* * *
The stairs were long and winding, and I took my time on the way down. The entire house sparkled crimson and champagne. An array of fancy clothing broke up the monotony, expensive perfumes rising like smoke.
The light music was now infused with chatter, laughter, and the occasional sneeze. The walls of the old house were near to bursting.
Violet tugged me closer. I stopped, admiring her.
She shrunk away from my gaze. “Stop looking me like that!”
I gave her my best smile. “I don’t tell you enough, Violet Constance, but you are beautiful.”
Violet liked to hide behind her funny, her sarcasm, but the truth was that she was gorgeous. Her blonde hair had been swept up in a curled do, and the dress Pnina Poésy had sent over for her seemed to be designed with Violet Constance Castellanos in mind. The tanzanite-colored dress showed off her golden skin, and her blonde hair brought out the blue in her eyes. She reminded me of a Greek goddess.
A flash of pink highlighted her cheeks and she scrunched up her nose. “Aw, shucks.” She waved dismissively, covering her delight with humor. But then she pulled me closer, resting her head against my shoulder, and sighed. “I do feel pretty.”
“You lookbeautiful,” I corrected and nodded toward the rest of the stairs. “Ready?”
“No,” she said so softly that I barely heard her. “Not yet.”
I followed her line of sight and found that Mitch and Mick had arrived. Just through the door, one of the attendants was in the act of collecting their coats. Tonight, their differences seemed to be magnified.
Mitch was the loose cannon. Mick was the safety net.
“What are you going to do?” I asked just as quietly.
“Boys,” she said dreamily, watching them, “are in one way or another Peter Pan all their lives. One side never grows up; he’s always lost to the clouds. The other. He grows up but can never remember being lost.”
She lost me with her Peter Pan talk—which, I incidentally remembered, was what she had called Mitch when he had ridden the insane train during his birthday party at the tracks.
Closing my eyes, I found myself squeezing Violet’s arm, holding on for dear life—a rollercoaster about to start its journey. The humming in my blood picked up, a sensational heat wave rushed up from toes to head, and every part of me felt compelled to be close to every part of him. Iron being drawn to blood.
Without so much as a second thought, my eyes opened.
Brando Piero Fausti.
His entrance parted the sea of guests, all of them watching him. The women watched him in appreciation. The men watched in trepidation.
I inhaled, needing air, but as soon as I did, I could’ve sworn I smelled him in it, the melody of his scent spurring on the frantic butterflies.
The amount of beauty that existed in the world had never escaped me. My mother was a fashion designer. I had seen plenty of men and women with the most gorgeous faces and bodies since the beginning of my time on this earth.
I had never seen anyone as—“beautiful” felt wrong, lacking, but there it was—beautifulas Brando Piero Fausti. His black hair had been slicked back in its usual undercut style, which put all of his prominent features on display: angular face, strong black brows, intense eyes, long lashes, sculpted cheek bones, sharp nose, and plump lips.
The white of his button-down highlighted the darkness, brought light to his shadows; and the midnight color of his tuxedo enhanced his God-given mysteriousness.
He wore that suit, not the other way around.
The combination felt heady and dangerous. The butterflies seemed to…pull instead of flutter. A severe tightness in my lower belly flashed hot before it tempered and became a summery sensation that refused to cool. I barely registered Violet’s voice in my ear, going on about how handsome he looked. Striking.
Oh, yes.Striking.
His eyes found mine in that moment. He stood amongst the crowd, not even noticing their looks and stares, and if he did, he didn’t outwardly show it. The connection between us seemed to electrify the air. The humming turned into a crackling, and I felt overheated and faint.
“Scarlett?” Violet struggled to say my name. “Scarlett! I can’t hold you up. I’m a damsel too. I haveheelson. We’re on narrow steps!”
Brando stared at me for a moment before he nodded once and set his hand over his chest, mimicking the beat of his heart—fast.
A rush of blood went straight to my cheeks, but a triumphant smile spread on my face, and I was able to stand on my own two feet. Before I could truly claim the feeling as mine, though, Charlotte slipped her arm through Brando’s, taking him off guard.
