The Deception Dance (19 page)

I turn to Nicholas. “Isn’t this a Led Zeppelin song?”
I smile and nod. “It is, ‘Kashmir;’ I like it.”

We make a beeline for the space cleared for dancing and Nicholas
takes me in his arms. Following Nicholas’s steps is easy, if I
don’t look down. Soon, we’re spinning across the floor.
Nicholas whispers stories about people we pass until my cheeks hurt
from laughing; he nods in greeting to many of them, obviously knowing
most of the party. We don’t stop between songs, as neither of
us tires. I wish I had some way to lift up the hem of my dress; I
keep stepping on the back.

The air is full of a bizarre fusion of expensive perfumes and
colognes. We waltz into the realm of a scent I’m familiar with
and I know whose hands cover my eyes. I halt and touch her hand.
“Linnie!” I answer to her unspoken ‘guess who?’
and twirl to face her.

Linnie holds up her glass to prevent wine from spilling. She tilts
her head to the entrance, where I see Stephen heading. “You
guys want to get some fresh air?”

Nicholas touches the small of my back, “Definitely.”

I’m grateful for the break; I’ve
never danced with this much material hanging around me and I’m
afraid I’ll end up exposing my inelegance by falling on my
face.

We follow Linnie to the door Stephen exited and into the well-lit
courtyard. We find Stephen, leaning against one of the only vine-free
areas of the brick wall, smoking a cigarette. He might be dressed in
the same formalwear as the crowd around him, but his scar and smirk
mark him as an outsider, just like me.

More people populate the courtyard than when we first crossed
through. Several men and women smoke or chat, and one woman heckles a
tray-laden waiter.

I stare. That woman is criticizing him about something, and he looks
embarrassed. She’s shorter and a few years older than Linnie,
with blazing red hair, contrasting with her earthy green gown. She
abruptly turns her head, so I snap my gaze to Nicholas, who laughs at
something Stephen must have said.

I step toward Nicholas and reach to his shoulder, “Nicholas
...” I snicker. “You have a spider on your shoulder.”

“Don’t kill it!” A woman’s voice calls out
with a strong Irish accent. The redhead rushes up and slaps the top
of my hand.

I draw back and rub my stinging hand protectively. “I wasn’t
going to.”

She scoops up and delivers the spider to the vine, where it must have
wandered off.

“Thank you, Madeline,” Nicholas says, while pivoting to
the woman, “for attacking my date; that was so necessary.”

She scrunches up her pale freckled face into an insincere-looking
smile.

“Raven, this is Madeline.” He raises his fist in an
exaggerated motion. “Defender of arachnids.”

“Oh, Nicklaus, how’s the view up there, from that high
horse you sit on?”

Nicholas peers around slowly and says, “Splendid. And how’s
the view from the compost you like to squat in?”

Stephen clears his throat.

Madeline acknowledges Stephen with wide eyes as if she just noticed
him. For some reason, I don’t believe it.

“Oh, Stephen, what might you be doing here?” She is
talking to Stephen with her hazel eyes fixed on Linnie. “It’s
seems my uncle invites anybody these days. And who’s this?”

Stephen gestures to Linnie with his cigarette-free hand, “Fake-ex
Linnie, meet my real-ex, Madeline?”

Madeline turns my way, and even though I have to look down to meet
her glare, I can’t help wilting from its ferocity. “Tell
me, what is a ‘fake ex’?”

I give a tight shrug. “It means they’re just friends.”

The tension around her puckered mouth relaxes. Madeline nods, then
brushes between Nicholas and me to start chatting with Linnie, her
back to us.

Nicholas stage whispers, “she hates me.”

“I can tell.”

He grasps my hand and steers me away from the chatting group.

The tinkle of glasses and hum of many voices fill the foyer, although
the space has emptied of people. Even the man who earlier had
collected coats and hats, has left. I continue walking through, until
Nicholas tugs my hand, leading me to the side of the room. He backs
me to the bottom of a wooden stair railing.

I chew on my lip. The intense way he’s gazing into my eyes
tells me we’re about to have the conversation I hoped we’d
never have. Maybe I can stop this. "Um, so, Stephen grew up
here, but, uh, he seems as if he’s an outsider, uh, what's up
with that? And Madeline is...” Nicholas's touch on my cheek
silences me. I don’t want him to be touching my face, but I
don't say anything.

