Page 47 of Never Quite Gone

But it wasn't just people. It was the Rothschilds' annual family gathering – old money, corporate power, and social influence all wrapped in perfect tailoring and practiced smiles. I felt like an intruder in a world I didn't belong in.

“I'm going to kill him,” I muttered, earning a small laugh from my sister.

“No, you're not. You're going to smile and let me handle the small talk.” She smoothed my collar with practiced efficiency. “Besides, you look fine. Distinguished, even.”

“Distinguished” wasn't the word for how I felt watching silver-haired society matrons whisper behind their hands, their gazes sharp with curiosity.

Alex found us before I could convince Rachel to help me escape. He looked devastatingly handsome in a tuxedo that probably cost more than my car, but his eyes held apologetic understanding as he approached.

“I'm so sorry,” he murmured, close enough that only Rachel and I could hear. “I didn't know Father had moved the party date. I would have warned you.”

He looked genuinely distressed at my discomfort, and something about his concern helped steady my nerves.

“It's fine,” I lied, but managed a small smile. “Though some warning would have been nice.”

Rachel, bless her teacher's instincts for social navigation, smoothly deflected attention from my inappropriate attire by engaging nearby socialites in conversation about her school's charity program. She had them eating out of her hand within minutes, their initial disdain melting into genuine interest as she described the impact of arts education on underprivileged students.

But I still felt eyes on me – calculating, curious, judging. Thiswasn't my world. Give me a trauma bay any day over these shark-filled social waters.

“So this is the famous Dr. Monroe.” The voice carried warmth that didn't quite reach shrewd eyes. Will Rothschild embodied everything his brother wasn't – perfectly polished, smoothly corporate, with a smile that promised friendship while assessing weakness. His handshake lingered a fraction too long, his gaze too intense as he studied me.

“Alex has been quite mysterious about you,” he continued, his tone suggesting layers of meaning I couldn't quite grasp. “Though I suppose that's understandable, given the circumstances.”

Something ancient and warning stirred in my gut at his words, but this time, Alex moved swiftly. “Will,” he said quietly, a hint of warning in his tone, “I'll accompany you both on the tour.”

Will's smile didn't falter. “Of course,” he said smoothly, “after all, we're practically family now, aren't we?”

The grand house opened before us – room after room of old money elegance and carefully curated history. Will gestured expansively, “The Rothschild legacy, built over generations. Family tradition means everything here.”

The implied contrast with my own more modest background wasn't subtle. “It's very impressive,” I said neutrally, wishing I'd kept my water glass. My hands felt empty, useless without something to hold.

“Alex has always been... unconventional in his choices.” Will's smile remained perfect, but something flickered in his eyes. “Though I must admit, you're not what I expected.”

“And what did you expect?” I asked.

“Someone more... calculated, perhaps. Someone seeking to benefit from the Rothschild name.” He studied me with unsettling intensity. “Instead, you seem almost reluctant to be here.”

Alex's hand brushed mine briefly, a subtle signal of support. “Eli doesn't need to prove anything,” he said evenly.

“I'm not interested in his position or his name,” I interrupted, surgeon's directness cutting through social niceties. “I barely understand what's happening between us as it is.”

Will's laugh held genuine amusement. “Refreshingly honest. I can see why he's drawn to you.”

They'd reached the gallery – walls lined with generations of Rothschild portraits. Will paused before a massive painting, those aristocratic eyes seeming to follow our movement. “You know, it's fascinating,” he continued, his tone changing subtly. “The remarkable resemblance between you and a doctor who once treated our great-grandfather.”

“I'm sure it's just coincidence,” I said, trying to keep my voice level.

Alex stepped closer, his presence a protective barrier. “Will,” he said softly, “perhaps we could continue this conversation another time.”

But Will wasn't finished. “Do you dream, Doctor?” he asked softly. “About other times, other places? About lives you couldn't possibly have lived?”

“That's enough,” Alex's voice cut through the room, sharp and final. The ancient danger I'd glimpsed earlier returned, transforming his usually warm demeanor.

Will's perfect smile returned instantly. “Just sharing some family history,” he said lightly, smoothing his jacket. “No harm done.”

“My mistake,” Will murmured, moving toward the door with fluid grace. He paused briefly beside his brother, something unspoken passing between them. “See you on the dance floor,” he said, then was gone.

“Are you alright?” His hand hovered near my arm, not quite touching.

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