Page 116 of The Devil of Downtown

Julian looks at me like I’ve missed the obvious.

“You absolutely should’ve.”

My brow lifts.

He shrugs, but his tone is firm.

“If you’d left her out of this? That’s not protection; that’s distance. You think she wouldn’t notice? All she’d feel is you shutting her out of your life. This,”—he gestures toward the room, my father, the photo looping overhead—“this is ugly, yeah. But you don’t get to keep her in a different universe forever. Even though you might want to.”

I stare at the crowd, at Ivy’s dark hair catching the light miles away across the ballroom.

Julian nudges my shoulder. “Letting her be here... even in this mess? It matters more than you think.”

“Since when did you start speaking sense?”

Julian stretches his arm over my shoulder. “Come on, let’s go find our table before Mitzy comes back and tries to sit on your lap.”

We move to a table at the edge of the room where the noise softens, and I can finally drink my whiskey in peace. Julian’s face sobers, which is rare for him, as he takes off his tux and slings it over the back of his chair, rolling the tension out of his shoulders.

“PI gave another update,” he murmurs. “They’re narrowing down who was in the other car. He thinks the reason the enquirydisappearedis some kind of connection to a mid-tier criminal syndicate, nothing small-time.”

My jaw tightens. “Fuck, that explains a lot. I need names.”

“Oh, they’re fucking coming, don’t worry about that.”

“Good.”

I take another sip of whiskey, my eyes scanning the room for her. I spot Ivy before she sees me.

She’s walking toward us with Charlotte, their heads bent together. Ivy is laughing softly at whatever nonsense Charlotte is feeding her.

For a moment, I just stay there, watching her—the way candlelight touches the red velvet of her dress. I wasn’t sure that bringing her tonight was the right move. Julian’s comment shouldn’t have meant anything, but it stuck:Not bringing her would’ve said more than bringing her ever could.

She glances up, eyes bright even in the muted light, and gives me a small, quiet smile like I’m a welcome sight and not a complication. And the tension I’ve been carrying finally loosens. She slides into the seat next to me, her lips tilted in a half-smile.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Please do.”

I move closer once she’s seated, enough so that our knees brush under the table. She inhales sharply, a soft little shiver running through her when I let my fingers drift over the velvet covering her thigh.

“You look beautiful tonight,” I murmur, my lips grazing her ear.

.Her hand finds mine beneath the table—warm, soft, almost hesitant as her fingers thread through my own. She stiffens the moment my father steps onto the stage and launches into his tribute, grief packaged for the crowd and sincerity staged for maximum applause. Her grip slackens like she’s thinking about pulling away, but I hold tighter. She’s doing a damn good job of hiding, but I know she’s uncomfortable. But I need to keep her right here with me because she’s the only thing grounding me.

Most years, the speech hits me like a blow. Tonight, it’s background noise. All I can feel is the soft brush of her skin against mine. All I can focus on is the way her thumb strokes the side of my hand when she thinks I’m not paying attention.

When the applause starts, I lean into her, the need to touch her again almost instinctive. ”Dance with me.”

Her eyes glitter with mischief as they fix on mine. “Oh, I was thinking of dancing with Julian.”

Julian’s ears prick up faster than a bat on steroids. “Did I hear the word dance, Ivy?”

“In your dreams,” I mutter, already guiding Ivy to her feet before he can take a single step.

On the dance floor, Ivy steps closer, closing the last inch between us, her body aligning with mine so perfectly. The warmth of her seeps straight through the velvet of her dress.

“It’s nice how you get on so well with Julian and Charlotte,” she muses.