Page 81 of The Kiss Of Death
The life of a politician sounded suffocating to me—endless obligations and a lack of personal freedom.
“I’ll be your savior anytime,” I said with a smile.
The second years had taken over in the grand salon, filling the air with the waltz of “Voices of Spring.” I closed my eyes, immersing myself in the divine melody. However, as I reopened them, Levi’s reflection in one of the towering mirrors appeared to stalk toward me with a determined gait, exuding the sleek grace of a panther on the prowl. My heart leaped to my throat.
“Shall we dance?” Sylas had extended his hand.
“Yes, please,” I stammered, accepting his hand and twirling away from Levi.
He halted in his tracks almost instantly.
Sylas and I locked eyes, caught in a silent, tense dance, as we passed through the waltzing couples floating around us. His Adam’s apple bobbed. The strained smiles we exchanged hung in the air. Amid the awkwardness, I noticed Yasmine across the room, a conspiratorial wink aimed in my direction. She was killing the buffet, a dozenamuse-bouchesin her hands. Maybe she was right, and there was more to Sylas’s feelings than friendship.
Yet at that moment, as his hand found its place behind my back, it didn’t stir me. Didn’t echo the way Levi’s touch did—the man entangled in the disillusion that I belonged to him.
Sylas finally broke the silence. “I guess you’re probably aware of what our fathers want for us. I know you’re from a Catholic education, and I’ll always respect that.”
A knot formed in my heart. We were delving into the subject we’d so far tried to avoid.
“Sylas, I—” I began, my words faltering while we glided across the floor. “I’m sorry. I like you a lot, but as a friend…”
He frowned, his grip on my waist tightening as he lowered me into a dip. “Oh, I see.”
“I know our fathers are close, and you’re the only boy my father likes for some reason. You’ve always been kind and attentive to me even though you could have anyone you want,” I said, avoiding his gaze. “I mean, you’re attractive, and…”
“Is it because of Levi?” he asked, his voice barely audible over the soft strains of the waltz. “I’ve noticed how you two look at each other. He can be quite… intense.”
“Maybe… I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry for you.” Sylas smiled, this time genuinely. “He’s the worst person someone could be into.”
He lifted me back up with practiced ease for us to twirl again.
“I hope it’s not going to be weird between us?”
“Dalia, I asked you to be my date because, as lame as it sounds, my father kinda pushed me to do it,” Sylas confessed. “Because you’re the perfect woman a politician could dream of marrying, but you’re far from my type. I’m not into you either.”
“Oh.” That hurt a bit more than I expected.
“I didn’t mean to sound harsh. You’re beautiful, and sweet and—”
“Sweet? Really?” I laughed. “It’s okay, I—”
“I mean…” His voice trailed off. “You’ll never be my type, Dalia.”
I laughed again, trying to brush off the discomfort. “I get it, Sylas. You don’t have to keep repeating it.”
Sylas suddenly halted in the middle of the dance, his grip on my hand loosening. “You don’t understand.”
“It’s okay. We don’t like each other. It’s cool, it’s—”
“You have to promise you won’t tell anyone a thing, especially not to your father or mine,” he urged me. I’d never seen Sylas so insecure. “Remember how I had your back and never told your father about whatever was happening between you and Levi? It’ll remain our secret if you keep mine.”
“You can trust me.”
“I’m into…” He lowered his voice and drew me close with a hand behind my back for a slow dance. “I’m gay. That’s why you’re far from my type and never would be.”
“Oh.” I parted my lips, applause ringing out behind us as the second-years prepared to perform another piece, but we remained locked. “But you just said that thing related to my Catholic education.”
