Cal, who had heard all of this hundreds of times before, inwardly scoffed.
He attempted to behave, for his mother’s sake as much as the guests’, though he was unable to resist a jab or two at Ben’s expense. Tension bled from the walls, thickening the air itself, until Cal found himself marveling at how the others could walk so freely through these dropsical hallways without feeling the drag of the invisible chains that tethered every inhabitant to the bones of the house.
“We’ve kept all the original fixtures where possible, including these windows,” his mother was saying. “Caledon Cullraven put seven separate panes in this stained-glass window. One for each letter of his name, and because seven is associated with spiritual enlightenment.”
You feel it,he thought, watching Noelle’s pretty sister. She stayed close to Noelle’s side, looking uneasily at the far corners of the room where the light did not reach.I know you do.
With her red dress and brown tresses, she reminded him of a little fox sparrow.
But that was a dangerous line of thought. He wasn’t looking for companionship. In fact, he had made it a point not to, losing himself in his studies as if the dry ascetism of his law books could bleed the wildness from his veins like bad humors. His fellow classmates did not understand. To them, Harvard wasa playground: a place to sow their wild oats before they were absorbed into the larger cogs of a cruel machine designed to thresh the wheat and spit out the chaff.
No amount of trust funds or generational suffixes could stand up to the weight of familial tradition.
And yet, his eyes returned continually to her, noting each movement and gesture as his mother’s nervous voice warbled through the echoing halls. The tour was no longer than twenty minutes but it felt like an eternity, and he was annoyed when she slipped away before he had a chance to get her alone.
I’ve been alone too long.Cal slipped out of the house along with the rest of the guests, letting his steps carry him over to the open bar. He ordered a shot of rum at the bar and knocked it back. The hard liquor made his throat burn.Soon this will all be over.
Roses covered every surface of the courtyard, strewn in boughs over the central statue as if to mask it, and clustered in big, bursting centerpiece on every white-skirted table. The smell was nearly suffocating as he passed beneath an arch; he was tall enough that his head was only a few inches shy of brushing the zenith of its graceful curves.
More guests were starting to arrive, mostly friends of his parents. He briefly considered getting a second drink before the ceremony began but his sister had made herself at home at the bar counter, tormenting Christian simply because she could, and he was foolish enough to react, red-faced and blustering, as she leaned over the counter to mock him in her lacy, low-cut dress.
No watered-down drink was worth a skirmish with his sister at work.
He turned his head away, back towards the table set-up, and a flash of red caught his eye.
It was her. The sister.
She was standing in front of the tables with her shoulders hunched, angled so that her back was to the most populous area. She had a stern, old-fashioned prettiness that reminded him of the old Victorian portraits gracing their various halls. Her face was pale and there was a tightness to her full mouth that made him wonder,What’s the matter, darling?
She was looking at the melting centerpieces, watching the ice-roses pool in the unrelenting heat with a troubled expression.
Ben hadn’t mentioned how pretty she was—although he wouldn’t, would he? Ravens were covetous creatures and guarded their baubles as jealously as any dragon.
He hadn’t missed how Ben had stolen his own words in an attempt to curry favor—and neither had his new wife.
Nadine’s dress shifted as she rocked back on her heels, and the silky fabric was the same color as the blood-red pools of water filling the bowls. He was struck with the image of how that viscous scarlet might look dripping over her pale, flawless skin . . . when he claimed her.
The desire that rolled through him was like thunder: hot and immediate, crackling with an electric pulse of awareness that had him standing taller and straighter.
She hadn’t seen him yet, so lost in her own thoughts that he was able to get close enough to smell whatever sweet scent it was that she used to wash her hair.
“Morbid, isn’t it?” he said softly.
She jumped, sloshing wine onto her dress. Her eyes were wide, the pupils nearly eclipsing the pale, misty grey of her irises. When he smiled at her, a tendon leaped in her throat.
Far too easy to imagine grabbing her by that pretty neck and feeling the wild throb of her pulse against his palm as he dragged his thumb along the full swell of her lower lip.This one will scare too easily, he thought.What a shame. I think she likes me.
“Roses were associated with the Passion,” he clarified, taking advantage of her surprise to close the distance. “Their manifestation in the presence of martyrs and saints was known as ‘the miracle of the roses.’”
“That’s very interesting.” She turned and set her glass down on the table, though she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Noelle didn’t mention you being Catholic. Do you practice religion regularly then?”
“Only its absence.”
Her eyes flickered, taking him in beneath those lowered lashes. He wondered what she thought she knew about him. He wondered how much her blush would deepen if he asked.
It had been . . . a while . . . since he’d felt a woman’s touch. And this one, with her shy eyes and sweet smile, had been delivered right to his front door. Feeling a burst of impulsivity brought on by the liquor, he held out his hand. “Dance with me.”
Nadine hesitated, her eyes scanning over the crowd. Then her cool fingers grasped his. Cal flipped his hand, closing it over hers to pull her closer so he could place his other hand on the inviting dip of her waist. She inhaled shakily, her eyes level with his throat. She still wouldn’t look him in the eye but he thought the stunned expression on her face might be desire.
