Page 55 of Savannah Royals
I take a swig of champagne. As the drink glides down, my mind crystallizes, categorizing several important things at once.
Principally, no one here is looking twice at me. The fear of inadequacy is on the inside, not the out, and that simply won’t do. In a single sweep, I note the gait and posture of the guests in the room. I listen to the lilt of their voices, observe the genteel flourishes of their gestures and polite head tilts. I become a chameleon and melt seamlessly into my surroundings. I roll my shoulders back and glide into the room with renewed confidence. My steps are unhurried and smooth, my eyes bright, a vague smile playing at my lips. Ibecome.
As I weave through the crowd, a woman compliments my costume. I give her a closed-lip smile and delicate murmur of thanks before continuingon my way. As I stride deeper into the room, curiously appreciative eyes flick to me, then away. In this highly exclusive club that sees the same faces year after year, I am a black-clad enigma. Hopefully, a beautiful one at that.
Beauty may be only skin deep, but it opens many locked doors.
It’s not long before I locate my target. Matthew wears a pair of tan breeches, a tattered white shirt, and a leather vest. A lopsided sash is knotted haphazardly around his head. He appears, even from a distance, distinctly disheveled.
As I approach, Matthew’s gaze catches mine, and his smile lights up. He quickly excuses himself from his companions. My heart upticks as he comes closer. There’s at least two days of blond scruff on his face.
“Kat, you’re here.” He leans in to brush a quick kiss on my cheek, drawing eyeballs our way. “And you’re…a cat?”
“Yup,” I confirm happily. “Kat the cat. Clever, right?”
“It’s perfect.” His eyes dip briefly to my corset-enhanced cleavage. He runs his hands down my black velvet sleeves, thumb brushing my bare wrist at the end. “I like this.”
“Quite. And you’re…” I pull back to study him, still puzzling it over. “What are you?”
“I’m a pirate,” he says with a shifty grin. “Arg, matey! Can’t you tell?”
I laugh and reach out to tweak the sash around his head. “I can actually. It’s quite good.”
“It’s fun, I suppose. This is kind of stupid though.” He reaches up to pull the sash off and stuffs it in his back pocket.
“How did you come up with this?”
“It’s a family thing. We dress up every year with a different theme. This year we’re a pirate crew. See my dad over there? He’s the captain, in that long coat. Ethan is the first mate, naturally.” He points to his brother, chatting in a small group with Harry Astor and a pretty woman dressed as a cowgirl.
“And my mom—over there—well, I think she’s a wench?” Matthew laughs. “She’s calling herself ‘the Lady of the Ship,’ or something ridiculous like that, but I’m pretty sure she’s just a plain old sea wench.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “I love it even more knowing you’re all doing it together. How fun!”
“Some years are more fun than others.” He wrinkles his nose. “One time, my mom picked a circus theme, and Ethan made me be a clown. I had a red nose and everything. He came up to me a thousand times during the night to squeeze it and demand I tell jokes.”
I nod toward the first mate and his cowgirl companion. “Who’s the gal he’s with tonight?” I ask. “Did he bring a date?”
Matthew snorts. “Ethan? Never. Ethan doesn’t date. He just messes girls around. His latest was a prima from the Paris Ballet. She was touring the East Coast this past summer and gave Ethan a few ‘private lessons’ in her free time.” He snickers.
“And what about you?”
“I was at medical school, then indentured to the hospital for the last six years, Kat. I don’t really date either.”
“But you’ve ‘messed girls around?’” I borrow his term, trying to be blasé. “Like your brother?”
His smile is roguish, so handsome I nearly forget myself. “If I have—and wouldn’t you like to know—I’ve been far more discreet than him. If you catch my mother looking at you like you’re an apparition, that’s why. She’s never seen me with a woman before. Ever.”
“Really? Wow.” I digest this news.
“Surprised?” He shrugs. “I haven’t lived at home since I was eighteen. My parents don’t need to know everything about my life, and neither does my brother.”
“Hmm…what about me? Do I get to know?”
“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” His shifty grin is back, but I ignore it.
I’m so not telling him mine. How would I even begin to explain Paul and Abe?
“So where do you live downtown?” I ask instead.
