“Then you attended the wrong event, because that’s all people talk about at these galas. That, and what everyone’s wearing.”
“I didn’t come here to discuss investments or fashion. Just to celebrate what Lisa and Mr. Hadez have achieved. It’s life-changing.”
“It is.”
“Big pharma must be salivating for the company to go public.”
“No doubt, but it won’t. Lisa and Tarian aren’t looking to make a profit; only a difference.”
His throat works over a swallow of bubbly water.
“So, how did you start?” I ask. “Did you take classes?”
“My mother taught me. It was her passion.”
“Was?”
“She died a little over six years ago.” At the look of pity that floods my stare, he says, “She’d stopped dancing for years by that point.”
“Because of an injury?”
“No.” His pupils retract. “She stopped dancing because of my stepfather. He couldn’t stand her loving anything that wasn’t him.”
“He sounds like a world-class jerk.”
“He had his moments.”
“He’s dead too?”
Cillian nods.
“So you’re like, an orphan?”
“I’m a little old to be an orphan, but yeah, I’m on my own.” He looks around the table. “You’re lucky to have such a big family.”
“I am, even though there are days when they can be a lot. But I’m not complaining,” I rush to add, feeling oddly guilty for griping to someone who has no one.
“I’d kill to have a big family.” He filches the mini baguette off his side plate and breaks off a piece, which he tosses into his mouth.
“Maybe someday you’ll make one. Or marry into one.”
“Where do you see yourself in ten years, Miss Serran?”
“You can call me Electra. As for where I see myself…married.” I should probably slow down on the cocktails before I suggest braiding daisy chains with Cillian—or learning to salsa.
“Kids? Dogs? Cats?”
“Preferably not.” Unless Malachi wants children and pets? He’d have to want me first, though.
I glance over my shoulder only to find him gone. As well as Ines.
“They went to the bathroom,” Cillian informs me, his eyes digging into my face, scrutinizing my reaction.
A vision of Malachi and Ines sharing a stall—and not to pee—plants itself between my temples and develops into a pornographic reel, complete with sound effects. My teeth click.
Once I feel the horrible fantasy recede, I look at Calanthe. She gives me a smile, but it’s small and smacks of pity. Nothing like her usual grins. I see her pick up her phone and type. A second later, my phone vibrates in my pocket.
I retrieve it, then angle the screen away from Cillian. She’s finally answered my earlier query.
