“It’s Montrose, not Aseyev. And I’m here for the benefit.” Dmitri’s stance is stiff and annoyed. “Obviously.”
“We’d prefer if you spoke to us before wandering into our neighborhood.” Edmund messes with his sleeve, trying to appear unconcerned. But like me, he has to feel the heightened tension, the way this “friendly hello” can easily devolve into a fistfight. “It could be dangerous for you here if the wrong people catch you.”
Dmitri doesn’t respond. Edmund waits, eyebrows raised.
Finally, Rosalind taps Edmund’s shoulder. “Eddie, let’s go.”
“Leah.” Edmund smiles again, and this time it seems genuine. “Tell Danica that Troy and I say hello.”
Dmitri lunges at Edmund. “You fucking bastard.”
I get in front of Edmund, ready to take a hit. Not that Edmund deserves my protection.
But Leah steps forward as well, and Dmitri stops short.
“Hey.” Leah holds out her hands, placating. “We’re here for the benefit, not for…whatever this is. We’ll keep to one side of the room, you keep to the other. Does that sound fair?”
“Of course.” Edmund’s tone is completely reasonable, like he didn’t come over here just to fuck with Dmitri. “Leah, it was a pleasure.”
Rosalind takes Edmund’s arm, subtly telling him not to cause more of a scene than he already has. Dmitri scowls after us as we go.
Once Rosalind is busy talking to someone with better manners, I mutter to Edmund, “You just had to stir shit up.”
“Well, yeah. Fucking with Dmitri Montrose is hilarious. Pissing him off actually makes me more inclined to pursue his sister.”
I keep my eye on Rosalind to make sure she’s adequately distracted by the senator’s son. “I don’t think that’s the right reason to pursue Dani.”
“I don’t think there’s a wrong reason. She’s the enemy.”
I can’t believe he’s still sulking about her tattoo. “You know she isn’t the enemy. It’s just her family.”
“One and the same.” He scans the ballroom, probably searching for a distraction. Any excuse to get away from me.
“Hey.” I wait until he’s looking at me. “Don’t play mind games, E.”
He snags a flute of champagne from a server’s tray and brings it to his lips. “I’m not. Fucking hell. You think I’m like Amber?”
I rock back on my heels. Amber. I do my best to never think about her, never think her name, even. “I don’t want you to be. That’s all I’m saying.”
This is the closest we’ve come to talking about my ex since I returned to the Layton family. Three years I spent by her side, and at the end of them, I came back to the Laytons as a shell of my former self. Edmund knows it’s a sore topic. He shouldn’t have brought her up now, especially not here. Maybe that’s precisely why he did.
He drains his champagne glass. “How soon can we leave?”
Danica
Sleepy Sunday morning traffic rumbles past me. I wait in front of Isabelle’s Creamery, where we’re supposed to have a meeting. I could go inside, but the sun feels nice on my face.
Isabelle calls to tell me she’s running late. Not a big deal. I pull up PhotoGram and get ready to scroll until she arrives.
But the first set of images is organized by “local interest.” There was some big benefit yesterday, and a grinning face in the background of one grabs my attention. Edmund Freaking Layton.
Damn, he looks good in a tux. He looks good naked, too, but I slam my brain’s door shut on that particular thought. I scroll through the pics, hoping for another glimpse even though I know this is a bad idea.
“I don’t care about you,” I mutter when I find him again.
Then I find him tagged in another photo—this one with his arm around an attractive blond woman in a glittering black gown.
So three days after Troy, Edmund, and I fucked around on their balcony, he’s taking someone else to a fancy party. I guess I know where I stand in their hierarchy…somewhere at the bottom.
