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“Why feel good when you can be special?”
“I’m special?”
“Clearly.”
“Why?” I asked, looking at him sharply. “Because you say so, and you think you can charm anyone and anything?”
“Because no one you’ve spoken to has even remotely gossiped that you’re anything more than what you said. Because my mother allowed you to leave her sight, and in her way, was showing trust in your abilities.”
I relaxed a few notches, feeling guilty for snapping at him. “Oh.”
He looked me over. “I suppose she suspected you would just look good in a suit. I don’t think she believed until tonight you could pull it off in every way. I could have told her otherwise…and you do look good in that suit.”
“Again, we go back to how terrible a straight man you are,” I muttered, sinking into my seat.
“Considering recent…events, I believe that particular debate has already been washed and settled,” he said, and I didn’t have to look at him to know he was looking pleased with himself.
If he intended to cut through my snarkiness, he certainly succeeded. With that simple statement, I clearly recalled Halloween, if only for a moment. Brief as it was, it was enough for me to swallow hard as I remembered the feel of him on my tongue, his fingers in my hair, and the unfiltered hunger in his kiss as he’d held me tightly after he’d…
“Whatever,” I muttered, knowing I’d been beaten but unwilling to admit it openly. Instead, I glanced over, taking in the sight of him for the first time. I was a little surprised to see he had gone for an outfit that was neither flashy nor ostentatious. Instead, it was a suit as trim and traditional as my own. That his shoulders somehow managed to look even better in the suit than mine ever could didn’t help, nor did my fixation on wanting to reach out and undo the top button of his dress shirt to see his throat.
If God was real, he or she had the sickest sense of humor, and no one would be able to convince me otherwise.
Rather than choose to give voice to those thoughts, I jerked my eyes away from him and stared at the room below us. “So, what’s the point of having balconies up here?”
“What?” he began, turning toward me. “You came into this whole situation blind?”
“I know Meredith Brookehaven is the owner of this house, and her husband Marcus comes from a lower-class family who worked his way up through her father’s company. He’s the CEO because of his hard work and business decisions. She’s a socialite practically famous in Cresson Point for her charitable works. I know she was married before, but no one talks about that, which means her ex-husband was probably a foul man and retreated quietly to his family’s estate in Florida and has stayed there since the divorce. I know that when it comes to things like this, and probably the home itself, Meredith is in full control while Marcus runs the business side of things. What I don’t know is why there’s fucking balconies over this room.”
A stretched silence met my tirade, and I refused to glance over at him to try to read his expression. I had done my goddamn research, and I hated the idea that I had gone into this blindly. There was only so much I could know going into a vastly new and foreign experience. For the rest, I had settled on simply having to learn as I went.
“Interesting,” he finally said, and I could see him settling back in his chair from the corner of my eye.
“Fascinating even,” I said sourly.
He chuckled. “Meredith’s paternal grandmother was fond of the stories of the European courts of old. One could retire above the ballroom and watch the festivities, whether a party or a show. She was the reason these balconies were installed. Meredith, however, prefers to be involved with the people she’s hosting and rarely has use for them, though she makes sure they’re maintained.”
“Oh.”
“What were you expecting?”
“Nothing. I’m just…I kind of like the sentimentality and romanticism behind the story.”
“Romanticism?”
I shrugged. “This came from someone who heard tales and stories and fell in love with them.”
“It had absolutely no real use save to make her feel special, and it’s maintained for…what?”
“The human race survives because of things like sentimentality and fondness for those things that came before us. If we didn’t have them, we wouldn’t have…well, a lot of things.”
“Like?”
I glanced at him, trying to determine just what he was trying to get from me. However, Shane wasn’t looking at me, and I couldn’t read his expression as he gazed down onto the room below us.
“What do you see?” I asked instead.
His head didn’t move, but his brow arched. “What do you mean?”
