Page 40 of Violet

“I trust you.”

She shouldn’t, I know that. But then again, I have zero intentions on my friend’s sister, pretty and honest and unexpected as she is.

No one saw us, no one but her sister, who’d been by the doors, eyeing the stage and musicians setting up their chairs and music stands. Dark-haired, quiet, blending in, she seemed to be in her own little world, but when she saw us, a smile bloomed for Violet and a slight frown for me.

Violet walks over to her. “Dahlia, did anyone?—”

“No.” Dahlia’s gaze hits me with a sharp look.

The girl looks young. Maybe as young as Rue.

“Is everything okay?” she asks.

Violet glances at me. “Yes—of course it is. I?—”

“Your sister was just feeling a bit too warm inside and needed fresh air,” I lie with ease and pull out her delicate purple ribbon from my pocket. “I saw that she’d dropped this and went toreturn it to her.”

Violet stares at it.

Dahlia eyes me suspiciously. “Then why is it still in your pocket?”

Ah shit. She’s smarter than I thought.

“Because we knew we had to come back inside to avoid senseless rumors.” I take Violet’s hand, place the ribbon into her palm, and curl her fingers closed over it.

“Where did you…” But then she realizes Dahlia is still watching us intently and clears her throat. “Right. Thank you, Mr?—?”

“Ashford,” I reply. “Stephan Ashford.”

“Violet Gardener.” She dips her head in a proper introduction.

Dahlia’s gaze passes over us, back and forth, like she doesn’t quite buy our story, but luckily she doesn’t press.

The three of us step further into the ballroom, but once I’m in the open room, a flock of Omegas rush over to me, surrounding me and shoving Violet and Dahlia out of the way. Their blockers are almost as suffocating as if they wore their natural scents.

“Asher! Asher! A dance for me?” an Omega with a peacock feathered mask and green dress asks.

She’s pushed back by another one, this one wearing black. “Me first!”

My mini pad is buzzing nonstop in my pocket, but I don’t dare look at it. Instead, I’m craning my neck over the swarm to find where Violet is. I spot her and Dahlia by the stage, where the musicians are taking their seats and readying their instruments. The purple ribbon is tied around her wrist.

This is Sophine’s fault. She thinks she’s playing chess with me, but I’ve never been known to play by the rules.

I start to push my way through the crowd. “I’m sorry, ladies. I’ve already been promised for the evening to the Luxe. I’m taking up every space on her dance list. Maybe next time.”

It takes some work, but I’m able to make it out the other side in one piece. Luckily, the hungry Omegas have taken me at my word and don’t pursue me as I cross the room and walk up to Violet again.

Just as the music swells—a slow, romantic song—I hold out my hand. “Are you ready for our dance?”

She pauses, and for a moment, I think she may turn me down. But then she slides her hand in mine.

I take her in my arms, one hand on her waist and the other holding out her hand. Stiffly, she lets me glide her farther onto the dance floor, where other couples have begun to circle and sway to the melody.

“Relax,” I say against her ear, and then breathe in the lingering ghost of violets. “I won’t step on your feet or anything.”

She laughs a little but avoids meeting my eyes. We may be following all of the Season’s stupid rules with how we’re holding each other and moving, but our bodies are still close, her chest pressed against mine and cleavage on full display.

She had been so much more relaxed when we were alone in the gazebo and in the boathouse, but now with everyone watching, she’s as rigid as a board.

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