Page 11 of Slow Waltz
“Actually, I just need a tailor. I got this suit at a thrift store.” The money he’d inherited from his mother when she died was a godsend. Too bad it had also come with the news that had ripped his past apart. Rhys pushed the memory away. Two days. He’d think about it when they got to New York.
Silas met his gaze in the mirror, his concern evident in the wrinkles on his forehead.
“I put the starving into starving artist. Most of my money went toward studio rent. No budget for fancy clothes.” Rhys turned around. “This will have to do.”
A few pulls and tucks later, Silas nodded. “You look fine.”
Silas looked stunning. A charcoal gray suit, cuff links, and a black and amber tie. Rhys resisted the urge to use it to pull Silas to him.
In some ways, Silas had been a lifeline. Everything that had happened—what he’d learned about Silas and about himself—had only made him stronger. He’d faced death. He could handle those trying to scam him out of his money. And together, they could face down the fae courts.
He hoped.
Silas took his hand and kissed his knuckles. “We shouldn’t keep the ladies waiting.”
* * * *
In the subdued light of the evening and full of other people besides just their dance class, the New Orleans Lounge had segued from garish into elegant, if still full of brass and leather. Rhys felt swallowed by the crowd in the room, the chatter, and the empty, glossy void of the dance floor. Gone was the comforting sight of Debbie’s coyotes and cactuses—she wore an elegant turquoise and silver dress that somehow avoided looking matronly. Faith also wore blue, a deep sapphire gown with long sleeves that complemented her salt-and-pepper hair.
The class group had been seated at two spacious tables near the parquet wooden square. Of course, Rhys and Silas had been paired with Debbie and Faith, while the other two couples sat at the next table. Scott flitted between both, sitting at neither.
The instructor had enough nervous energy for ten couples. Scott’s frenetic pace set Rhys’s teeth on edge. He wasn’t even aware he was rapidly bouncing his leg until Silas placed a hand on his knee.
“You’ll do fine,” Silas said. “Relax.”
“I’m not nervous.” He knew the words were a lie. One look at Silas told Rhys that it hadn’t even been a convincing falsehood. “Okay, maybe I’m a little nervous.”
Debbie set down her water glass. “Hon, you’re about to vibrate out of your seat.”
“And here I thought that was the boat’s engines,” Faith said. She folded her hands into her lap, but her lips curved into a smile that rivaled Silas’s and her eyes damn near sparkled, if such a thing were possible.
Rhys was saved further embarrassment by a waitress arriving to take their drink orders. Both of the women ordered wine—chardonnay for Debbie and Shiraz for Faith.
“Just the water for me.” Rhys touched his glass. Alcohol would only make him lose focus, loosen up too much.
“He’ll have a bourbon. Neat,” Silas said. “One for me as well.” Silas caressed Rhys’s knee under the tablecloth before Rhys could protest. Rhys knew the message Silas was conveying.Trust me. Calm down.
The waitress, to her credit, waited for Rhys to nod before retreating. Rhys couldn’t help but think back to the first day of the cruise—Silas had overridden him then too. Only the drink Silas had ordered had been scotch, and dinner had ended…very interestingly. It was then Rhys had learned of Silas’s true nature—and his supernatural job of hunting vampires.
A faint prickling touched Rhys’s fingertips—a gentle stroke of elemental energy. Silas was manipulating the flow of what little greenery there was in the room, and wrapping Rhys with it.
He inhaled and forced himself to relax. If Silas was using all the tricks in his arsenal—at least the ones he could use in public—to soothe his tangled nerves, he must look like a rabbit caught by a dog.
In truth Rhys was terrified. Not to dance with Debbie in public, but what he intended to do after that—pull Silas onto the dance floor and waltz with him. He hadn’t been closeted since he was eighteen, but years of experience had taught Rhys there were things you didn’t do in public with your lover. Like hold hands. Or kiss. Or dance—not something as classic as a waltz. Bumping and grinding with a mass of people on a dance floor was one thing. This—was something else entirely. Just the two of them, in the open. No hiding.
Funny, really. He’d just been through hell with Silas—nearly lost both his life and Silas’s—and he was terrified to dance with his man in public.
Vampires? No problem.
A waltz? A chasm of worry widened in his gut. He took a sip of water.
Their drinks came, and the waitress took their order. Scott provided the next distraction by stopping to tell them how the dancing would work. Their group would start off the evening. Then dancing would open to all and include different types of dance. There’d be one last waltz at the end of the night, which they could participate in or not.
Rhys took a sip of bourbon and hoped the sweet taste of fiery oak that ran down his throat would settle in his blood and ease his nerves. The last dance, then. That would be with Silas.
Dinner was a bit of a blur—the food was good and the conversation entertaining. Faith, it turned out, had been a gallery owner in New York, and Debbie blithely mentioned that Rhys was a sculptor. Faith pulled a small notebook out of her clutch and jotted down her e-mail. “I still have connections. Send me your portfolio, and I’ll see if your work matches anyone I know.”
It was that kindness more than anything that pushed Rhys’s nerves down. He could always talk about art. Before he knew it, he and Faith were hip-deep in a conversation about galleries, owners, and exhibits they’d seen. It wasn’t until Rhys finished describing his works to Faith that he noticed Silas’s rapt attention. He sat back, startled by the intense look on his lover’s face. “Sorry,” he said. “Sometimes I get a little involved.”
