The studio is very quiet. Outside, I can hear the distant sound of traffic, the everyday noises of Bellamy Cove going about its evening. Inside, everything has stopped.
“It’s a long story.”
“We have time.”
“Do we?” He glances at the windows, at the darkness gathering beyond. “It’s late. You have an early class tomorrow.”
“Mal—”
“I’ll tell you everything.” His hand comes up to cup my face, and the touch is so gentle it makes my chest ache. “After the gala. I promise.”
“Why not now?”
“Because right now, I want to enjoy this.” His thumb traces my cheekbone. “You asked me on a date, Isadora. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for that?”
“How long?”
“Since the moment I walked into your beginner class.” He’s smiling now, that crooked smile that makes my heart do stupid things. “Dance with me again?”
I should insist on answers. I should demand explanations. I should maintain the careful, controlled approach that’s gotten me this far.
But the third stone is still glowing on his wrist, and his eyes are soft, and just this once, I don’t want to be careful.
“Fine,” I say. “But you’re leading.”
His smile widens, and we start to move again, two figures turning slowly in the fading light.
Whatever this is. Whatever he is. I’m in it now. God help us both.
CHAPTER NINE
The main chandelier in the ballroom of the old Bellamy mansion contains exactly one hundred and thirty-seven crystals. I know this because I’ve counted them twice while waiting for Mal to return with drinks, and I’m seriously considering a third count just to give my hands something to do besides fidget with the hem of my dress.
The red dress.
Bianca was right—it does look good. The silk hugs my body like it was made for it, and the open back draws exactly the kind of attention I’d normally hate but tonight find strangely satisfying. Or I would, if I could stop counting crystals.
“You’re going to wear a hole in that fabric.”
I drop my hem and turn to find Mal approaching with two champagne flutes, looking like he’s just stepped off a red carpet. His tuxedo is clearly bespoke—fitted perfectly to his broad shoulders, the crisp white of his shirt a stark contrast to his dark hair and darker eyes. The only hint of color is a red pocket square that matches my dress exactly.
“Did you coordinate on purpose?” I ask, accepting one of the glasses.
“Nix may have done some reconnaissance.” He clinks his flute against mine. “You look stunning, by the way.”
“You’ve said that three times.”
“It bears repeating.” His eyes travel down my body with an appreciation that makes my skin flush. “Red is definitely your color.”
“Stop.”
“Never.”
Across the ballroom, a string quartet is playing something classical and inoffensive while Bellamy Cove’s finest mill about in their formal wear. I spot Mrs. Patterson near the silent auction table, her Pomeranian presumably left at home. Rita Jenkins is holding court by the champagne fountain, and I can see Mayor Hammond pressing flesh near the main entrance.
Everyone who’s anyone in Bellamy Cove is here. Which means everyone who’s anyone in Bellamy Cove is watching us.
“Izzie!” Bianca appears out of nowhere, stunning in emerald green. “You came! And you brought—oh my God, look at you two.”
