Focus, Annie. This isn’t about you. It’s about him. Are you really going to ruin everything?
Swallowing hard, I pivot away, blending into the crowd of guests. I swear I can feel his eyes following me, but I don’t look back.
Earlier, I was relieved to know that Desmond wasn’t coming. He told me a few days ago that he’d declined the invitation, citing other business commitments. I’d told him he should have come—Ronan might take it as an insult, and that wouldn’t help the possibility of a relationship between us at all. But by the time today rolled around, I’d been glad that I wouldn’t need to both focus on not giving away the fact that Desmond and I have been seeing each other and not letting anyone see what I feel for Elio.
Now, as I watch Elio speak to beautiful woman after beautiful woman, all of them clearly hoping to be the future Mrs. Cattaneo, I almost wish Desmond were here, even if we’d have to be careful about giving anything away yet. Just so Elio would have to feel a little of what I’m feeling right now, watching him be mobbed by prospective brides.
"She's lovely, isn't she?"
I turn to see Mrs. Facelli, the wife of a judge who is here tonight as a guest, standing beside me and watching Elio and Gia interact with a matronly smile on her face. "I'm sorry?"
“Gia.” She motions with her champagne glass. “The gossip is that she’s the front-runner to be Elio’s wife. He’s taken her out to dinner once, the grapevine says. That already puts her leaps and bounds in front of any other young lady.”
My smile feels like it might crack my face. "I’m sure Ronan wants Elio to meet lots of suitable women. It's important for a man in his position to find the right partner."
"Of course. Though from what I can see, he seems quite taken with her already." She smiles that grandmotherly smile again. “It’s so lovely to see young people at the beginning of falling for one another.”
Against my better judgment, I glance toward where Elio and Gia are standing, off to the side of the ballroom. She's laughing at something he said, her hand resting lightly on his arm, and he's smiling down at her. I can’t tell if it’s a genuine smile or not—whatever else Elio might have learned in Chicago, he learned to play along. He could be miserable right now, and I’m not sure I’d know. But he doesn’tlookmiserable.
The jealousy that floods my system is so intense it nearly brings me to my knees.
This is ridiculous.I have no claim on Elio Cattaneo. No right to feel possessive or jealous or anything at all, really. He's Ronan's protégé now, nothing more. A man I knew as a teenager who's now back in Boston to take over one of the most powerful crime families in New England.
A man who's going to marry someone else and have babies with her, and build a life that has absolutely nothing to do with me.
"Excuse me," I murmur to Mrs. Facelli. "I should go see how my brother is doing.”
Instead, I go toward a guest bathroom that’s just off the hall from the ballroom, needing a moment to myself. It’s fortunatelyunoccupied, and I lock the door behind me, leaning against it while I try to collect myself.
This has to stop.Whatever this is between Elio and me, whatever these feelings are that I've been carrying around since I was sixteen, it has to stop. He's going to marry someone suitable, someone who won’t make Ronan question his motives and everything that came before. He's going to build a life with a woman who can give him everything he needs to succeed in his position.
And I'm going to figure out how to be happy with Desmond, or someone like him. Someone safe and appropriate and completely, utterly wrong for me.
I splash cool water on my wrists and check my appearance in the mirror. My cheeks are flushed, and my eyes too bright, but otherwise I look composed. Ready to return to the party and pretend that I don’t care how many beautiful women Elio dances with.
Dinner is announced just as I emerge. Leila has me seated next to her, which puts me almost directly across from Elio. I’m also next to Judge Facelli and a councilman who I don’t remember his name—two men who are utterly charmed by my conversation and completely unaware that I have no idea what I'm saying to them.
Because all of my attention is focused on the man across the table.
I watch him make polite conversation with Gia, who's seated beside him, looking every inch the perfect potential wife. I watch him smile, let her pour wine for him, nod as she speaks, his attention half on her and half on Ronan. I watch him play the part of the eligible bachelor perfectly, while inside, I slowly die.
And then, for a brief moment, he looks directly at me.
The heat in his gaze is unmistakable, hungry and desperate, and completely inappropriate for a public dinner party. It's theway he used to look at me when we were teenagers stealing moments alone, the way he looked at me that last night before he left for Chicago, when we almost?—
I drop my gaze to my plate, my cheeks burning.
Get it together, Annie.
But I can feel his gaze drifting to me for the rest of the meal, longing to look up and meet his eyes again and knowing I can’t—shouldn’t. I laugh politely at Judge Facelli’s stories and nod along with the councilman’s discussion about zoning, and try to brush off questions about my own romantic prospects, and all through it, I want to look up at Elio so badly that it feels like an inexorable pull.
By the time dessert is served, I'm wound so tight I feel like I might shatter.
As soon as that final course is finished, I’m on pins and needles, waiting for the guests to begin standing so I can split off without looking obviously agitated. I move through the crowd of guests filtering out, heading down one of the hallways leading away from the dining room. My destination is single-minded—a favorite spot of mine in the mansion, a large arched window that looks out onto a gorgeous view of the estate during the day, and right now looks out to moonlit darkness. The hall is dark and quiet, and I breathe in the scent of wood polish and clean air, one hand pressed against the wall as I stare out into the night.
“Annie.” A voice to my left—a voice I’d recognize in any darkness, any place, any time, makes me jump nearly out of my skin. A hand flies up to cover my mouth as a squeak of startlement emerges, and I press my other hand against my chest as I turn and see Elio standing there.
He looks so handsome, limned in moonlight, his strong, chiseled features set in an expression that I can’t quite read. I want to go to him, and I force myself not to, to keep the space between us that I know is paramount.
