No matter who was talking to him, he kept his eyes fixed on mine. And no matter how quick and thick the wolves descended, he never let go of my hand.
“Yes, yes—thank you,” he waved off the person trying to summon his attention, “I couldn’t agree more. We’ll talk later, Jim.”
“Who’s that?” I asked, as the man disappeared into the crowd.
“No idea.” Nick grinned. “When I don’t know someone, I call them Jim. Nine times out of ten, I’m right.” I stifled a smile, pleased he’d let me in on another secret, and he gave my hand a little tug. “Come on...time to show you the best room of all.”
Before anyone else could stop us, we breezed out of the ballroom and into the hall. A series of security guards and butlers alike parted ways for us, as we made our way up one small staircase and down another, before ending up in some sort of walk-in closet.
“Here it is.” Nick gestured around in triumph. “The coat room.”
It took me a minute to understand what he was getting at, then my cheeks blushed a delicate shade of pink. My hair, which had been swept half up to trail down my back in little twists and tendrils, spilled in between us—creating a kind of shield.
A pair of warm fingers cut through the center, gently lifting my chin.
“What’s wrong?” Nick asked softly. We were alone—not a person in sight—but he still lowered his voice. “You don’t like the dress?”
My eyes shot up to his in alarm.
“No—it’s not that at all. The dress is just...absurdly beautiful.”
His eyes softened with a smile as he gazed down.
“Then what is it?”
Another wave of nerves trembled through me, as I stared up into his eyes.
“I really don’t want to ruin this for you.”
“Ruin this?” His face lightened in surprise. “Ruin what—the party? How the hell could you possibly—”
“This is not my scene, Nick.”
I pictured the droves of celebrities, dancing and laughing and drinking just a stone’s throw away. Pictured the Nobel laureates and foreign leaders. Then I pictured my little apartment in Brooklyn. I pictured the place I was going back to the second I took off this dress.
“Not your scene?” he repeated, shaking his head incredulously. “Abby, you and I have gone to things like this a million times before. What’s so different about it now?”
“It’s different because I’m not going as your publicist. I’m going as your girlfriend.” I shifted nervously amongst the coats and jackets, wishing I was back in the limo. “I keep feeling like they’re going to see through it somehow. Toss me out and brand me for being a member of working class.”
I was only half-joking, but Nick threw back his head and laughed like I’d just said the most ridiculous thing in the world.
“Abigail Wilder,” he shook his head, trying to control his smile, “when are you ever going to get it through your thick head?”
I paused uncertainly, staring up at him.
“Get what?”
Without seeming to think about it, he leaned down and kissed the tip of my nose.
“How unspeakably beautiful, lovely, and smart you are.”
For a second, neither one of us moved. We simply stood there, suspended in our own little world as the rest of the party raced on around us. Then, with a touch so light I could barely feel it, Nick slipped his fingers under my coat and slowly slid it off my arms.
Close as we were, he couldn’t hide his soft gasp. Couldn’t hide the look of breathless amazement that transformed his features as his eyes swept over my skin. Couldn’t hide the faint stiffening of his body, as he froze in place.
“Well?” I asked nervously, awaiting the official verdict. “What do you think?”
His senses returned to him, and his lips curved up in a little smile.