Page 117 of Anton

Shit. I have no idea what he just said.

“Yeah, definitely.” Lord, I hope that was the right answer.

“Yeah, me too.”

Okay, so I didn’t completely embarrass myself. Maybe.

“So how about that dance now?” He offers me his hand, and I force myself to take it.

His other one settles at my waist as we sway beneath the glittering lights. But through every turn, I search the crowd, hoping to see Anton again, even if I only imagined him the first time.

One song bleeds into another, and just as I give up hope, a figure appears over Zachary’s shoulder. And this time, I know it’s him.

He’s no longer in the waiter’s uniform, but those dark pupils are unmistakable, watching me from behind a group of people near the far side of the ballroom, his body completely still.

My breath stalls in my lungs.

Zachary spins us gently, and by the time the room swings back into place and I peer again, Anton is gone.

I swear, I’m losing my fucking mind.

“You okay?” Zachary’s eyes narrow.

“Yes.” The answer comes too quickly. “Sorry. I thought I saw someone I knew.”

He glances in the direction I was looking, then back at me. “Anyone interesting?”

“No.” I laugh uncomfortably. “Not at all.”

The rest of the song passes with me barely hearing a word. When the final notes fade, Zachary lifts my hand and presses a kiss to my knuckles, so perfectly charming that Mama is probably glowing from somewhere.

“Would you like me to get you a drink?”

“That’s very sweet, but I’m actually going to run to the ladies’ room for a minute. I’ll be right back.”

“Of course.” His smile stays easy as he releases me. “I’ll be by the bar.”

I hurry out of sight, slipping through the crowd and toward the hallway that leads to the bathrooms while trying very hard not to glance over my shoulder again. Just as I reach for the handle, two women step out, both greeting me as they pass before the door swings shut behind me, leaving the bathroom empty.

Stopping in front of the mirror, I stare at myself. “Get a grip. He’s not here. You’re imagining it.”

But the feeling in the pit of my stomach says otherwise.

Forcing myself to move, I go into one of the stalls, lock the door, and take a minute to breathe. A sudden click makes me gasp, my fingers freezing on the latch as my eyes enlarge.

I wait for footsteps, the rustle of a dress, anything to tell me someone else came in, but nothing follows. My heart races as I gradually open the door and check the sinks and mirrors, recoiling when I find the bathroom still empty.

“Hello?” I call out.

When no one answers, a nervous laugh slips from me as I step fully out of the stall.

“Okay,” I whisper, walking to the sink. “You’ve officially lost your mind.”

I pump soap into my hands and wash them before reaching for one of the folded linen napkins beside the sink. But when I look up, Anton’s dark, emotionless eyes are staring back at me through the mirror.

Every inch of me goes tight. I can’t move, afraid that if I turn around, he won’t be there.

Slowly, I face him, and the second I do, a cold rush sweeps through me.