Page 21 of A Vicious Love

His expression changed. I wished I could grab the sentence back.

“That sounded rude,” I said quickly. “I didn’t mean you. I just meant⁠—”

“I know what you meant.”

I pressed my lips together.

He leaned against the stone balustrade, still keeping that careful distance. “What would you have done differently?”

“With what?”

“The event.”

I blinked. “You want my opinion?”

“I asked for it.”

I almost smiled, but it came out stunned instead. “No one asks me that.”

“That seems unlikely.”

Inside, applause rose briefly from the main room, then faded.

Alistair studied me, in the way men sometimes did. He looked at my face as if it contained the important information. I lowered my eyes first.

“I would have made it less stiff,” I said. “Still beautiful, but warmer. More fire pits outside, maybe blankets on the terrace, a proper dessert room instead of tiny plates with gold leaf, because everyone likes dessert even if they pretend not to. I would have had the younger dancers from the Harlan scholarship program perform between speeches. Not a full ballet. Just small pieces. Something that reminds people the fundraiser has actual people attached to it, not just names on pledge cards.”

“That’s a good idea.”

I looked up sharply.

“What?”

“That’s a good idea,” he repeated.

I waited for the teasing. It didn’t come. So I smiled, uncertainly this time.

“Thank you.”

“Do you dance with that program?”

“I used to. Now I help sometimes. I’m rehearsing with the Winter Ballet Society.”

“The sold-out performance?”

“You heard about it?”

“I saw the clip. The final turn was extraordinary.”

I stared at him. My cheeks warmed for an entirely different reason.

He smiled. “Did I say that correctly?”

“Yes.” My voice was embarrassingly quiet. “You watched that?”

“A lot of people watched it.”

“Most people watched because Veil posted it with dramatic music and a headline about tragic heiresses.”