"Raven, I don't want to talk about Stephen, right now. I have
something I've been meaning to say to you.”

I hold my breath and nod.

A flash of green in my peripheral vision makes me steal a look away
from Nicholas to the open entrance of the foyer. Heart rate
accelerating to rabbit-speed, I propel my gaze back to Nicholas.

That wasn’t Andras; that couldn’t have been Andras. I
peek one more time at the couple walking into the party. The man with
his arm around that Scandinavian supermodel can’t possibly be
Andras; I’m pretty sure his black wavy hair looks totally
different from the back. Rubbing my lips together, I slow my
breathing through my nose.

“Raven...” Nicholas's thumb caresses down the cheek he's
cupping.

My face splits into a fanatical grin; I quickly drop the smile,
moderating myself.

What are the chances that Andras would be invited here? No, no way,
that’s not him.

Nicholas’s fingers tuck a curl behind my ear and my eyes widen
with attention. I try on another smile.

“I care about you, Raven...”

If that was Andras, and it probably wasn’t, who was the woman
with him? She was way too perfect; she must have been nipped or
tucked or both. No one looks like that without major surgery.

“I know we’ve known each other fewer than three weeks,
but...”

Does Andras have a girlfriend? But he kissed me, he flirted with me,
he took me to his house, into his bed…

Would he do that to me? Would he do that to her?

“Am I upsetting you?”

I blink up at Nicholas, stare while reviewing his words, and then
shake my head.

He steps even closer; his fingertips brush a ringlet off my shoulder.
I want to step away but, as he's got me backed up against a railing,
I can't do it without pushing him out of the way.

Nicholas continues, “I feel strongly for
you.” His hand stays on my shoulder, “I don’t want
to scare you. This is all so quick, I know...” He inhales
deeply then smiles. “What do you think?”

I make myself meet his all-too-close gaze, “Nicholas...”

“Oh.” His hand drops.

“No, wait.” I grab for his hand; he shifts away and his
hand is ever so slightly out of my reach. “It’s just…
I’m leaving Sweden tomorrow. The time I’ve spent with you
has been wonderful, but, I can’t let myself get attached. I’m
just traveling through...”

Nicholas stares at some point over my shoulder when he speaks, “Do
you think that if you had more time here you would care for me the
way I...”

“I, I do care for you,” I stammer.

He pins me with his gaze. “Could you ever love me, if you
stayed?”

“I’m...” I swallow. “I’m sure I would
Nicholas; but I don’t know in which way, yet.” I finally
manage to grab his hand and give it a squeeze. “Hey, why should
we torment ourselves with what could have happened? I have to
leave...”

“Do you?” He closes his hand around my grasp.

“Um.” I peer around and notice, by some miracle, Stephen
and Madeline entering the foyer, followed closely by Linnie.
Pretending that I’m deliberating over what to say, I catch
Linnie’s attention and give her a covert ‘save me’
motion with my eyes.

“There you guys are!” Linnie runs up and squeezes in next
to us. She says, “So Madeline stole my date and I decided to be
just as devious and come and steal yours.” Linnie slaps my
hand, forcing me to release Nicholas’s and hooks her arm
through his. “Nicholas, I’m forcing you to dance with
me.”

Nicholas gives me a fleeting look, as Linnie hauls him from the room.

“Go on and dance.” I manage a genuine smile. “We
can talk later.” Once they are out of my sight, I slump against
the railing and exhale.

A thump draws my attention up to the second-floor landing. Someone
steps back out of view, someone with black hair.

I stare up at the spot where the figure had just been. That wasn’t
him; it couldn’t have been him. Somebody was passing by and
happened to lean over. I glance around the foyer one more time; the
room is still empty.

Hesitating before the first step, I lift up the front of my gown,
revealing my scuffed-up ballet flats, and ascend the carpeted stair.
There’s no harm in looking, is there? I’ll just climb the
stairs, look around for one second, and then rejoin the party. I
pause and turn around, before stepping onto the landing; I’m
going back down. Two stairs down I stop, scrunch closed my eyelids
and turn back.

