Page 135 of Of Flames and Fallacies

But the burn isn’t enough to drown out the pain roaring inside me. When I tip the bottle up for more into my glass, only a drip escapes. With a frustrated grunt, I grab another bottle. Empty. Another one. Also empty. I shuffle through all of the shelves but find nothing.

I spin, surveying the grand room for a server to request something strong. But my gaze catches on one thing. Darian’s flask has somehow been left unattended at the dinner table. His attire tonight didn’t sport a way to clip it into his belt as his outfits at the camp do. Upon further observation, Darian is nowhere to be seen. I race for the flask, swipe it from the table, and cut out of the dining room. Uncorking the flask, I tip the cold metal to my lips and take a small sip, the liquor like a liquid fire sliding down my throat. I round the corner into the hallway I walked earlier tonight, and nearly collide with Darian.

He catches me by the shoulders before I can fall. Taking a step back from me, his gaze darts to the flask in my hands.Hisflask. His green eyes flick up to me. “What are you doing with that?”

“Trying to drown my sorrows,” I blurt. “Bar-cart was out of liquor. I’m sure you won’t mind sharing.”

There’s no amusement, malice, or coldness in his eyes. Just a blankness. “That’s not a good way to drown your sorrows.”

“Oh? And how would you know?”

“I know,” he mumbles.

I snort and roll my eyes as I pull the flask to my lips again.

“Don’t, Katerina,” he warns.

It’s the first time I’ve ever heard him use my name. A sound so foreign on his tongue, it makes me pause. It almost reminds me of my mother, only using my full name in instances where I did something needing scolding.

The little liquor I consumed before I ran into him already dulls the jagged pain piercing me with every breath, like broken glass lining my chest. With each passing second, it becomes a little easier to breathe. A little easier to exist. Eager for more, I flip the flask back and guzzle down more.

“For once, woman, would you fucking listen to me?” Darian snarls and lunges, seizing my wrist in one hand and tearing the flask from my grasp.

“Gods, you picked the wrong time to be so noble,” I hiss. “And don’t you dare say‘I know.’” I try to imitate the pitch of his voice. I stalk off before he can respond, finding the only way away from Darian is back into the dining room. As I consider running up the steps to return to my room, Archie waves me over from the dinner table. When I approach and slide into the seat next to him, he holds one fork in each hand.

I blink. “Archie, what are you doing?”

He stabs with one fork and eats off the other, rinse and repeat. “Eating. Want some?”

“No thanks. Why are you eating with two forks?”

He stops mid-chew. “Are…you not supposed to use both?”

I laugh, maybe a little too hard and a little too loud. The scene of it all is hilarious. Not to mention, my poise is melting away each second longer the liquor settles into my blood. “No, silly. They have one for different parts of the meal.”

We both laugh again in unison—his is a little embarrassed. I’ve got to admit, his assumption was logical. Those of us who didn’t grow up in wealthy communities wouldn’t have a clue. The only reason I know is because I watched how Celeste ate at dinner and mirrored her movements.

“What happened to all the mussels?” I ask.

“Well I uhh…I shared them with the rest of the table. Couldn’t eat them all myself. Mussels...sort of make me sick.”

“Why did you get all of them, then?”

His gaze travels over to the dance floor where Melaina is spun by Darian. They are locked in an intense stare, lips moving in inaudible words. I wonder if he unapologetically teases her the way he does me.

“Ahh,” I whisper and glance back at a blushing Archie. “Why don’t you go talk to her?”

“Ha! She would never be interested in me.”

“You don’t know that. You have to try! Tell her how you really feel.”

He grimaces and shakes his head furiously.

“Okay, fine. You don’t have to immediately tell her how you feel…but start small. Maybe try to ask her to dance?” My lips slow as if they have a mind of their own. Each blink blurs my vision at the edge. “The worsttt she can say is noo.”

Am I slurring?And here I am giving relationship advice to someone else. Me, of all people. It’s laughable.

Bile rises in my throat, and I hurry to my feet. “I gotta go, Arch. Excuse me.”

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