“I’ll move into one of the rooms above you,” Corbin interjected.
Dorian swallowed, jaw clenching. “Thank you.”
The music picked up inside, and Dorian’s attention moved to the doors again.
“Is there anything else?” Corbin asked, and Dorian’s eyes narrowed at his abrupt tone.
“Oh, fuck all, Corbin. Why do you hate me?” Dorian sighed. “I thought we were having a moment.”
Corbin pushed off the wall. “Your women are waiting,” Corbin said. “You should go back inside.”
As Corbin pushed past Dorian, he couldn’t do anything more than stare at him walking away. His stomach knotted at the way Corbin had just looked at him, and he nearly punched the wall.
“You look nice, by the way,” Dorian called after him.
Corbin flipped him off.
Nyssa hadn’t stopped staring at Nadir since walking into the room.
Even when Falke had asked her for a dance after Aydra had danced with her, and he spun her around the room in a dance very unlike one she’d danced before, she still kept sneaking glances in his direction.
As though the glances would be all they had.
Falke held her closer at one moment, and she did enjoy his dancing. He’d asked if he would see her later, to which she told him, “No promises,” before making her way over to the buffet. But Dorian grabbed her arms before she could, and he dragged her to the dance floor again.
“All this eye-fucking is making the room thick, sis,” Dorian bantered as they danced properly. “You sure you don’t want to just go talk to him? I could spin you into his arms and distract our sister,” he added.
He twirled her, and they switched hands, following along with the rest of the crowd. Nyssa sighed as she glanced across the way again.
“It’s fine,” she said, shoulders falling. “Let’s be honest. I’m sure he is only looking to conquer the Princess. Not me.”
“Are you saying you would turn him down if that were the case?”
“I’m saying he, like Falke, more than likely only wants to see how loud I am or how well my mouth works.”
Dorian was quiet a moment, an indisputable sadness sweeping over his features. “A hopeless romantic, sis,” he said, bringing a smile to her lips.
“It’ll be worth it one day,” she told him.
Every time someone asked to dance with her, they ended it with bringing her a drink and trying to make small talk, but she endured the chats with the wine swimming through her in a more enthusiastic manner than she would usually have.
And after a while, all her anxiety dissipated, and Nyssa was soon wearing her attitude and laughter like a second dress.
“I hope that’s water in your cup and not more wine,” Bala drawled as Nyssa joined her at the buffet table.
Nyssa’s lips twisted in an almost perturbed manner, glaring at her friend for calling her out. Dorian had handed her the cup of water only moments before after catching her from tripping into a leering Belwark’s arms. He’d carted her to the buffet table and gestured for Bala to join them.
“It is. Unfortunately,” Nyssa muttered.
Bala huffed amusedly and then handed Nyssa a piece of sweet bread pastry. “Eat the bread,” Bala demanded.
“Someone’s bossy,” Nyssa mumbled, but she took the bread anyway.
The moment the sweet honey and flaky crust met her tongue, she sighed into the taste of it, eyes closing. The audible moan that came from her throat, she didn’t expect, and Bala was smirking at her when she opened her eyes.
“I’m not enjoying this,” Nyssa said with a full mouth. “At all.” She had to lean her hand against the table to steady herself from the pleasure of such bread in her mouth.
“Yeah, you are,” Bala bantered back. “You love bread.”
