“I’m Kip.” The redhead extended his hand toward me, his green eyes filled with a warmth that seemed impossible to fake. Freckles dusted the bridge of his nose and the tops of his pink cheeks, escaping beneath his short beard. His entire demeanor was like a golden retriever who’d learned to walk upright and put on a suit.
I didn’t take his hand. My fingers were already tingling again, and I didn’t need another electrical shock in front of witnesses.
“Your painting is extraordinary, Blitz.” Kip directed his comment to Blitz, but his eyes stayed fixed on me, like I was the real artwork in the room. “The way you’ve captured the light... it’s as if you’ve been there, isn’t it?”
“Been where?”
Three pairs of eyes swiveled to me with perfect synchronicity. None of them answered.
“Neve...” Kip finally broke the silence, my name sitting in his mouth like he was tasting it. “Named after the snow.”
My stomach performed a series of gymnastic feats.
“I think it’s probably an old family name or something.” Mia waved her hand dismissively. “You know how parents are, grabbing random grandparent names off the family tree.”
I stared at Mia, not sure whether to be grateful for the lie or offended she’d fabricated my naming story so easily.
“Family names have power.” Cole’s voice was low, his eyes never leaving my face. “They connect us to who we really are. They’re the magic of tradition.”
Magic. The word echoed in my head as my cheeks burned and my fingers froze. I shoved them deeper into my dress pockets, feeling the seams strain under the pressure.
“So, you three know each other well?” My question came out more like an accusation.
“We’re practically brothers.” Kip’s smile was so genuine it hurt to look at. “We’ve known each other forever. You could say we work together.”
“On what? Art?” I glanced back at the painting that would surely be part of my nightmares later when I went to sleep.
“That, and we’re hoping to get into distribution logistics and international shipments if things go well here.” Cole’s expression remained perfectly neutral.
Something about the way they spoke with vagueness and the subtle glances they exchanged made my skin crawl.
“Look at the time!” I glanced at my bare wrist, where a watch would have been if I wore one. “We should probably... art... mingle... with people...”
“Absolutely.” Mia started to pull me away. “Big potential buyers just arrived.”
“I need air.” I pulled away from Mia’s grip and bolted, not caring how it looked.
The weight of three sets of eyes tracked me, and I forced myself not to run.
What the hell was happening? And why did I suddenly feellike I was a painting being studied, examined, and completely exposed?
I chugged the overpriced vodka soda like it might wash away the memory of the three men at the gallery staring at me like I was a long-lost artifact they’d finally tracked down. The bass pounded through the floor of Vortex, downtown’s newest attempt at exclusivity, vibrating up through my heels and into my chest where it competed with my still-hammering heart.
“You need to relax.” Mia pressed another drink into my hand, her voice barely audible over the crush of bodies and synthetic beats. “You practically sprinted out of the gallery.”
I accepted the glass, taking a smaller sip this time. “I needed air.”
Mia’s gallery colleagues clustered around us, discussing art with way too much enthusiasm. I nodded when appropriate, focusing on the burn of alcohol rather than the nonsensical evening I’d survived.
“Want to dance?” Mia was already swaying to the music.
The prospect of voluntarily entering the sweaty mass of bodies seemed about as appealing as a root canal, but remaining stationary made me too accessible for conversation and gave my mind too much room to wander.
“Fine.” I downed the rest of my drink, letting the alcohol blur the edges of my anxiety. “One song.”
The moment my foot hit the dance floor, goosebumps erupted across my arms. I scanned the room, trying to keep my movements casual even as the hair on my neck stood at attention.
He stood tall and rigid against the far wall, fair-skinned and sharp in a dark button-down, his honey-blond hair neatly trimmed. He didn’t even pretend to be interested in anything but me. His gray eyes cut through the dancing bodies between us like they didn’t exist.
