Casually leaning on the pillar in my eye line, Mason watches me like a hawk. I refuse to meet his gaze. One slip, one brief moment of eye contact is all it will take.
Grandpa leads the waltz, like he used to when I was a child. The same way he used to dance with Mum.
I look at my grandfather’s weary face, and my mind puzzles. The man of the hour—the guest of honor, the respected real-estate mogul, the evil private corporate head. And all I see is—Grandpa. My same old, still reads a newspaper, watches black-and-white films, sleeps with lights on, grandfather.Is that delusional?
“I’m sorry you had to see that, hon,” Grandpa says as I stare at his wrinkled face. “But it’s time you know who our friends are, and who aren’t.”
“Yourfriends.Yourenemies.” I make it clear, my voice steadier than I expected. “Not mine.”
“You are part of this now.”
“Maybe.” I shrug. “But I’m building a Chinese wall.”
He laughs at the reference.
“You are a copy-paste of your mother; you know that.”
“I take that as a compliment.” I flash a smile.
Grandpa grins, the lines of his face growing deeper. Then he looks over my shoulder.
“Can I cut in?” A voice comes from behind me.
Nick appears out of nowhere, asking for a dance?
Hell, no.
“Archibald, of course.” Grandpa spins me toward him. “Mind her, she steps on your feet,” he warns.
Nick takes my hand. And it takes all my will not to jerk it away. Before I can protest, his arm wraps around me. My peripheral vision practically catches fire as Mason’s gaze burns a hole in my face. I keep my eyes fixed on my feet, the safest place to look right now.
“Hey.” Nick smiles.
“Hey,” I mumble. “What’s this?”
“Dad wants me to be nice to you and get ahead of them.” He jerks his chin toward the group of guys laughing on the balcony. “Trust me, sweetheart, I’m the best of that lot.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
Nick’s hand drifts down my back, and my spine turns to ice. The chatter around us blurs. His touch may as well be a stain slowly spreading across my body.
I shouldn’t have. Ireallyshouldn’t have. But I do. I sneak a peek toward Mason and—instant regret.
Mason’s eyes are dark and feral. He looks like an animal ready to hunt—to break and tear. Nick, oblivious, keeps swaying me under the chandelier, soaking in the attention from the crowd with a smug smile, utterly unaware of the threat. Then he leans in, his breath brushing against my ear.
“You know you’ve really grown into yourself. You look damn hot in that dress. Etheridge glamor suits you.” Nick’s eyes peer down my cleavage.
Okay, how long is this song? I need to get away from Nick before?—
Nick’s hand lowers to my arse, and I gasp.
Crack!
My feet halt mid-step at the sight of broken glass in Mason’s hand, red dripping from the shards stuck in his palm. But he doesn’t even flinch. Our eyes catch and hold. A silent current sparks between us, making me jerk away from Nick and shrug him off.
But it’s too late.
Mason doesn’t stop to pull the shards out of his hand, or for the waiter who offers him a napkin, or to hear Hugo’s urgent words. No, he doesn’t wait another beat. He storms toward me, force and fury in every step.
