“Rosie,” he whispers before leaning in, “Dance with me?”
Through the various open windows and the open patio doors, I can faintly hear the orchestra still playing, but it isn’t loud enough for me to be able to follow along with the song. I hesitate, just watching him.
“Don’t overthink it, just dance with me.” He doesn’t give me the chance to refuse as his hand comes around my waist and pulls me flush against his chest. He smells like saltwater, crisp and cool with a hint of something else, something darker, spicier. Using his other hand, he guides my hand to his shoulder and it’s like my body automatically responds, clasping my hands together behind his neck.
The heat of his hands splayed across my back, through the thin silk of my dress makes me exhale shakily. I’d never been this intimate with someone, never wanted to be. I built walls to keep them away and to keep myself safe. I knew my future was pre-planned so it was never worth the heartbreak. My life belonged to The Family.
“Did you know that skeletons hate parties?” he says, his voice low as we sway together in the gardens. Everything felt like some sort of out of body experience in that moment, like a wild dream where I was going to wake any second.
I hold onto him a little tighter, not wanting whatever this was to end yet. “Huh? Skeletons?”
He nods, bringing his face inches away from mine. “They have no body to dance with.”
We stare at each other for a moment, before we both laugh. When the sound slowly fades, I realize he’s resting his forehead against mine. Why does this feel right? As if I’m meant to be in his arms? I’ve never been kissed before; I’d never been interested and at school I’d always felt like I was different from everyone else there. But I want this. I want him. As his lips touch mine, it’s like all my coherent thoughts scatter to the furthest reaches of my mind. There exists only him in this moment. His warm hands cup my cold cheeks as he deepens the embrace, eager to taste me and I feel myself relax into him, sinking into his hard, warm body…and that’s when I hear gunshots.
I try to pull away but his fingers dig into my skin, holding me in place. He keeps my face pressed against his as he murmurs against my lips, “Don’t go…please.”
Screams fill the air as I try to pull away. More gunshots fire. People pour out of the house like rats fleeing a sinking ship, scrambling and wailing. His soft pleas, the heat from his body, the sickly smell of roses and blood. It’s like someone has poured a bucket of ice on me as I feel chilled to the bone. Numb. He was nothing more than a charming distraction. A traitor.
Reaching down, I grab my stiletto dagger from the garter, and press it into his neck. The sharp point breaks the skin so that a ruby red droplet trickles down the blade, and for a moment I watch, mesmerized. Even bleeding he’s beautiful.
“Let go,” I hiss finally, putting more pressure on the blade as his hands slip from my face. I turn, and he grabs my wrist.
“Rosie…don’t go. Don’t do this to yourself…” He stands dejected, guilt etched on his face so clearly I could kick myself for not noticing it earlier.
This time I don’t hesitate as I stab the hand clutching at me. I ignore the grunt he makes as he tries to cling onto me, even though my knife is sliding into the back of his hand like he was made of play dough.
“You’ve done this,” I growl, as I pull the blade out and wipe it on my skirt. He clutches his injured hand to his chest, trying to stem the bleeding. “Whatever happens after this is on you, Jay. I hope you can live with that.”
Ten Years Later . . .