And he's here. At Dante's father's party. Looking at me with recognition dawning in his eyes.
This is really bad.
"I'm sorry?" I keep my voice steady even though my hands are shaking. "I think you have me confused with someone else."
"No, I—" He steps closer, smiling. "I never forget a face. We met at?—"
"You must be thinking of someone else." I cut him off, my heart hammering. "This is not my usual circle. I don't think our paths would have crossed."
Please don't say it. Please don't say it. Please don't?—
"Maybe you're right." He looks uncertain now. "You just look so familiar. What was your name again?"
"Bianca Mancini." My voice doesn't shake. Doesn't betray the panic clawing at my throat.
"Hm. Well, my apologies. You just reminded me of someone." He nods politely and moves away.
I can't breathe.
The room is too hot. Too crowded. Everyone is staring even though they're not, and if he remembers, if he tells anyone, if Dante finds out?—
"Bianca?"
Dante's hand on my lower back makes me jump.
"You okay?" His eyes are sharp, assessing. "Who was that?"
"No one." The lie comes easily, practiced. "He thought he knew me from somewhere. Mistaken identity."
"You look pale."
"It's hot in here." I force a smile. "And I'm not used to parties like this. Can we get some air?"
He studies me for a long moment. I can see him calculating, trying to read what I'm not saying.
Please don't push. Please just let it go.
"In a minute," he says finally. "Let me grab us drinks."
He moves toward a passing server, and I try to breathe normally. Try to convince myself that Richard won't remember. That even if he does, he won't say anything.
That my past isn't about to destroy everything I’m working off my ass for here.
The server approaches with a tray of champagne. Dante reaches for a glass of water, then pauses when the server offers me champagne.
I lift my hand to take it—I need something to do with my hands, something to calm the panic?—
Dante's hand shoots out and snatches the glass midair. The champagne sloshes but doesn't spill.
The people around us turn around.
"She doesn't drink," Dante says smoothly, his smile charming even though his grip on the glass is white-knuckled. "Never has. Part of her wholesome teacher charm."
Laughter. The moment passes. People go back to their conversations.
But I saw the look in his eyes. The flash of something dark and furious before he masked it.
"Balcony," he says quietly. "Now."
