Page 53 of Savage Vows
Larisa laughs. “Dante and I go way back. Summers on the coast. I used to keep him out too late.”
“I can see you came prepared,” Adriana says, glancing at the lipstick. “Color suits you.”
Larisa reaches up to smudge it with her thumb. “Oops.”
Adriana opens her clutch and offers me a folded handkerchief. “Try this. I would hate for anyone to think you found the dessert table early.”
“Thank you,” I say, dabbing the mark away.
My father watches, measuring. “Larisa is hosting a supper next week,” he tells me, voice mild. “You should go.
Adriana smiles at him as if he’s commented on the weather. “We do like old friends,” she says. “They’re so consistent.”
Larisa tilts her head. “May I borrow him for a dance?”
“Of course,” Adriana says. “Right after mine.”
Larisa blinks. “After?”
“After,” Adriana repeats, still pleasant.
A small, bright silence. Larisa’s smile thins. My father gives the aide a nod and the chair turns, carrying him on, Larisa swept along beside him toward a safer conversation.
I look at Adriana. She’s unruffled, red dress catching the light, eyes steady.
We move to the dance floor, her hand still tucked in the crook of my arm. The noise of the room presses in, a hundred conversations turning our way.
She glances up at me, eyes sharp. “So, who is Larisa? Are you planning to dance with her next?”
I look over her head, catching a glimpse of Larisa laughing too loudly near the champagne tower. “She’s an old family friend.”
Adriana’s mouth quirks. “That didn’t answer my question.”
I pause, meet her gaze. “Do you care if I do?”
She studies me for a second, her face unreadable. “Should I?”
“That depends,” I say. “Would it bother you?”
She shrugs, a little too casually. “I guess that depends if you want it to.” Her answer is cool, but there’s a spark behind it. She doesn’t look away.
I let out a breath, a smile tugging at my mouth. “No. I’m not dancing with her.”
She just nods, slow and deliberate, like she’s giving me a grade, like I passed a test. “Good,” she says, her voice soft, just for me. “Because I’d hate to see you waste your time.”
We finish the dance pressed close, the room spinning away, and as the last note lingers, she doesn’t move to leave my arms.
“I suppose you dance well enough,” she teases.
I lean in, mouth near her ear. “That’s good. I only want to dance with you.”
She looks up, and I swear I see a flash of softness before her eyes turn wary again, back to business, back to the next move in this glittering, dangerous room.
But for a moment, it was just the two of us—and I don’t want it to end.
15
ADRIANA
