Page 1 of Devoted
CHAPTER ONE
KNIGHT
This is the fifth pair of pants I’ve ruined this week.
Present Day: Early October
One month ago, I was on my knees beforeher, my eyes unable to tear away from the beauty above me. At that moment, I embodied a knight in legends of yore, kneeling at the feet of his queen in unquestionable devotion.
Inthismoment, I am kneeling four inches deep in the mud outsideherbedroom window.
Then: Early September - Gala at the Adler Estate
I should have known karma would come for me. Fingering at the fresh tear in my dinner jacket, I stalk down the hall toward mybedroom in quiet annoyance. The grandeur of my home with its dark wood, rich colors, and moody atmosphere might unnerve some, but the darkness has always been a sanctuary for my soul.
Not a minute after I sent my cousin Ezekiel on a phony mission to the kitchen, I ran into a bare hook meant to hold some decoration or another and tore a hole straight through the shoulder of my suit. I’m annoyed because the jacket is replaceable, but my time isn’t.
I wasn’t supposed to lead this gala. In fact, I was debating even attending the event this year. But my mother, Harriett, the supposed head of the gala, had anincident. If you can call a voluntary chemical face peel an incident, although I’m sure reddening her face tothatextent wasn’t her intention. And so, a few days’ notice was all I received to lead the event myself.
Only by the skin of my teeth was I able to transfer everything to my home rather than hers in time for today. I am not so unaware that I haven’t noticed how curt I’ve been with people this past week. This whole ordeal, on top of my normal responsibilities for my company, has left me feeling like a shell of a man, but I couldn’t have a cancellation when so many depended on the funds raised tonight. And certainly not for an organization that hits so close to home.
My thoughts trail once I turn the corner leading to my private quarters. In the dim light of the hallway, honey-gold hair and deep red lipstick are still somehow illuminated on the person admiring the art by my bedroom entry.
Vivian.
The new costume designer at The Garden of Eden stands with her weight shifted on one leg, casually observing the nouveau collection that decorates my personal space.
I freeze in position as my observation ofherbecomes anything but casual.
My eyes first fell upon her a few days ago as she commanded a room of half-naked men, all at least twice her size, like she was guiding ducklings to a pond.
I didn’t know who she was then, but I was stunned by her beauty and prowess nonetheless.
On that fateful day, it had been months since I had last visited my burlesque club. Evelyn, my general manager, along with my longtime friend and cofounder of The Garden of Eden, Alek, have had everything under control. I only stopped by the establishment last week to seek Alek’s help with today’s gala.
A smirk pulls at my lips, thinking of my earlier prank on Alek. I’m sure he and Ezekiel are barking each other’s heads off in the kitchen at this very moment.
Refocusing, I note how Vivian sketches away in a small notebook as her eyes bounce from her drawing to the painting. My curiosity gets the best of me, and I step closer to see what she is drawing. I tower over the younger woman, hardly needing to change my vantage point to peer over her shoulder.
In her drawing, a floor-length gown sits on a faceless model, the pattern of the dress following the organic lines of the painting. There is minimal shading, letting the strong lines of the pattern speak for themselves.
“Do you gotta go around poking into people’s personal space all the time?” Vivian asks, tone indignant as she continues the long strokes of her pencil with such intense focus, not minding at all the person shadowing her.
“Ironic, seeing as you’re inmypersonal space, taking inspiration frommypaintings.”
At the sound of my voice, she peers over her shoulder and cranes her neck to look at me. While there is still a respectable distance between us, my breath catches in my throat when her wide hazel eyes meet mine.
“Oh,” she begins, her tone softer now. “I’m sorry, I thought you were my brother.”
The curved corners of her lips still hold something wicked, even when she apologizes. Turning on her heel, she faces me directly and continues, “Ididn’t mean to wander around your house, but I think”—Vivian pauses, raising an accusatory eyebrow—“youwere deliberately sneaking a look at my drawing.”
Shegoadsme.
“It’s impossible to resist looking at such beauty,” I mutter without hesitation. Whether my statement was directed at her or her drawing, I wouldn’t be able to say, but it irks me how easily she pulls my thoughts from me.
Vivian tugs her notebook to her chest as she takes a slow step toward me. Her coy smile holds an edge of danger as she locks her stare with mine.
“Careful, Knight. Someone might walk by and think you’re flirting with me when you say stuff like that.” She licks her bottom lip, and I stare as the color stays perfectly intact. My fingers twitch from the urge to see if that lipstick stays on through my touch.
