Page 59 of Heavy Crown

“You don’t mind waiting?” She hasn’t given me many openings to question their relationship. I’ll take them where I find them.

She shrugs. “It’s not like he’s Alex. At some point his massive commitment to something else will end. It has to. Age or interest will dictate he’s done.” She drains her drink and orders another one.

Her point about Alex is valid, and it’s a truth I gloss over whenever I long for more of him. He speaks of work so rarely, and we spend so much of our time in isolation, it’s easy to forget a whole country is tied to him. Alex is Bellerive. Bellerive is Alex.

“Want another?” Posey asks.

“No,” I say with a shake of my head. “I work here, so I can’t drink too much. No need to embarrass myself when they’ve been so good to me.” I won’t be able to keep up with her. In college, being a cheap drunk was a bonus. Hanging around the royals, being a cheap drunk will get me into trouble.

“Avoid Nick and Brice then,” Posey says. “They love their tequila shots.”

The rest of the night passes in a blur of dancing, drinking, and Posey introducing me to people I’ve never met before. Everyone wants to talk about my car accident, but Alex prepped me to make generic comments that say little in response to probing or overly personal questions. When he gave me tips, I never expected I’d have to use them. He understands the way his world works much better than I do.

Throughout the night, wherever I go in the ballroom, I’m aware of my proximity to Alex. Despite the dress, the invitation, and the look earlier, he hasn’t sought me out. We haven’t even made eye contact, and I’m starting to wonder if I’ve done something wrong. While I realize he doesn’t want to fan the flames of gossip, we could be complete strangers.

As the night winds down, there’s a deep sadness settling over my shoulders, and I’m sure I’ll never attend another one of these if I have to pretend Alex and I are strangers, that I’m not closer to him than most of the people in this room.

Posey is on the dance floor with some of her friends from high school. She tried to drag me with her, but the longer the night goes on, the less enthusiastic I am. My evening has been wasted wishing for something, someone, I’ll never have. A depressing thought.

I sense his presence beside me and catch a whiff of his expensive sandalwood cologne at the same time.

Finally. Relief rushes over me that he hasn’t forgotten me, that’s he’s going to speak to me before the night is over.

“You’re not having a good time?” Alex asks, and when I turn to him, he searches my face, curiosity and concern lighting his gaze. “Why ever not?”

“It’s strange to be here and to act as though I don’t know you very well,” I say.

“Not a fan of playing pretend?”

“Are you?” Everything I’ve learned about Alex tells me at least some aspects of his behavior tonight are an act, a façade.

He stares at me for a beat, and our eye contact brings me another sliver of reinforcement. Without thinking, my fingers brush the necklace he gave me that’s resting against my throat.

“I never used to mind putting on a front until I met you.” He hesitates and takes a breath as though he’s going to say more. With a shake of his head, he strides over to a nearby table. He tips back the last of his drink before sliding it onto the surface. There’s an air of purpose around him when he comes back to my side just as the music changes.

“Let’s give them something real then, shall we?” He takes my hand and leads me onto the dance floor. “Last song of the night.”

Classical music streams out of the speaker system. The night has been a mixture of classical, current pop, and jazz with the lighting changed to match the tone of the piece playing. Something for everyone, I suppose. This song is definitely not for me.

“I don’t know how to dance to this.” I’ve watched enough T.V. shows about dancing to realize I’m out of my depth.

“I do.” He gives me a cocky smirk. “A skill I was required to learn. I’m an excellent partner. Keep your frame. Follow my lead.” He draws me in close, and I suck in a sharp breath at the contact. While we often touch each other, we rarely allow our bodies quite this much close contact face-to-face.

Then we’re moving, gliding around the dance floor as though I have done this with him a million times before. My dress swirls around my legs, and I imagine we look impossibly elegant. Maybe he is an excellent partner, or perhaps some of my old figure skating instincts are surfacing, but the simple three count is easier to pick up than I expected. We move in sync with one another, and the heaviness that settled across my shoulders lifts with each turn around the dance floor. This—right here—is real. The connection, the ease, the sense of knowing.

“You’re a natural,” he murmurs.

“I’ve got an exceptional partner.” A teasing smile rises to the surface.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to spend more time with you,” he says. “The job—the life—never ends.”

“I understand,” I say, even though I’ve oscillated between understanding and disappointment all night. “No point in feeding the gossip mills.”

He gives a dark chuckle and glances around. “Yes, no point.”

When he dips me low, I gasp and tighten my hold on his hand and shoulder. He holds me there for a beat, and our gazes are locked. We’re so close his breath stirs the loose strands of hair resting against my cheeks. With very little effort, I could kiss him, right here in front of everyone.

But I wouldn’t do that to him. My heart is threatening to beat out of my chest, and the awareness between us is so magnetic, I can’t catch a full breath.