Page 30 of Unravelling: Aria & Crispin
Crispin stepped out of his sleek black BMW, the door whispering shut behind him. The air was crisp with early spring, the streetlights painting gold across the pavement. He moved around the car and opened the passenger door for Helga.
"Thank you, darling," she said, slipping her arm through his, her gloved fingers resting lightly in the crook of his elbow. Her perfume curled around him-expensive, cold, overly familiar.
They began walking towards the grand entrance when Helga started up again, her voice light and casual. She had been at it for the last half hour.
"Wouldn't it be lovely to announce our engagement tonight?" she said, smiling up at him. "Your mother would be thrilled. And Dorian...well, he's practically family already."
Crispin didn't answer. It was not because he was weighing the idea, but because the thought had never crossed his mind.
He would never ask her. Was she out of her mind?
She had danced around the topic in recent weeks with her carefully planted remarks and silken innuendos. But he had said nothing and tactfully tried to steer the conversation to other topics.
And yet, she spoke as if it were a done thing. A forgone conclusion.
His jaw clenched with temporary helplessness. His hands were tied, for now.
He glanced ahead at the glowing windows, hoping the warmth and noise inside would be a welcome escape. His smile, when it came, was polite. Noncommittal.
"Hmm."
But inside, he was certain of only one thing...
This ends tonight.
After the party, after the expected smiles and family performances, he would have to find the right moment to dismantle this quietly and cleanly. He didn't know how, or if he had the stomach for that conversation, but the conclusion was becoming clear. It had been circling him for weeks.
Today I'll break it off.
She talked about the press, about timing, about her mother's calendar as they approached the entrance. The butler opened the door with a nod. Warmth and sound spilled into the night.
Crispin stepped over the threshold and walked ahead, leaving Helga to follow. The room seemed to shift around him like a stage set with crystal chandeliers, murmured laughter, clinking glasses.
He stepped in on cue, the click of his shoes absorbed by thick rugs.
He turned his head after smiling at a comment from an old schoolmate, just slightly, and the world stopped.
Wide golden eyes watched him.
She stood at the far end of the ballroom like a vision someone had painted onto the light.
The light from the chandeliers above her haloed the space and caught the edges of her hair, her skin, her eyes-wide and shimmering, molten as antique amber. Her black dress clung to her waist and flared softly at the knees, scattered with tiny white flowers that looked like they were drifting across her body with each breath. The pendant that nestled against the delicate hollow just above her collarbone glowed faintly in the low light.
One hand rested lightly at her side while the other nervously brushed the fabric of her skirt.
The pearl comb-his carefully chosen gift to her-gleamed in her hair. And those dark waves tumbled nearly to her hips, kissed by the light until they looked almost unreal.
He froze like a deer in headlights.
He had the unreal sensation of being caught in a moment he couldn't undo, and one he couldn't walk away from.
She had seen him before he saw her. He knew that instantly. It was in the stillness of her frame, in the way she didn't blink. She held herself like a dirty secret already known.
All around them, the party swelled, elegant and brilliant, thundering with old money and bright futures.
And yet she stood out like a flame in the cold.
Her lips gleamed with a soft wash of gloss.
