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38
“Well, it’s official—you survived your first dinner at Gray Wolf,” Braxton says as the remains of the dessert course are whisked away. “What should we do for an encore?”
A quick glance around the room confirms the snow has stopped, the fawn has crossed the pond to be reunited with his mother, and the crowd of diners is spilling out the door and into the hall. “Aren’t we required to hang out in Autumn?” I ask. “I’m pretty sure I saw that on the schedule you gave me.”
“I’m not sure I’d call it a requirement,” he says. “Besides, you’re with me, and I happen to have a smidgen of clout around here.”
“A smidgen. How impressive.” I grin.
He’s loosened up. I don’t know if it’s the glass of red wine he drank with dinner or the fact that I’ve loosened up, too, having decided sometime between the amuse-bouche and the main course that it’s better to make an ally than an enemy.
He rises from his seat and comes to stand beside me.
“I think I could get used to this sort of chivalry. Opening doors, pulling out chairs—makes me feel like I’m in a Jane Austen movie.” I smooth a hand down the front of my dress as Braxton starts to drape my stole over my shoulders. “It’s too warm,” I tell him, prepared to just carry it, when he drapes it over his shoulders instead.
“What do you think?” he asks, tilting his head.
My eyes graze over him, moving from his mop of dark hair, to that ridiculous face, to his perfectly cut suit, to the faux fur stole with the jeweled clip arranged to hang down the front, and though I hate to admit it, my heart actually skips a few beats.
“I think you look quite dashing,” I tell him. “In a modern, regal sort of way.”
“Exactly the look I was after.” He guides me out the door and down a long hallway. It’s the opposite direction of where everyone else is heading.
“Where are we going?” I ask, the lug soles of my boots softly thudding against the stone floor.
“I figure you’ll have plenty of chances to hang out in the Autumn Room with your friends, so—”
“Only I don’t have any friends,” I say. “Not here, anyway.”
He sighs. “When you’re the only Green, it can feel kind of lonely, I know.”
That’s when it occurs to me that Braxton isn’t just being nice, or chivalrous, or making up for a boatload of guilt, but that he’s actually—
“I don’t need a babysitter!” I stop dead in my tracks, hoping it’s too dim for him to see the flush of embarrassment staining my cheeks.
He shoots me a quizzical look, swipes a hand through his hair. “Well, that’s a relief,” he says. “Considering how I’m barely a year older than you, that would be weird.”
I stand before him, feeling like I really am in a Jane Austen movie, only I’m cast as the socially awkward cousin who’s suffered a fit of hysteria that’ll haunt her forever. And, since I didn’t have any wine at dinner, I have nothing to blame but my own paranoia.
“I’m going to give you a choice.” He steps closer. “I can escort you back to your room and we can call it a night…”
We’re standing just inches apart, and though I’m embarrassed to admit it, I’ve already ruled that one out.
“Or I can show you to a small gallery full of interesting works of art.”
I take a moment to consider. Tempting, but I’ll need to hear more.
“Or I can take you to a sculpture garden that’s available only to those with a smidgen of clout.” He tips his head to the side and raises his brow.
“And this garden, it’s outside?” Suddenly, I realize I’ve gone an entire day surrounded by digitized nature but haven’t taken so much as a single breath of fresh air.
Braxton grins, offers his arm, and sweeps me down a series of hallways until we reach a small door at the end. “There are four flights, and the staircase is pretty narrow so, after you,” he says.
It’s one of those winding staircases with no guardrail, so I’m forced to press a hand to the wall to keep from falling. By the time I reach the top and open the door, I can’t tell if I’m breathless from the climb, or the startling sight that awaits me.
