“And you don’t like him because of that?”
“Yes. And because he’s an arrogant arsehole.”
I laughed. “I see. But Olivia is really nice.”
“Yeah, she’s the best. Far too good for someone like him,” Henry replied, and we finally continued towards the bar. We had decided half an hour ago to get more drinks, but we’d been stopped several times along the way.
“Should I be jealous?” I teased, but I wasn’t entirely joking. Olivia wasn’t just nice; she was also exceptionally pretty, and shehad known Henry far longer than I had—and knew him far better. It was only natural that I felt a twinge of insecurity, even if I hadn’t sensed the slightest spark of chemistry between them.
“No, we’re just friends.”
“But you used to be together, right?”
Henry sighed, as if tired of the topic. “Not really. We went on a couple of dates years ago because our parents liked the idea of it and kept pestering us about what a great couple we’d make. So eventually we caved, but it never felt right.”
We reached the bar, a dark wooden counter with a mirrored back wall lined with expensive-looking bottles. The lighting in this part of the ballroom was dim, casting a warm, golden glow. Behind the counter, bartenders worked tirelessly, juggling bottles and tossing shiny metal shakers into the air to entertain the guests as they waited for their drinks. Although Henry and I stood at the side of the bar, we were surrounded by so many people that we ended up pressed against each other again, just like we had been on the dance floor.
“So what went wrong?” I asked, unable to contain my curiosity.
“I love Olivia, but she’s way too involved in all this,” he replied, and gestured around the ballroom.
I raised my eyebrows behind my mask. “And you’re not?”
“Sure, but not like she is. I’m a tiny part of this world, while this world is a huge part of her. If that makes sense.” I nodded. “Olivia would do anything to belong. When we were dating, we argued more than we ever had before. Mostly about her desperate need to attend events like this just to be seen—whereas I just wanted to lie on the sofa and cuddle.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Cute.”
Henry shot me a sharp look. “Did you just call me ‘cute’?”
Feeling momentarily bold, I stood on my tiptoes, bringing our faces close together. Lowering my voice so only Henry could hear, I said, “Yes, and there’s nothing you can do about it,Mr. Darlington.”
“Maybe I don’t want to,Miss Hamilton.” Henry’s voice was barely louder than a whisper.
I shivered, and goose bumps prickled my arms. With his free hand, he tucked a rebellious strand of hair behind my ear, his gloved fingertips gently grazing my cheek. He looked at my mouth with smouldering eyes. A burning heat spread through me, and a jolt of deep longing tightened in my chest.
“Henry! It’s so good to see you!”
“Fuck,” Henry muttered. Regret flashed across his face, as if he wished he’d acted faster, and he squeezed his eyes shut. It seemed to pain him to let me go. His hand slipped from my cheek, but even without his touch, the spot where his fingers had been still tingled.
I sighed, trying not to sound too disappointed. “I think I’ll freshen up,” I said. I couldn’t take another conversation about racetracks, estates, stocks, or the planned ski trip to Saint Moritz.
“Good idea. I’ll wait for you here,” Henry replied, before turning his attention to the man who had interrupted us. I smiled at him as I left, even while secretly cursing him.
To my surprise, there wasn’t a queue for the restroom. The room was empty aside from a woman standing at the sink, touching up her makeup. In the stall, I lifted my dress, peeled down the tights Grace had made me wear, despite the dress being floor-length, and gathered the silky material around my hips. As I peed, I heard the woman leave the room, and two others entered. They didn’t go into the cubicles, but lingered by the sinks. I regretted not bringing Grace’s makeup with me. Powdering my nose wouldn’t have hurt. Maybe I could borrow some from the women. I pulled thetights back up, adjusted my dress, and was about to flush when they started talking.
“I still can’t get over the fact that Henry is here with his cleaning lady,” one of them said.
I froze.
“I heard she’s Richard’s crisis manager.”
“No, that’s Vivian Edwards. Henry’s date is a cleaner.”
I shifted as quietly as I could, leaning forward to press my face to the crack between the door and frame, hoping to catch a glimpse of the two women. I could only make out vague figures—one of them wore a red dress, the other a blue one.
“You mean the girl from the photos?” the one in the blue dress asked.
“Yeah, the one wearing the tatty leather jacket,” the woman in the red dress said, her voice dripping with disdain, as if she’d rather walk naked through London than wear my jacket. “I don’t get why Henry’s hanging out with her. She’s not even particularly pretty. And have you seen her hair? It looks like she cut it herself with kids’ scissors.”
