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But I know better. I know how much that must have stung for a woman like her.
The crowd absorbs her within seconds. I watch the back of her sleek head disappear.
“That was rude,” I say once I’ve lost sight of her.
“That’s Alisa for you.”
“I meant you,” I clarify. “You could have been nicer.”
“Believe me: I could have been much worse.”
Kane puts a hand around my waist and starts to steer me toward a cluster of chairs arranged in the corner. “Did you want me to go with her?”
“No!” His eyes flare at how fast I answer. I gulp and add, “I mean, it’s your party. You can do whatever you want. And we’re not—” I gesture between us. “You know.”
“With every passing second,” he remarks, “I know less and less what we are and are not.”
The band has shifted gears. The lively brass dissolves into something quivering and anticipatory.
People have begun turning toward the clock mounted above the stage, its gold hands creeping toward midnight.
I can feel the room tightening around the last minute of the year.
My pulse does the same.
Maybe it’s the champagne.
Maybe it’s the gorgeous woman getting banished to the timeout corner.
Or maybe it’s him. Kane Makov and all the things he does to me.
He makes me feel bold. Not safe, exactly. But when I’m near him, I feel like I could take up space and nobody would dare ask me to move.
I turn back to him.
He’s still watching me. Always watching.
That silly hope lifts its head again.
Kill it! Kill it now! screams my inner critic. Before it gets out of control!
But instead…
“Kane…” I look up to meet his eyes. “What am I to you?”
My voice is barely audible among the band and the cheering crowd, but judging by how Kane reacts, I might as well have screamed them in his face through a megaphone.
It’s like he goes dark. That shimmering aura of confidence and luxury that surrounds him at all times loses its source of power.
His jaw sets.
His eyes go unfocused.
The hand holding his champagne glass tightens and tightens and tightens some more.
He looks… tortured.
And that’s all I need.
