Page 11 of Keep Her from Them

“Darling girl, if I fall, let me go. It’s no good me taking you with me. Your cousin would lop off my head.”

My fit of the giggles returned. Dori might act the arrogant asshole, but that’s exactly what it was: an act. Scratch the surface, and there was a deeply unsettled boy in the body ofa beautiful man. Heartbroken, too, though he wouldn’t tell me over what.

After arriving at the palace earlier, my friend had read something on his phone. An email, or perhaps a news article. Whatever the contents had been, the abject pain in his expression knocked my silly bout of sadness into the shade. I’d asked, but he’d refused to discuss it, merely locking his phone and taking on my mini bar.

He intended to drink to forget, and I was on board with that plan.

“We can dance up here,” I ordered.

His easy smile returned, and we stumbled onto the exclusive dance floor. Despite being smaller, it was still packed, and in the middle of the bodies, I made an effort to lose myself. Dori matched the beat with effortlessly sexy moves. I attempted to keep up, but my mind kept wandering.

Back to the unhappy art exhibition.

Back to the bodyguard in my car.

Not that I’d ever confess it, but Raphael was the first real man I’d ever had a crush on. As a young teen, I’d fallen in and out of love with celebrities, same as anyone else. Except I had insight most others didn’t. I’d met the objects of my affection, and each occasion neatly killed any attraction. Pop singers were typically jaded and whiny when the cameras were off them. Actors assumed they were the centre of attention and had little to say that wasn’t a soundbite. None of them could be considered real, which meant my crushes weren’t either.

I’d gone to an all-girls’ school, so by the time I reached university, I was woefully inexperienced in the opposite sex and determined to learn. Then I’d seen this handsome Scotsman around my friendship group. I discovered his name and even found ways to talk to him. Raphael was funny and self-effacing. He made no attempt to big himself up to impress me.

One night, at a party, I’d danced with him.

A shiver ran through me at the memory. I’d felt safe with him in a way no one else had ever made me feel, and it had emboldened me enough to want to make a move. I’d pressed myself against him. I’d touched him and slid my fingers under his t-shirt, my eyes closed and my heart pounding so hard.

I’d been eighteen and scared out of my mind at where such a touch could lead, but I’d known instinctively that Raphael was a safe pair of hands.

It was ancient history, but nothing could take away the memory of that skin-on-skin contact and the sharp chemistry that had rushed in my veins. He’d squeezed me back. He’d felt it, too, at least I imagined he had.

I’d wanted to kiss him. I’d inhaled his scent, and it drove me crazy.

Five years on, and I knew exactly how he’d made me feel in that moment. He’d been my sexual awakening and the start of more than one change.

Through the dance floor crowd, I caught a glimpse of the top of the steps where a black-clad bouncer stood. An older man crept up and spoke in his ear.

I stilled, watching them.

The older man had the appearance of a photographer. But how on earth had they discovered me? My disguise was good.

The man slid something into the bouncer’s hand, right as a spinning spotlight passed over them. Pale paper, suspiciously like folded notes.

My heart sank, and the memories of Raphael faded.

Too often, it went this way. I could enjoy a night out until the paparazzi arrived. Usually, they didn’t get into clubs, instead just waiting to upskirt me outside. Candid photos were sometimes taken by other partygoers, though not normally in the VIPsection like we were in now. I’d hoped so much to avoid that tonight. I needed an evening out.

Dori caught me by the hand and spun me around.

I peered over my shoulder to the stairs. The bouncer stood alone. Where had the man gone?

I leaned on Dori and spoke in his ear. “Did you see a guy?”

He whirled me. “Stop looking at other men when the best is in front of you.”

“Idiot.” I laughed and wobbled on my heels, my skirt riding high up my legs and my head rushing. By the time I got my vision back, there was no strange man in sight.

I hadn’t imagined it, but the paranoia could’ve tainted what I saw. Besides, it didn’t matter. I’d already been embarrassed in the press tonight, the palace comms team notifying me of an article appearing even before I’d taken off my shoes from the art gallery visit. It was a taunt, though the article writer didn’t know it, on my precious painting. I’d been obsessed with it. It had been such a big deal to me, and the disappointment continued to crush me, even after I’d vowed to dedicate my night to making Dori happy.

I signalled to the hovering server waiting discreetly by the edge of the dance floor, and gestured between me and my friend for another round of drinks. She nodded and trotted off to the bar. If I couldn’t force myself to forget, alcohol would have to do the job for me.

Then we’d dance until the world fell away.

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