It was, unfortunately, the best kiss I’ve ever had. Soft at first, testing the waters, then his kiss took me by storm. Like he had been waiting as long as I had to have this kiss under the pink clouds of the ballroom ceiling. Like there were romantic, lustful, passionate feelings pent up in his chest, shaken in a bottle—then released into this kiss.
When it was over, Dorn pulled off his mask and grinned at me.
Though it wasn’t Dorn.
It was Niklaus Demechnef.
He proceeded to recite a few lines from my diary from memory, lean in, and whisper, “Every second of tonight belonged to me. You just didn’t know it. I bet Dorn and the rest of the boys that you’d kiss me back. That you wouldn’t even notice it wasn’t your precious crush kissing you. Thanks for making me a few gold coins, Spitfire.”
That night, as I left in tears, my brother beat the living hell out of Niklaus. He has always been superior in hand-to-hand combat like our father. Krimson doesn’t show it off often, but that night his vicious temper that stays practically invisible to the public eye came out on full display. And after Niklaus was beaten unconscious, my brother tied him up in the pig’s pen, covered in mud and blood with a message on his chest.
Female Swine.
Then told Aunt Marilynn and Uncle Niles about his indiscretion. To which they kicked him out of the house for three weeks after he gave me a bullshit, half-assed apology.
I shake the memory off and slide my hand into the crook of Niklaus’s arm. Our descent down the staircase is slow as we both silently scan the crowd for any sign of that disgusting painted face and black hat. But we seem to be in the clear.
As we make it to the last step, the few eyes that were on us flip above our heads to the top of the white marble staircase. Their eyebrows raise, lips part, and whispers gently flow from person to person.
I let go of Niklaus’s arm to turn around, gawking up at my mother standing in a satin, bloodred dress, holding the arm of Aurick Demechnef. I nearly lose my balance at the sight of her. Long, flowing golden curls that hang below her breasts. The low v-neck covered in sheer fabric and dazzling red jewels. Tall red heels. Rosy, glossy, plump lips.
“Oh shit,” I mutter under my breath.
“Come on.”
Niklaus tugs me off to the side where the violinists practice and tune their instruments. And we stare in silence, watching my mother whisper to Aurick uncomfortably. The tension, the hushed tones, the daggers he gives her. The way he storms off after a quick, scolding word.
I have to grip Niklaus’s forearm to keep him from doing something stupid.
“We should go. We can’t risk being seen by them,” Niklaus tells me in a low, haunted voice. Something about watching his father mingle with the men and women that make up different factions and boards of Demechnef releases a quiet, simmering frustration inside him.
“Yes,” I agree, nodding while I search for a waiter. “But only after we chug champagne and dance.”
Niklaus gives me a reluctant sidelong glance, though his shoulders lose their stiffness.
“I’m not dancing with you,” he says coldly, but still plucks to champagne flute glasses from a tray and clinks his with mine.
We down a few of them until the glow of the lights are soft and fuzzy around the edges, and my mood is significantly lighter and happier. I lift the heavy skirt of my raven-black ball gown and do a little twirl. Dancing sounds good. I want to dance.
But Niklaus continues to brood and watch my mother speak to Aunt Ruth in the corner.
I gasp. “Aunt Ruth!”
Niklaus puts his big hands on my shoulder to keep me from racing over to her.
“Goddamn, drinking was a bad idea,” he growls.
“You think I’m an imbecile? I wasn’t going to say anything to her. Just going to watch them interact!”
Niklaus chuckles. “You were just going to stand in front of them and stare like a stalker.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
The musicians introduce a new dance. The room shuffles into brief, graceful chaos. Women clacking across the glittering golden tiles to find their partners. Two ovals and men and women, side by side in the center of the ballroom.
I raise my eyebrows at Niklaus expectantly.
“No,” he says.
