Prefers to listen and observe.Check.
The man directly in front of me suddenly stops and abruptly changes direction, causing a chain reaction of people getting out of his way as he plows through them.
“Sorry,” I automatically say to the person I accidentally stumble into.
Delicately strong hands curve around my arm, and I become tongue-tied when my apologetic gaze meets ethereal pale-blue eyes. It’s difficult for me to hold eye contact, and I use one of the sensory techniques Mama has me do to help me focus.
Tap, tap, tap.
Index. Middle. Ring. Pinkie.
“Not your fault,” Aoife says, her grip steadying me and making me weak in the knees at the same time.
Everything around me collapses into a singularity, blocking out the noises and commotion in the ballroom until all that exists is her.
I open my mouth to say something…to sayanything…but nothing comes out, and I have no clue how to proceed.
A smile curves her lips when all I do is stare at her like a dumbass.
Aoife cants her head, a humorous twinkle lighting her pretty face. “I don’t think I rammed into you that hard,” she jokes.
Stop acting like a weirdo and say something.
“Uh…I, uh…” I swallow down the boulder that has decided to lodge itself in my throat. My palms suddenly begin to sweat, and I wipe them dry on the tails of my tuxedo jacket. “Hi.”
Her smile widens, and the beauty of it punches me directly in the chest. “Hi back. Aleksander, right?”
Surprised that she knows I exist, let alone knows who I am, I blurt like an idiot, “How do you know I’m not Aleksei?”
Aleksei and I are identical twins. The only person who can tell us apart is Mama. Not even Father can, not like it matters. His fists don’t distinguish who they beat.
Brash and unafraid, Aoife’s fingertips gently brush across my chin, sparking a slew of goose bumps to erupt down my arms. “You have a small scar right here,” she replies, her touch stopping on the faint raised line that mars the underside of my jaw.
Again, she shocks me with that knowledge because she wouldn’t have noticed something so trivial unless she had been looking.At me.
I instinctively scratch at the scar. It was a gift from my father when I was six for mouthing off to him—or so he yelled.
Trying to come up with something to say, I reply, “I like your dress,” and immediately want to facepalm in mortification as soon as the words leave my mouth.
Not finding my lack of social skills awkward, Aoife looks down at herself, then back up at me. “Thank you. I hate wearing dresses about as much as I hate these galas.”
Finding common ground, I release a relieved chuckle. “You, too?”
Again with the smile that leaves me breathless for some reason. “Yeah. These things are boring.”
“Aleksei just said the same thing.”
Biting her bottom lip, she takes a quick glance over her shoulder. “We were about to sneak out and go to the roof. Want to come with?”
My stomach plummets.Webeing Tristan, Hendrix, and Constantine. There’s not a chance in hell they’ll let me join them.
Deciding it’s now or never, because I don’t know if or when I’ll get another chance, I rush out, “Do you want to dance? With me?” I clarify because I really am an idiot.
A soft blush tints color into her cheeks, but before she can answer, Tristan wedges himself between us, jealous anger raging behind his light-brown eyes.
“Back the fuck up.” He glares me down, warning me to walk away.
A warning I don’t heed because fuck him. Tristan has always looked down on Aleksei and me, thinking he’s better than us because his family is one of the founding members of the Society and his father is on the Council. To him, I’m nothing but a pleb who should bow in his presence and kiss the toe of his Santoni Oxford Brogue shoe.