The landing widens out onto a small scarlet-carpeted room with a
white, high winged couch and three hallways leading out. The
black-haired man walks down the third hallway. He carries his jacket;
wide shoulders stretch taut a black silk vest and swell through a
white lay-down-collar tuxedo shirt. My examination of his backside is
cut short, when he steps through a door and out of sight.

For all I know, that’s the owner of this castle and I’m
following him to his bathroom. I should go back; I’m being
stupid. I shift my weight from foot to foot. I could just peek in, if
the door is ajar, and run back.

I creep down the hallway, lifting my gown up with both hands, so the
fabric doesn’t brush the floor. The man left the dark wood door
cracked open and a light shines from inside. From the sliver of the
room I can see, there’s a billiard table and perhaps a...

The door swings open. In the open door, silhouetted with a halo of
light, stands Andras. He does not look whatsoever surprised to catch
me, bent over, snooping through a crack in the door.

Jumping up, I stumble back. “I was...” I flatten myself
against the wall. My breath comes much too fast, “I was looking
for the restroom.”

He smiles, lighting up his jewel eyes. He takes a step toward me,
riveting his gaze on me, as he shakes his head. “No, you were
looking for me.”

The noise I make is neither a dissent nor assent, more like,
“um-huh.”

He closes the distance.

“This is wrong.” I breathe, “You’re on a
date, Andras. I’m on a date.”

He cups his hand around the back of my neck and leans in to whisper,
“I do not care.”

I inhale his strong, musky cologne. My legs won’t support me. I
close my eyes to rein in my nerves. My eyelids snap open, “Who
was that woman?” I did not mean to say that so resentfully. Who
she is makes no difference to me, not at all. I rush to say, “I
mean, never mind. Um, what I came to say is, I’m sorry for ...”

He leans down to kiss my shoulder.

“…leaving you...” I gulp, and then add, “Without
a ride.”

His lips trail up my neck, sending tingles dripping throughout my
body.

I tip up my chin. “We shouldn’t...”

He presses his muscled chest against me, pinning me to the wall. He
peers down, hands gripping my hips.

My lips part to let out a ragged breath.

“Raven?” A shaky voice calls from the end of the hall.

Andras doesn’t release me, his sparkling gaze still holds me
captivated. He growls over his shoulder, “Go away.”

“Raven,” the voice commands, more determined, but still
shaky.

I just have enough room to turn my head. Chauncey stands at the end
of the hall, spectacular in a green gown, visibly quaking.

I furrow my brow and stare.

Her voice has a bit of a whine, “Raven, please.”

I glance back at Andras, who has not shifted his stance, except for
also turning to Chauncey. The curve of his brow and tightening around
his mouth are undeniably hostile; the unfriendly look drops so fast,
perhaps I imagined it.

I touch his cheek. “Give me a second.”

He caresses my lips with his, taking my
lower-lip between his and tugging. I stand, as if still pinned while
Andras backs into the billiards room and turns.

Chauncey paces, in short spurts, at the end of the hall. Her gaze
darts about the space, her hair sticking up, as if someone mussed it;
she still looks like a goddess: a distressed, possibly insane
goddess. When I step into the alcove where she paces, I hear her
muttering words under her breath.

She needs help. I hold out my hand. “Are you okay? Do you want
me to find Tobias to take you back to the...”

Chauncey stops pacing and grabs my arm so forcefully, it hurts. She’s
mad, psychotic, the gleam in her eyes…

I squirm to elbow out of her hold.

She shakes her head and releases me. When her gaze fixes on me again,
I see no trace of the madness, as if it had never been there. She
whispers fervently, “We need to go. You need to get away from
that... that man.”

I glance down the hall, “Andras?”

She nods and hurries to the stairs; I don’t follow.

“Do you know him?”

Turning back, Chauncey scoffs, “No…” as if knowing
him is the most ridiculous suggestion in the world. Again, almost
laughing, she says, “No. But, I can tell what he is...”
she swallows, "Trash. Trust me…”

It’s my turn to laugh derisively. “Trust you? Trust you.
If I had a choice between trusting a venomous snake and you,
Chauncey, I’d choose the snake.”

She halts to glare. “What’s your problem?”

I just gape, not sure if I should laugh or scream. Lifting up my
hands, I shout, “You’re kidding right? You drugged and
deserted me.”