Page 71 of Bound By Stars
My skin tingles under his touch and, for a millisecond, I’m transported back into the cargo hold. Floating. Weightless.
He swings me around and our grip locks.
I watch my feet as we move over the dance floor like I did when I was a kid.
“Keep your eyes on me. You’re doing great,” Jupiter whispers.
I lift my gaze, and we glide together easily until over his shoulder I’m caught in his mother’s icy glare. I trip over the toe of his shoe, but he doesn’t miss a step. “How powerful is your mother?”
“She’s the head of my family corporation. Everyone answers to her, and she doesn’t stand for anyone disagreeing with her.” There’s reverence in his voice, but also bitterness. “I would say my mother’s power is as close to absolute as you can get without actually being a dictator. Why?”
“Because I think she’s about to put a hit out on me.” I keep my eyes on her, spotting as we spin.
She leans toward Gianna, staring without seeming to ever blink.
“Ignore her.”
“I can ignore stares, but a knife in my back might be a little more difficult.”
“She’s a control freak, not a murderer. You’re safe, I promise.” He pointedly avoids looking toward the back of the room. “She’s probably angry with me. She’s always angry with me.”
“Your parents are pretty hard on you, huh?”
“Just my mom. My dad’s pretty easygoing, but he follows the whole ‘no disagreeing with Sabine Dalloway’ rule.” He exhales. “That’s part of her job, though, oppressing and molding the next generation of leadership.”
“I’m sorry.” I find his eyes. “That sounds like a lot of pressure.”
“It is what it is.” He shrugs and spins me, catching my hand expertly and pulling me back in a little closer than before.
The song ends. A long, trilling note begins the next. A slower song. The people around us move in shorter, swaying steps.
Jupe pulls me to his chest.
“I don’t think I know this one.”
“Just follow my lead.” He guides me, shifting around the other couples in wide circles. We loop three pairs before I realize there’s a pattern to the movements. Everyone steps at the same time, passing between each other flawlessly. No collisions. No chaos.
I give in, following and watching the other dancers pass.
“Wes,” Jupe whispers.
My skin tingles where his breath grazes my ear. I turn my head to meet his eyes. Our faces are so close he barely moves to touch his forehead to mine. Heat washes through me from my face to my chest to my stomach.
“I…” He draws his mouth so close to mine that I can taste his breath. Peppermint and champagne.
The music stops. Applause erupts as the crowd on the dance floor swells.
Jupiter exhales and steps back.
I unfreeze more slowly, shifting to face the stage with the rest of the party.
The violinist, a tall woman with black hair braided into a tight crown, stands holding out her bow toward the rest of the band. They all take a quick bow before she rests her chin on her instrument and leads them immediately into a quick-tempo number.
As though possessed by the arrangement of notes, everyone around us moves into position, forming circles across the dance floor. Within the bounds of the closed groups, sets of dancers take quick steps, spinning, crisscrossing, splitting on the opposite side, and switching partners at the edges.
“Follow me.” Jupiter pulls me to him, catching my waist with one hand and leading me in dizzying circles, weaving between other pairs, and then spinning me to my position on the other side. Disoriented, I twirl away until Curran and Asha catch me between them at the edge of the group.
“Our turn,” Curran says, offering me his white-gloved hand.
