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I set her down, my hands trembling, my fingers clenching and releasing, desperate to touch her silky skin, to pull her against me once more.

To burn us both alive.

She looks up, her face blanching. She shakes her head harder.

“W-We can’t do this. I-I can’t do this.”

Then she opens the door and dashes out.

This time, I don’t stop her.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I miss her.

After tasting her, touching her, it doesn’t matter whether I deserve Olivia or catharsis. Whether I’m ruining her by involving her with me, a man whose blackouts are occurring more frequently, a man who can’t function without his pills.

I need her. My mind calls out to her. My body craves her.

I’ve convinced myself I can protect her reputation, that she needs this connection as much as I do. That as long as I behave in public, we can have our moments in private. We’ll heal each other. We’ll get this out of our systems.

No one else has to know.

But for the past four days since our kiss in the closet, she’s been avoiding me like a vampire to sunlight.

I don’t see her in the restaurants, on the decks, and when I go to her office, either she’s in an appointment with a patient, or she’ll tell me she’s busy…

Through the closed door.

My chest tightens as I walk toward the elevator bay, not wanting to go to the masquerade ball this evening.

Casey holds open the elevator door and I step in. He’s dressed in a sleek black tux, a demi mask in his hand.

It isn’t an Orchid cruise without an over-the-top, glamorous ball, which is happening off-site at Casa Rocca Piccola, a 16thcentury palace in our current stop, Malta.

“What are you supposed to be?” he asks, scanning my outfit—a navy velvet coat with gold buttons, a black waistcoat underneath, a white linen shirt with an old-fashioned cravat fastened at the neck. The attire is finished with fitted black breeches and leather boots.

“An aristocrat. Haven’t decided whether I want to be a duke or an earl… Duke of Your Orgasms has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” I smirk.

He rolls his eyes, but his lips twitch. “Why did I even ask?”

“I didn’t think you’d be attending,” I murmur as the elevator moves.

“Since when do I not go to your parties?”

My lips hitch up. “Drag you to my parties is more like it. I don’t need a babysitter anymore. I’m thirty-seven.”

Casey dusts the invisible lint off his sleeves. “Trust me, I don’t want to babysit you. But until I can trust you enough or pass that job to someone who can manage you, my conscience won’t let me leave you alone. And you know I’ve saved you from making bad choices over the years.”

Silence falls in the small space again and I think back to our past decades—the good, the bad, the ugly—he’s been by my side through it all. He’d whispered in my ear at high school graduation, telling me to give my keys to someone else because I had three shots and shouldn’t be driving. He made me call Lana when I stared into the ocean after Raya’s death, wondering if taking a brisk dive in December after ingesting Velowake and vodka would be enough to shock the senses and make me feel something other than grief.

He knew I wouldn’t do anything stupid if I was talking to my sister because, as reckless as I was, I’d never do anything to traumatize Lana. And so, that night, as I was sitting on the railing, my body swaying and head dizzy, Lana and I bickered over the phone, her rambling about thedouchebags who’d mysteriously ghost her after two dates and I’d make fun of her hopeless romantic self.

To this day, she doesn’t know how close I was to jumping into the ocean that night, how if I did, I probably wouldn’t have survived.

So yes, Casey has saved my ass a few times.

More than a few. And in a world where I’m often alone, I’m grateful. And I guess that’s progress.