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The thought sobers me. It shouldn’t bother me so much, but I hate the idea of him being with someone else. It makes my stomach twist and knot.
He’s mine.
Chapter 9
Just as we step back inside, the host calls for everyone’s attention. “Tonight, is historic. On the eve of the goddess’s gift, and our King’s birthday, he’s extended his reign by finding his—”
“Silence,” Midas snaps.
Everyone turns to look at him, but none of them seem offended or alarmed at his outburst. The man I was talking to outside winks at me from the back of the room. He’s leaning against a wall, looking as suave and confident as ever.
Jethro motions for Midas to take the floor in the middle of the room.
Midas doesn’t move forward. “We’ll finish the meal before the festivities.”
He glares at each person around the room like he’s trying to communicate something to them.
Jethro claps his hands together. “Very well. You heard him. More food! More wine! We feast!”
Midas leads the crowd back into the dining room. The table is already set for the main course. Thick steaks, perfectly cooked. We sit in the same seats as before, but before anyone can start eating, Cyrus stands up. Apparently, Midas’s exaggerated threat of banishment wasn’t taken seriously.
“A toast.” He raises his glass high. “To Jeslyn. The first human to enter the Court of Gold at the side of a king.”
They sure take this whole royalty charade seriously. I smile and raise my glass, but Midas is as still as stone. When I look over at him, he’s glaring at Cyrus like he wants to throw him against the wall again.
The other guests hold expressions that are a mixture of shock, indignation, and awe. What is going on here? Is this some kind of live theater or something?
Whatever this is about, I think I need to stay sober, so I ask for water when the staff tries to pour me more champagne. The rest of the group has no such reservations. They drink and eat to excess. The conversations grow louder and more boisterous. Occasionally, I hear my name in whispers, but Midas leans in and says, “Ignore them.”
So, I try to.
“Tell us about yourself, Jeslyn,” Jethro says.
“There’s not much to tell.”
I’m not ashamed of my life, but would this group understand it? At twenty-four, I’ve had more heartbreak and obstacles and pressure than most adults my age, and I’m still standing. Still fighting. I’m proud of that. But I don’t want to focus on the differences between us tonight. I don’t want the reminders that this will never work. That his friends will never accept me. I want to pretend a little longer.
Midas wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me to the edge of my seat so our sides are pressed together. It’s like he can sense my tension and wants to ease it with his warmth.
“How about your family?” Cyrus asks from across the table and a few seats down.
“I have a seventeen-year-old sister.” I don’t mention any other family, but Cyrus pushes.
“And your parents?”
“They died in a car accident a few years ago.”
I give him the pat answer I’ve rehearsed, the one that gives enough information to avoid follow-up questions, but not enough for me to sink into my feelings. But my throat still tightens.
They don’t need to know that my mother was in a coma for eight months after the accident before she died, or that I’ve had custody of my sister since I was nineteen.
Jethro apologizes for Cyrus at the same moment as I say, “Excuse me, I need to…”
I trail off, letting them assume whatever they want. This is all too much. The reaction of the guests, whatever is going on between Cyrus and Midas, the glitz and glamor so different from my normal life. Even the unexplainably intense attraction I have for Midas. It’s overwhelming. And now, thinking about my parents… The room feels stuffy and suffocating. I need air.
Footsteps behind me let me know that Midas followed me out of the dining room.
“I know where the bathroom is now. You don’t have to come with me,” I say over my shoulder without slowing down.
