Page 2 of Craving Dahlia

Carefully, I follow her up, not wanting to slip on the thin, spiked heels I’m wearing. Genevieve is wearing slightly sturdier ankle boots, black velvet that come up to the edge of her slim black cigarette pants. A twisted ankle would be the end of the world for her, so I don’t blame her. I’ve never seen her wear stilettos.

Upstairs, there’s more space. There’s another fireplace, the light coming from it supplementing a few vintage lamps that give off low, warm light. It’s dim and intimate, and Genevieve and I head towards one of the empty sofas, an antique one with scalloped, worn gilded edges and forest green velvet upholstery. It’s sitting against the iron railing that overlooks the floor below, so we can people-watch a bit.

“How was the trip to D.C.?” Genevieve takes a sip of her drink, tucking one leg under her.

I wrinkle my nose. “The usual. Actually—notthe usual. Not entirely.”

“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow. “Spill. I need some gossip after the day I’ve had.”

I let out a slow breath. I got back into town this morning, and I still don’t know how to come to terms with what my father threw at me when I went ‘home’ this past weekend. “He wants me to get married,” I blurt out, and Genevieve’s eyebrows rise even higher.

“In like…the way all parents want their kids to settle down and get married, so they can have grandbabies, or…”

“Or,” I confirm. “He has someone in mind. The son of some other politician with really good connections and lots of money. He’s looking at it like an old-world alliance. The kids get married, the families join forces, his political career gets a fresh boost. He sees absolutely no flaw in that plan.”

“And I take it you see a lot of flaws.”

I nod. “There’s a lot of people coming in and out of D.C. from other places, but I actually grew up with this guy. We went to the same private school. He went to Georgetown for college like he was supposed to, and I ran off to Columbia. My dad is trying to pitch it to me as some kind of childhood romance comes to life. Like I should be starry-eyed and falling all over myself at the idea of coming back home and marrying this guy.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Genevieve asks curiously. “I mean—other than the part where you’re obviously not in love with him, and this is some kind of weird cousin to an arranged marriage.”

I shrug. “He’s boring. Attractive enough, I guess, but in that very clean-cut, stock photo kind of way. He looks like a carbon copy of every other guy in D.C.. There’s nothing unique or interesting about him, and I can’t help but tune out as soon as he starts talking. But his family is the model of what my dad wants everyone else to viewourfamily as—that real Norman Rockwell,all-American thing. He thinks that it’ll be good for our ‘public image’.”

“You said he has money.” Genevieve considers for a moment. “But so do you. And I assume you’d have to move back there. My feelings about that aside—because ofcourseI don’t want you to move away—you’d have to give up your job at the Met. I mean, I’m sure you could get a job at the Smithsonian, but you shouldn’t have to switch jobs over a man. I don’t think youwantto move back to D.C., do you?”

I shake my head emphatically. “I don’t. And even with the strings my dad could pull, getting a museum job, especially as a curator, isn’t easy. I’m not guaranteed one. And I can very easily see him and Jude—the guy he wants me to marry—telling me to just be patient, wait for a position to open up, and all the while they’ll be angling for me to get pregnant, stay home, and play housewife.”

Genevieve wrinkles her nose. “So tell him no.”

“I wanted to,” I admit, picking at a cuticle as I look down. “But the thing is…my dad not-so-subtly hinted that if I don’t do this, he’s going to cut me off. The money he sends me every month to help supplement my salary—that’s going to dry up if I don’t agree.” I give Genevieve a wry smile, taking a sip of my drink. “A curator’s salary in NYC definitely isn’t what I’m used to. I mean, I could manage, but it wouldn’t be nearly as fun.”

I’m aware that makes me sound slightly spoiled. But I know Genevieve won’t judge me—after all, she’s dating a man purely for the zeroes in his bank account and his luxury Amex card. And while I know I’d be fine if I had to scale down, I like the little bit of luxury that extra money affords me. I know my father has it in spades to spare, and I don’t feel like I should have to marry this guy to keep it.

As far as I’m concerned, this is just me getting my inheritance while I’m young enough to enjoy it. I’d rather that than suddenly getting a few million when I’m fifty.

“You could move in with me, if you wanted,” Genevieve says with a smile. “I wouldn’t mind a roommate. But I know you love your apartment. And I don’t think it’s right that your father is trying to strong-arm you into this.”

“I don’t, either,” I admit. “But it’s not just the money. Yeah, being cut off would really suck. Hell, if he’s mad enough, he might cut me out of the will too, although I don’t really think he’d go that far. But—” I bite my lower lip. “My family isn’t the warmest bunch. They’re stiff, and overly formal, and I’m glad I don’t live right there next to them. But I do care about them. My mom always tried to give me a good childhood growing up, and my father does love me, even if he’s not great at showing it. He wouldn’t take care of me financially if he didn’t. I don’t want to disappoint him.” I take another sip of my drink. “I just wish that he wasn’t asking me to marry someone I barely know any longer and don’t really care about in order tonotdisappoint him.”’

Genevieve makes a small humming sound under her breath. “That’s a hard spot to be in,” she agrees. “I’m sure he’s not going to be easily talked out of it, if he’s trying this hard to get you to say yes.”

“He’s tryingveryhard. When I wasn’t very open to the idea, he hinted that if I wanted to continue to be a part of the family, I would do this. I don’t want to be cut off from my family entirely, even less than I want to lose the money.” I lean back, feeling heat prick at the corners of my eyes. Just the thought of not being able to go home at all makes me want to cry. “Honestly, it hurts that he would put me in this position. But I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“It’s really shitty.” Genevieve looks at me sympathetically. “I don’t know if I have any advice. In your position, I might just goalong with it. But I don’t know. If I had to give up ballet, or go to a differentcorpsbecause of the marriage? I would probably fight it. Your job is here. Your life, your friends—it’s not reasonable for him to ask you to give it all up, for his aspirations.”

“That’s not how he sees it.”

Genevieve plucks my empty glass out of my hand. “I’ll go get us another round,” she says decisively. “I’ll be right back.”

She stands up in one smooth, elegant motion that gives away her long years as a dancer to anyone watching—and a quick sweep of the room as she walks away tells me that just about everyone else up hereiswatching. Genevieve inevitably draws eyes wherever she goes.

Except for one man. I notice him precisely because heisn’tlooking at her. He’s sitting far back in the room, in a large leather armchair, in a corner shadowed by the firelight. There’s a glass in his hand, cut crystal filled with an inch of amber liquid, and he swirls it aimlessly, his gaze drifting off into the room without really looking at anything.

I notice him because of how detached he is, but I keep staring at him because of how unbelievablygorgeoushe is. There’s plenty of attractive people here, but he stands out, in part because he seems to not quite fit in.

There’s a more rugged air to him than any other man here has. His jaw is shadowed with stubble, and he’s wearing dark jeans—I honestly don’t know how he got in here wearing them. They look nice, but there’s a dress code, and jeans aren’t on it. He has on a soft-looking black sweater under a leather jacket, and his hands are covered in tattoos, all the way up his fingers. I think I can see them on his neck, too, although I can’t be sure in the low light.

I can’t see his eye color, either, although his hair seems to be a sandy blond, made darker by that same lighting. And he looksfit. I can only imagine what his body must look like under those clothes.

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