“I guess it felt weird just dropping Spencer off and leaving. I’m just... nervous.” I cross my arms. “For Spencer,” I clarify, almost forgetting that he doesn’t know the full truth. My stomach knots. Now I’m back in his calming orbit, every fiber of my being wants to tell him everything.
His shoulders loosen at my words, but his jaw remains tense. “I wanted to call you after...” He trails off.
“Why didn’t you?” I ask, before I answer my own question, nodding. “Because I ran out of your home like a crazy person.”
He lets out a nervous laugh. “It’s okay. You were busy, and you said before you even arrived that you couldn’t stay. I’m sorry if I moved things too fast or—”
A pang of guilt hits me. “No, it wasn’t you at all.” I squeeze my forearm between my fingers. The idea that this has been weighing on him for the past couple of weeks adding another layer of shame. “I just have a lot on my plate right now.”
“You seemed like you needed some space,” he echoes, scratching the back of his head. His hazel eyes glint with concern under the fluorescent lighting.
“I did. Not fromyou. Just from... life.” I’m blinking furiously, trying to keep everything down.
We’re two bubbles, holding our edges together as tight as we can. If we bump into each other, we might burst, or maybe we’ll attach, fusing our edges into one.
My breath holds as he comes out from behind the desk in one fluid movement. He’s unsure, measuring my response to each step before taking another. He’s so unbelievably aware of me. He can read me; even if he doesn’t know where the emotions are coming from, he seems to get what they mean. The overwhelm, the madness of guilt and shame, jealousy and anticipation, bitterness and anxiety. They curl around us like vines, pulling us closer because we both feel them but in different ways. The way he looked when he confided in me about his father is the way he looks now as he studies me.
“You can trust me,” he says.
My eyebrow twitches involuntarily. “With what?” I avoid his sincere gaze, staring at the dark green bobbled carpet tiles.
He slides his hands into his pockets as he gives me a polite if not slightly exasperated smile and leans against the wall. “With whatever you’ve got going on. With anything. I don’t know why, I just guess I need you to know that.”
For a moment I contemplate telling him what happened with Malcolm, about my parents, about Spencer, but telling Oliver would be opening Pandora’s box. Adding so much more chaos to the web of lies I’ve been weaving for weeks.
I stare at him and shift the conversation. “Are you going to the ball tonight?”
His smile widens. “If you’ll be there, I wouldn’t dare miss it.”
My cheek reddens as he strokes his lips across it and leaves the softest trace of a kiss. His deep, peppery scent lingers like my want for him.
Chapter 26
Business Account (WYST) BALANCE: -£4,986.78
Personal Account BALANCE: -£1,915.30
Recent transactions:
Vienna ball tickets: £583.00
Flashing cameras blur my vision as Spencer and I step out of the taxi to the dramatic stone staircase leading up to the theater’s grand entrance. My white gloves hide my face as event photographers try to get pictures of the hottest new tech founders before they hit the big time. Glancing around at the other guests gliding up the stone stairs to the main entrance I can’t help but feel self-conscious. This is Cecily’s dress, and her mother’s jewelry; Spencer’s tuxedo is rented; and we are still every bit of a fraud as when we started; but I’m more self-assured than I was at the start of this competition.
Even if we don’t make it to the top three tonight, we are TechRumble finalists. We made it, and I have no doubt we will find some sort of investment from this experience, whether it’s in this building or not. I straighten my shoulders and head in.
The warmth of the candles and three hundred people hits my cold bare shoulders. I watch as the other ladies part with theirdesigner coats and unveil their glamorous dresses like haute couture flashers. I fiddle with my white gloves, pulling them back up my arms until they sit taut at my elbows. I feel like a kid playing dress-up in my purple silk gown, but it’s the anticipation of seeing Oliver that’s making me truly nervous. My hands tremble as I take a glass of champagne from a tray and say thank you to the waiter who smiles back politely and nods. Maybe he can sense that I scrounged the business accounts for ticket money like a hand down the back of the sofa, that I’m sipping on a glass of two-hundred-pound-a-bottle champagne with less money to my name.
We step toward the main hall, and I try to play it cool, like I frequent places like this all the time. But in reality, this is the most beautiful room I’ve ever seen. The walls are lined with gilded gesso and ten sparkling chandeliers hang from fresco ceilings. Red and purple lights shine up the walls at intervals and there are so many pillar candles it must be a fire safety violation, casting everyone in a flattering moody glow.
“Jesus Christ,” Spencer says under his breath. “I looked it up before we left; apparently this is one of the more casual balls of the season.”
My eyes pop out of their sockets. “Where are the others? At the fucking palace?”
He glances at me briefly, eyebrows up in awe. “Yes.”
I whistle. “At least we didn’t have to spring for tickets tothatone.”
Spencer sips on his champagne as he scans the crowd, shoulders rolled back and head high like he’s actually comfortable in his sharp tuxedo. That’s the skill of an actor, being able to seamlessly slip into any role you need to play, any position youneed to hold to get ahead. You figure out who people want you to be and become it.
