now and feel his heartbeat against mine.
Earlier, I had managed to catch the doctor and ask how Adrian was, desperate for any scrap of information.
“The bullet nicked his liver,” the doctor had said. “Extensive damage, significant blood loss. He’s healing, but slowly. I told his brother that the restraints aren’t helping bu?—”
A guard had appeared and the doctor hurried off.
I make fists against my thighs thinking of how Julian has chained Adrian. Julian keeps his own brother shackled to a bed or wheelchair like a rabid dog, and for what? Control? Punishment? Some twisted need to possess everything that matters?
The fury is blinding, but I blink it away.Play nice, play nice, play nice.
A flash of pale hair catches my attention near the refreshment table—because of course that’s where he’d be. I actually giggle. God, when did Gideon become so predictable? Every Consortium gathering I’ve attended—the ones that aren’t orgies—there he is hovering by the food and drinks.
His brown eyes find mine across the room, and an understanding passes between us. He takes a step forward, and I can see the intention written across his face. He wants to approach me, to speak, maybe to?—
The collision happens fast. Gideon stumbles forward with all the grace of a newborn colt, his shoulder connecting with Bianca just as her fingers close around a champagne flute. The glass goes flying, crystal shattering against marble. Bianca follows, toppling to the floor as her burgundy dress pools around her.
I move closer as Gideon says, “Oh God, I’m so sorry!” He drops to his knees beside her. His hands flutter uselessly, not quite touching her, as if he’s afraid he’ll break her. “I’m always so clumsy. Are you hurt? Did I tear your dress?”
Bianca’s reaction surprises me. Instead of the tears or rage I expect, she accepts his offered hand with something almost like amusement. “It’s okay,” she says quietly, letting him pull her to her feet. Her usual mouse-like demeanor shifts as she studies his flushed face. “I don’t think we’ve met. Are you new?”
