Relentless (Mason Family 4)

“Is that a yes then?” Marius asks.

“It’s just a dance. Right?”

He offers me his arm. “It’s just a dance.”

Something feels wrong about taking his arm. But something feels wrong about standing by myself in the middle of a gala while my date has his picture taken with another woman.

It’s just a dance.

Marius leads me to the dance floor, saying hello to a few couples as we pass. Finally, we make it in front of the band.

The lights feel hotter as Marius places his hand lightly on my waist and takes my other in his.

“Hey, relax,” he says as we begin to move. “We’re just dancing.”

“I know.” I take a deep breath. “So how’s the family?”

He leans his head back and laughs. The sound eases my anxiety enough to make me able to breathe again with more ease.

“The family …” He grins. “Well, my father is in prison for tax evasion.”

“Ouch.”

“And my mother is living her best life in Mallorca, which, it would seem, is odd, considering the first fact that I shared with you. But my mother handed him off to a twentysomething ingenue years ago and laughed all the way to the bank.”

I’m not sure what to say to all of that, so I don’t say anything at all.

Marius leads me across the floor, keeping his eyes trained on me. “What do you think of this little party?”

“I think it’s really nice,” I say as an uncomfortable fire runs up my spine. “It’s been a nice evening.”

“Nice, huh?”

“Yes.”

My eyes dart around the room in an attempt to find the source of my discomfort. Oliver seems to have disappeared.

What’s going on?

“I’ve never been to anything like this,” I say, my nerves busting free of their constraint. “It’s quite a spectacle.”

“The Landrys do so much for charities that it’s not too much of an inconvenience to attend. Plus,” he says, squeezing my hip ever so gently, “you never know who you’ll meet.”

I hum in agreement. My palms start to sweat. Just as I’m about to excuse myself, my gaze is snatched by Oliver.

He watches Marius and me from next to the door, next to the man with the cigar. His lips are nothing more than a thin line. His shoulders stiff. His eyes are narrowed as he follows me—us—across the floor.

“Do you live here? In Savannah, I mean?” Marius asks.

“Um, yes. I do. I’ve lived here for a long time.”

“Where are you from?”

“I was born in Oklahoma City,” I say, pulling my attention back to him. “We moved around a lot when I was growing up.”

“Same. New York City, Seattle, London—my parents got the itch to move every four or five years.”

“I’ve never been.”

My breathing picks up as I sense Oliver’s proximity. I can’t see him and certainly can’t turn around and look, but I know he’s close. I can feel him.

“To London?” Marius asks. “It’s a lovely city.”

“To any of them.”

He furrows his brows. “Oh. Well, you should rectify that.”

“Between my jobs at Mason Limited and The Gold Room, I find it hard to believe that I’ll make it anywhere any time soon.”

“Maybe you could—oh, hello, Oliver.”

Marius slows our movements and releases his hold on me. His hand slips from my waist as he drops my other one.

I take a deep breath before I look at Oliver.

And I’m glad I do.

His face is tinted a shade of almost pink that I’ve never seen on him before. His hands are clenched at his sides. His stare slices a hole through my dress, my skin, and bleeds into my body.

“I’m sorry,” I say, the words tumbling from my lips. “I—”

“I asked her to dance.” Marius squares his shoulders to Oliver. “She was left standing alone in the middle of the room. Certainly, you’d rather have me ask her than leave it up to chance.”

Oliver’s shoulders rise and fall. He rips his gaze from me to Marius.

Marius doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t react. He just smiles at Oliver.

“Thank you for your kindness, Marius,” I say, hoping to defuse the situation.

“It was my pleasure, Shaye. Truly. Now, if you’ll both excuse me, I have other matters to attend.” He nods to Oliver before disappearing into a throng of people near the bar.

Oliver doesn’t acknowledge him; his eyes stay pinned on me.

My heart pounds in my chest as I find my footing.

“He asked me to dance. I didn’t know what to do,” I say.

The band switches to a slower tune, prompting more people to file onto the dance floor. Oliver takes my hand and pulls me against him. Chest to chest, he rests his free hand in the small of my back.

We dance slowly. Oliver’s body is taut. I’m sure mine is rigid too.

Oliver’s hand flexes against my skin. “I’m sorry,” he whispers into the shell of my ear.

The warmth of his breath causes me to shiver. I don’t respond. I’m not sure how.