‘I didn’t.’
She bites her lower lip before turning back to the game.
The next round of drinks arrives shortly before Eddie comes back from the bathroom, leaning against the fireplace and looking like someone had shit in his sandwich.
I grip my glass overly tight and take a sip, ice clinking amongst the fiery whisky. Something sharp nicks my lip. I reach up to touch the pained part and note a smudge of red on my finger.
I lower the glass slowly, inspecting the drink. A shard of glass bobs amongst the ice.
Across the table, Eddie raises his own glass, meeting my eyes.
And smiles.The absolute fucker.
I don’t react. I just fish out the shard, slide it into my palm.
The cards are dealt again.
But I’m done pretending this is a game.
NINETEEN
MAGGIE
The dress isEliza’s idea.
It’s deep green, silk, cut to skim my curves. I feel like I’m wearing someone else’s clothes. It’s so low at the front that I keep tugging it up, convinced that everyone can see my tits. If that’s not bad enough, the back dips low enough that I worry someone might see my arse crack.
Eliza beams. ‘You look incredible, Mags. Stop faffing with it.’
‘I feel half bloody naked.’
The dinner party is already in full swing. Filled with music from the string quartet and the chinking of glasses. I only half-recognise most of the people, all looking utterly chic, like they’d just tumbled off Saville Row. Amongst the strange faces, I see some I know. Friends of my dad, work associates, politicians and other people with more morals than money.
And then, like a god descending from Olympus, Roman appears on the stairs.
In a tux.
It’s dark and fitted and panty-wettingly snug around his muscled thighs. He looks fucking delicious. My brain feels like it glitches with every step he takes toward me.
He catches sight of me and stops for half a second, just long enough for his eyes to travel over me in a way that’s utterly salacious. By the time he’s in front of me, I may as well have flaring heart eyes jumping out of my sockets.
‘You look incredible, Princess.’
I laugh, because if I don’t, I might melt into the carpet. ‘You’re not so bad yourself.’
There’s a subtle shift between us. An ignition.
The night wears on in a thousand dull conversations, noone quite sure who they can talk openly with in a roomful of people.
Roman leads me to the dancefloor. The band is good, and being pressed up against Roman is even better. We’re close enough that I can feel his breath against my ear as we talk. Close enough that the line between pretending and not pretending becomes fuzzier with each sway of his hips. I can’t deny the attraction I feel toward him. This man that I yanked out of his life and dragged into mine. This man, who, despite that, doesn’t look at me like I’m broken.
It’s kindanice.
Then Eddie cuts in.
He doesn’t ask. He just steps between us and pulls me into his arms.
‘My turn,’ he says, and before I can object, he’s guiding me around the floor, his fingers hard against my spine.
