Page 147 of Toeing the Line

“You haven’t seen my boyfriend, have you?” I ask.

“Haven’t been looking for him,” he says with a smirk.

There’s a whisper behind him and he turns back around, his eyes narrowing.

“If you don’t find him, you’re welcome to join us,” he says, prompting a giggle that sounds a lot like Gwen from behind him.

I shudder and back away. “No thanks. As you were.”

He shrugs and I back away in the opposite direction. When I reach the parlor, a few voices rattle through the doors. I knock and pull the door open, and find five gentlemen, my father included, standing next to the fireplace, smoking cigars. Dad freezes.

“Don’t tell your mother,” he says quickly.

I arch a playful eyebrow and back out of the room. I take a step back and sigh. The hallway to the right is completely dark, the restaurant closed for the night.

The parlor door opens again and my father emerges, hands stuffed into his pockets. Without a jacket, still wearing his bow tie, he looks handsome and relaxed.

“You smell like cigar smoke,” I say, curling my lip into a smirk.

“I was merely enjoying the fire and good conversation with old friends. They happened to be smoking cigars. I would never.” He lifts his chin and I do the same.

“You’re sticking to that, eh?”

“Nothing else to tell.” A wry smirk tips his mouth into a smile and he pats me on the back.

“What’s wrong, Fee-Fee?”

“Nothing,” I say, chewing on my bottom lip.

He studies me for a long moment and then steps closer, as if he’s decided something important.

“Your gentleman is good people,” he says.

It’s such a simple thing to say. So simple that my father wouldn’t say it if it didn’t mean something big. That’s the thing about Dad. He says what he means. The fewer words he uses, the more genuine the sentiment.

I smile. “He is.”

“He should be dancing with you.”

I nod. “I was just heading that way.”

He pats me on the back again and then presses two fingers against my shoulder. “Save me a dance?”

I grin and nod. “Sure, Dad.”

He goes back into the lounge and I turn back toward the ballroom. A sound comes from down the blackened hallway and I still. I’m not sure what I heard, but it almost sounds like a moan.

“Hello?” I call.

There’s no response. It’s quiet, still, empty. I wait another long moment for something to happen. But of course, it doesn’t.

I shake my head and laugh at myself, but then I hear it again. Like someone is in pain. As if someone is locked in a room.

Without a second thought, I move down the wide, dark hall, the sound from the ballroom quieting with every step.My triage brain clicks into gear and I run through a list of places I might find a first aid kit in a pinch.

A heavy thump comes from behind the door opposite the restaurant. It’s the ladies’ dressing room. As I reach out to push it open, a familiar voice stops me.

“You know what you want.” Liza’s raspy voice is breathy.

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