“I did. You’re quite an accomplished dancer. Better than I am, and I’ve taken more lessons than I can count.”
“My mom insisted I know how to dance properly before I went off to college. Most humiliating six months of my teenage life—ballroom dancing classes with my mother.” He chuckles, his blue-eyed gaze turning a little wistful. “She moved to Florida six years ago, and I’ve only seen her once since I got back from Pakistan.”
“Are you close?” Thoughts of Mama and my sisters elbow their way through my earlier joy, and I hope I can call them soon.
“We email every week or two. Before this assignment, I was planning on spending Christmas with her.” He stops so he can cup my cheek. “If it’s safe—if Volkov is no longer a threat—will you come with me?”
The emotions rushing over me clog my throat, making speech impossible, but I nod, then swallow hard. “Yes. I’d…yes.”
If I needed any more proof that I was in love with this man, I’d be an idiot. He understands me in a way no one else ever has. I need to tell him—right now.
“Ladies and gentlemen!”
The music fades away, and theBeauty and StyleCEO, Franklin Meadows, stands at a microphone on a raised platform next to the tables of still-hidden catalogues.
“Thank you all for coming out tonight. For making this year’s Christmas Book launch our best, most successful event in the history ofBeauty and Style Limited.You’ve been patient as we’ve teased you time and time again, but I won’t keep you waiting a second longer!”
Uniformed Baur au Lac employees stand next to each one of the covered tables and whip off the velvet drapes with identical flourishes.
“It is truly my honor to present this year’s Christmas Book to the world!” Franklin bows to a round of thunderous applause, then holds up the book, revealing me mid-spin, the red dress flaring around me, a fiery plume of silk and satin, and a look of pure and utter joy on my face. I remember that shot. The photographer had just said something to make me laugh, and I was convinced the photo would catch me with the strangest expression.
“Oh my God. Sloane, you’re…” Griff shakes his head. “It’s stunning. Perfect, even.”
I can’t find the words to answer him because he’s right. It’s perfect. My final cover. My exit from this industry, from hiding away, from always fearing someone would learn my secret.
This is the best ending I could have imagined. Better still with Griff at my side. Turning to him, I take both of his hands, making sure to run my fingers over the palm of his prosthetic, a move I’ve started to realize makes him feel whole. “I lo—”
“Sloane! Congratulations!” Before I can confess my true feelings for him, half a dozen people surround us—models, executives, investors—and I have to thank every single one of them. Griff steps back, giving me space, and I glance over my shoulder, hoping he knows what I was about to say.
From the look in his eyes, he does, and I let the rest of the crowd have their piece of Sloane Sanders, the model. Sloane Sanders, the woman? She’s all mine. Except for the piece of her heart that now belongs to Griff.
* * *
By the timeI’ve made the rounds—twice—I’m dead on my feet, and Griff looks decidedly uncomfortable. “What’s wrong?” I ask, taking his arm.
“Nothing a quick trip to the men’s room won’t fix.” He scans the room with a frown. “I don’t see Jacob and Marina.”
“They could have gone outside for some fresh air.” Gesturing to the glass doors surrounding the ballroom, I squint, but while I can tell the patio is crowded, I can’t make out any faces. “I see at least six more investors I should talk to before we leave. If we don’t visit the powder rooms now? It could be more than an hour before we have another chance.”
Griff keeps his arm around my waist the entire way to the back corner of the room where a short hallway leads to the lavish bathrooms. Griff knocks on the door to the ladies’ room, then pokes his head inside. “Security check,” he calls out.
“Griff!”
“Not taking any chances with your safety,” he says quietly, taking my arm and leading me into the outer lounge area, then checking the stalls. Amazingly, they’re all empty. “I’ll be waiting right outside when you’re done, sweetheart. If there’s a line in the men’s room, I’ll text you. Got it?”
“Okay.” Even after the events of the past week, his protectiveness still surprises me—and makes me feel safe. With a quick brush of his lips to my cheek, he’s gone. It takes me a full ten minutes to take care of my own needs and rearrange my dress, but before I leave the powder room, I pause at one of the mirrors in the lounge.
My lips are a mess. Though my TD hasn’t bothered me most of the night, the lip stain I put on before the party is mostly gone. Digging in my bag, I pull out the tube and reapply, waiting the full minute for the liquid to dry to a perfect matte shade.
My phone buzzes, Marina’s photo on the screen, and I tap the FaceTime button. “Hey, where are—?”
Sweat dampens my palms. My heart pounds so hard against my ribs, I can barely breathe. Marina’s tear-stained face peers back at me, a strip of duct tape over her lips. The image zooms out, and I swallow my sob. She’s slumped against weathered wood, her hands tied behind her back, ankles bound too, and her eyes are swollen and rimmed with red.
“No,” I whisper.
“Hello, Sophiana.” Dimitri’s raspy voice is like an icy sword piercing my heart. He turns the phone, and I lock on to his cold, brown eyes. “It is good to see your face.”
Wheezing, I start to stumble for the door.
