Page 29 of A Vicious Love

The car stopped.

A guard opened Jamison’s door first. He got out without looking back. Another guard opened mine, and I stepped carefully onto the gravel.

My dress was soft silver-blue, with tiny crystals were sewn through the fabric, so every time I moved, I caught the light.

Emmie had said I looked like a winter fairy.

My mother had said the neckline made me look childish.

I had decided to believe Emmie.

Jamison stood several feet away, already checking his phone.

I moved toward him, slower than usual. My ankle was better, but I still felt each uneven stone through my heel. One of his guards glanced down, noticed, and subtly shifted to block the worst patch of gravel from the path.

“Thank you,” I said softly.

His expression didn’t change, but he gave the smallest nod. Jamison looked up from his phone. His gaze moved over me once. Assessing.

“Don’t limp in there,” he said.

My smile faltered for half a second before I fixed it. “I’ll try not to.”

“Try harder.”

I nodded.

Jamison turned toward the entrance.

Panic fluttered in my chest. Because he had started walking without me, the front steps were full of people, and every head in Harlan seemed ready to turn. My social anxiety flooded me in seconds. Attention came with the Crow name and I had always found it too intense.

So I reached for courage.

“Jamjam?”

He stopped. His shoulders tightened before he even looked back.

I held out my hand.

“Hand, please.”

For one suspended second, my hand waited between us in the cold air.

Jamison stared at it. His jaw worked. I thought he might refuse. After a long, awful pause, he stepped back and took it. His grip was hard. My fingers disappeared inside his. I smiled because he had given me what I asked for, and I had to make that enough.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

We walked inside together.

The conservatory took my breath for the second time.

The entrance hall opened into a long glass passage lined with white trees, their branches hung with crystal drops and small golden lanterns. At the far end, the ballroom shimmered beneath the glass dome. Above us, the real night pressed close, while the lanterns made false stars below it.

I forgot Jamison’s mood.

“This is beautiful,” I said before I remembered not to.

His hand tightened around mine. “It’s a room.”