It's clear the conversation isn’t going well when Alessio walks away drowning himself in another glass of alcohol.
As my primary focus is making sure Rosalie is safe when not at home, I suppose there’s no harm in watching Alessio while he’s here. After all, in this situation he’s the one not at home. He’s the one at the most risk.
So, over the next hour I watch him get more and more drunk. Rosalie is mingling with the few left at the party, looking morecomfortable in a less glamourous dress and hair pins removed. She avoids Alessio but not her uncle.
In fact, I notice that when he tells her to talk to someone, she does. She goes over just as he suggested and makes nice with them. She’s quiet, more subdued, than when he’s not around.
I make a mental note of it, and put my attention back on Alessio. I wonder where he’s gone. Perhaps to get more alcohol. His heavy drinking tonight suggests he’s not as happy about the engagement as I originally thought.
The situation in the bathroom earlier told me that Rosalie may not be either.
It doesn’t surprise me, but it’s good to know.
I wonder just how long they’ve known about their engagement, and if they truly had any hand in it or if it was all their families. I’ve yet to meet Carmine, the Don of the Dresvanni’s and Alessio’s older brother, but if he’s anything like Eivor, I can see him pushing Alessio into this.
My eyes find Alessio making his way over to…me? I straighten my shoulders, prepared to handle whatever is thrown at me.
He looks wobbly, and his cup is empty, but his lips are a little shiny with whatever alcohol had been in the cup. His eyes are slightly glazed over. Hair out of place, ponytail askew.
“Damian,” he drawls at me. His voice is a bit slurred.
I eye him from head to toe. His body language says he’s not over here to demand something from me but to stir something up. As he leans against the wall next to me and tilts his head to the side, I begin to wonder what exactly.
“Mr. Dresvanni,” I address him formally, keeping my body stiff and facing straight forward. Rather than facing him or leaning toward him. I don’t wish to give a relaxed impression.
“Please, it’s a party, call me Alessio,” he insists.
I don’t reply to that in particular. He smells of liquor, but also something else. Something warm and musky. I ignore that.
“What is it you need?” I ask him simply, and paste my eyes ahead of me on the party, rather than looking at him.
Suddenly, I feel fingers touch my chin, and I’m surprised enough that I let him turn my head to make me look over. He tilts my head up to look at him.
I tug my chin away from him after pulling myself together.
“You could at-at least look at me,” he smiles as he speaks. “I want to thank you.”
Heat burns in my stomach and groin, but I ignore it. Just as I’m trying to ignore the salacious tone of his voice.
“Thank me for what?” I ask him, my own tone low and quiet. I’m stone cold sober, unlike anyone else at this party.
I glance away from us for a moment to see where Rosalie is. She’s talking to someone by the fireplace, flipping her hair gently with one hand and holding a glass of champagne with the other. I look back to Alessio as he leans forward and down slightly. His long hair slips over the side of his face and forehead where it’s falling out of his ponytail.
“For coming to my rescue at the gala,” he insists. “You watched out for me, not many do.” His brow furrows. I know he’s telling the truth.
Something about the sadness that shines in his eyes for just a brief second makes my stomach tighten.
“It’s my job, Mr. Dresvanni,” I explain. “Thanks are not necessary.”
“Oh, please… You don’t like a little praise?” he asks me, leaning in closer.
I struggle to keep my body facing forward, finding myself turning slightly toward him.
I glance at my watch.
Eleven-fifty-nine.
“It’s almost midnight, I think you should be turning in,” I say slowly, trying to make it clear that he is too drunk for this conversation, without quite saying that. Normally I wouldn’t dance around my words, but I have a feeling this situation is more delicate than usual.
