Page 24

He sets his glass down on the little table beside us, dead centre. So precise, but what matters is that my refusal doesn't faze him at all, which annoys me more than if he'd pushed.

"You look extraordinary," he says matter-of-factly.

"You chose it."

"I chose the dress. You're the one wearing it. I'll be taking credit for both."

He takes my hand off the wall before I can stop him. There’s a ring in his other hand, and he slides it onto my finger like he’s done it a hundred times. It’s simple and old-fashioned, nothing like the rock I braced for. It fits perfectly, which is interesting, because I don’t even know my ring size.

“You could have asked,” I say.

“I did. In my garden. You said yes.” He runs his thumb once across the band. “Smile. People are watching.”

He puts his hand on the small of my back and my whole body lights up like a fucking switchboard. I don't pull away. That's the worst part, not that he's touching me, but that I lean into it.

"You realize there's a mortuary underneath us," I say.

"There is. There's also a string quartet on the landing and a full house eating quail hors d'oeuvres and other delicacies, so I'd argue the house is being used to its full capacity."

"Nobody finds it strange but me."

"Nobody finds it strange because it's a house with a business in the basement, like a bakery." He surveys the room. "Also nobody has ever been late to anything I've hosted, and I'd like you to consider why."

"That's revolting."

"That's life." He snickers at his retort.

His hand is still on my back. I can feel every single finger, which is not something I thought was possible through fabric, and I would like my nervous system to calm the fuck down.

"Stop touching me."

"I'm not touching you. This is standing near you. You'll know when I'm touching you."

"That sentence should not have made it out of your mouth."

"And yet here it is, in the world, doing fine."

Across the room a small woman in black is watching me over the top of her glass with her chin tilted up, like a bird sizing up something it's considering eating.

"Don't turn round," Laszlo says.

"I've already turned round."

"I said don't."

"The way you spoke, it sounded like a fire alarm in my head. What did you expect me to do?"

"Aunt Rosaria has her eye on you," he says, close enough now that I can feel his breath near my ear, which is absolutely unnecessary and he knows it. "How long you hold a plate. Whether you put it down. Whether you touch me back. She told my mother when we were still in school that my brother Constantine would never marry, and she's been right for decades. He has never forgiven her."

"Is anyone in this room not related to you?"

"Your entire family." He takes a drink without moving his hand off my back. "I've put them near the door and had them searched for weapons."

"You think my family would start something at an engagement party?"

"No. I think your brother would start something at a christening if somebody looked at him wrong. He’s not here now, so that’s one person I don’t have to worry about. I know you think it’s cruel, but this is what he signed up for and he needs to understand the gravity of his actions. I’ll revisit the terms later on if I must.” I press my lips together, stopping a curse before it escapes. “Still, an engagement party with an open bar is practically an invitation for trouble so better safe than sorry." He leans down. "Again, you look beautiful, by the way. I promised myself I'd only tell you once, but I've run out of willpower."

"Don't."