“I promise,” he says. “I’ll do that.”
I hold him close by wrapping myself around him, feeling spent enough to sleep. “We have to get back,” I breathe and kiss his lips.
“We do.” Christian smiles and nudges my nose with his. “But I have something to tell you.”
I pull back. “What?”
“Elena is in New York.”
“What?How—How do you know?”
“She’s working at this law firm owned by a friend of mine—agoodfriend. She apparently told him to say hi tothe girls.”
“Oh my god.” My mouth tips up. “Oh my god, Elena! Do you think she’ll come back?”
“I hope so, baby.”
I sigh, my heart feeling hopeful that our fourth, missing piece will come back to our little town. Then I remember where we are again. “I guess we have to get back now.”
“Can you walk?”
I laugh. “You have a big ego.”
He smirks. “Yeah?”
“You’re annoying.” Smiling stupidly, I say, “Can we just hide and make out for a minute?”
He chuckles against my lips. “Sure.”
After I adjust my dress and Christian adjusts his pants and tie, we unlock the bathroom and walk out.
His hand is on the small of my back and he walks through the party as if we don’t both look freshly and thoroughly fucked. And my knees remain unsteady.
I kind of like it, though. His hair is all messy and he has this barely-there flush in the apples of his cheeks with a bit of my lipstick on his neck, and he wears it proudly.
My hair is tangled and frizzy, the makeup around my mouth smeared and faded, and my jaw and neck red from his stubble scratching. I bite my lip, smiling, secretly hoping our disarray is noticed. Also hoping it isn’t.
Christian holds my hand as we join the party again, the DJ playing more pop songs that are still pretentiously mellow. I try to hide behind his thick arm and shoulder, but he looks down at me smiling. “What are you doing?”
My hold on him is unyielding. “I look like I’ve just had sex.”
“You did.”
“Shhh,” I hiss. “I don’t want it to look obvious. My hair is a mess and you messed up my makeup.”
Christian laughs and kisses my head. “Dance with me?”
I nod and release him briefly, trying to pat down the back of my hair and adjust the frizzy roots. Christian holds me steady with his hands on my hips and I think it’s his prerogative to be arrogant.
“How do I look?”
He smirks. “Gorgeous. Let’s leave the party.”
“Christian.”
He laughs and the sound is disrupted by the voice of someone I would be happy to never see or hear from again. “Christian.”
“Shit,” he hisses and his hands on my hips tighten, his body seething with anger through his suit. “She’s drunk. Ignore her and she’ll go away,” Christian tells me in my ear.
