Page 12 of A Vicious Love

Jamison drank.

I waited.

He didn’t answer.

So I filled the silence myself.

“I liked the black floor. The one that looked like water when the lights moved over it. It made the dancers on the balcony look like they were floating.”

“Not dancers,” he said.

I blinked, startled by the response.

He was still looking at his drink. “Performers.”

“Oh.” I smiled. “Right. Performers.”

That was the most he had said to me all night. I traced his middle finger where a black crow’s wing curled over the knuckle.

“Did you get my message about my birthday party?”

He took another drink. My heart started beating too fast.

“It’s next weekend,” I added. “At the Bellemere house. Just dinner and music. Not a huge event. Well, my mother says it’s small, so that probably means eighty people.”

Harrison snorted. “Bellemere small.”

I smiled at him, grateful for the easy break in tension.

Then I looked back at Jamison.

“Are you coming?”

Jamison checked his phone.

“I’m busy.”

Somehow I managed to not react. Kept the small unbothered smile in place.

“That’s okay,” I said brightly. “I have one every year.”

Marcel’s eyes moved briefly to Jamison. Harrison stopped smiling. Jamison didn’t notice. Or he did and decided not to care.

The food arrived. The server placed mine down.

Fish.

My stomach tightened. I looked at the plate.

I was allergic to fish.

Once, when I was fourteen, I spent half a night in the medical wing because a sauce had been made with stock no one thought to mention.

I stared at the plate. I didn’t remember if I had put the allergy in the event notes. I glanced at the server, but he was already moving down the table.

Emmie would have helped. Marcel would have called the waiter back. Harrison would have made some joke to soften the embarrassment.

But Jamison was already irritated, drinking, one second away from deciding the night had too much of me in it.