I don’t realize I’ve said that last part out loud until the stranger responds. “No, everyone is looking at me,” he says coolly. “But I’m looking at you.”
He isn’t lying. His gray-blue eyes are locked on my face.
“I’m Adrik,” he says.
Right. We haven’t been introduced.
“Hi, Adrik. I’m—”
“Malcolm’s latest victim,” he finishes for me. “I know who you are, Emery Montague.”
My shock must read clearly on my face because Adrik chuckles. “Don’t be too flattered. I know everything about everyone. Tell me something: do you love him?”
I turn white as a ghost and bite my tongue. I still don’t know what to say. I’ve spent so long living in fear of my fiancé that silence is my default. Retreat is my first and last option.
Of course I love him. We’re engaged, after all. Isn’t that what people who are in love do?
But the words—those simple, pretty little lies, the ones I tell myself, which makes them the most insidious kind of them all—won’t come.
Adrik leans close and whispers in my ear. “Tell me the truth, Emery.” When I still hesitate, he adds, “Or if not, you can just look at me and let me see it in your eyes.”
I shake my head and cast off the spell he’s weaving. Is it hot in here or is that just me?
Laughing again—a sharp-edged laugh, like juggling knives—Adrik straightens up back to his full height. Just like that, the tension eases ever-so-slightly. Enough that I can breathe again.
“Perhaps we should find an easier question to start with,” he suggests.
“What would you like to know?” I ask. “Maybe I’ll tell you.”
His brow arches slightly. I can’t tell if he’s offended or impressed by my burst of confidence. “I’d like to know how you’re enjoying the party, for starters.”
“More like I’m enduringit, I’d say.”
“What’s wrong? The company or the venue?”
“Both.” I look around and wrinkle my nose. “I mean, we’re at a charity to benefit the homeless, and this is the venue they chose?”
“What’s wrong with it?” he asks.
“We could sell one of the five crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and use the money to end the homelessness crisis literally right this second. But instead, we’re all dancing around to a live orchestra and eating absurdly small hors d’oeuvres that cost a fortune. I’m pretty sure I saw gold leaf on the deviled eggs.”
“Well, don’t hold back.”
Adrik looks genuinely amused.
And I’m enjoying his attention far, far too much.
“Fine, I won’t. I despise being around these kinds of people,” I continue. “The kind of sick, deluded pigs who have all the money in the world, but think showing up to one charity fundraiser per fiscal quarter and forking over a tiny fraction of their money just for the tax write-off is all the good they need to do in the world. It’s disgusting.”
I blush deeper, realizing just how carried away I’m getting. “Something like that, anyhow.”
He arches a wry eyebrow. "You haven't found anyone here to change your mind?"
"Have any of the obscenely rich people fox-trotting in the actual ballroom of a literal mansion changed my mind about wealthy people being selfish?" I snort. "No. Safe to say no one has changed my mind."
Adrik sighs melodramatically. "And here I thought the millions I donated to charity last year might have made a difference. Silly me."
I stiffen at once. Oh no. Oh no, no, no.
But he’s not done yet.
He leans close, his words whispering across my skin. "But I won't be taking your advice about selling my crystal chandeliers. I like them. And you look beautiful in their light.”
Even with his expert leading, I stumble across the dance floor. I'm a little too busy choking on my foot to dance.
"This is your house?" I manage to squeak out.
"It is." He smiles. "I’m Adrik Tasarov. Pity to hear you don't like the hors d'oeuvres."
If the floor could open up and swallow me whole, that would be fine.
"No, I… I do like them," I stammer. "I just—I said they were too small. But they're good. I liked the mushroom and parmesan… um.”
“Palmiers,” he offers. We are standing still in the middle of the dance floor now, but his eyes are dancing with amusement.
I sag in his arms. He hasn’t let me go, I noticed. The clutch of his hand on my hip is faint but somehow possessive. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have—I didn't know. If I had known, I would have—"
"Lied to me?" Adrik frowns in distaste. "I'm not interested in lies. Too many people tell me what they want me to hear. What they think I want to hear. I prefer the truth."
I look over and see Malcolm still standing on the side of the dance floor. His eyes are beady and murderous.
But he’s staying put.
It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Malcolm deny himself anything. My guess is it has everything to do with my dance partner.
And just like that, as if the clouds are parting and sunshine is finally peeking through the gray, I see a way out.
I look up at Adrik. “I’m sorry for what I said.”
“Was it true?”
“What?”