We ascend the stone steps together, his hand resting on my arm in a way that suggests intimacy. The massive doors stand open, revealing the transformed interior of Halcyon Hall.
The whispers begin at once, like dots of paint spreading in water, flowing outward through the crowded room.
“Is that Lorenzo Vescari?”
“He hasn’t attended one of these in over a year.”
“Who’s the young man with him?”
“Halcyon must have an exceptional piece up for auction tonight.”
People part before us as we move through the entrance hall, following our progress with barely concealed interest and envy.
A waiter materializes at my elbow with champagne flutes on a silver tray. I take two, handing one to Ezra with deliberate casualness, my fingers brushing his in a way to confirm his status as my boy toy for the night to the onlookers.
“Lorenzo!” A gallery owner I recognize from Paris approaches, air-kissing both my cheeks with practiced insincerity. “What a magnificent surprise! We’ve missed you on the circuit.”
His expression turns covetous as he takes in Ezra. “And you’ve brought a guest.”
“Marcello.” I acknowledge him with Lorenzo’s signature detachment. “You know I only attend when something interests me.”
“Of course, of course.” He leans closer. “And I hear tonight’s offerings are rather special.”
I sip my champagne, letting the statement hang between us without comment. Ezra presses closer to my side, playing his role of awe-struck boy with unsettling accuracy.
Marcello takes Ezra’s hand without asking and holds on to it. “And who is this lovely creature?”
“This is mine,” I tell Marcello, my possessiveness sending the other man’s eyebrows climbing toward his hairline.
“Of course.” Marcello slips Ezra his card and releases him with a wink. “For when Lorenzo grows bored.”
Jaw tightening, I take the card and drop it into Marcello’s champagne flute. “The night is too young for such antics, dear.”
“Always one for theatrics.” Chuckling, Marcello wags a finger at me before he wanders off.
Ezra ducks his head, but not before I catch his satisfaction at my possessive claim.
I tighten my grip on his arm and move us forward. It’s just a role. Lorenzo would never share a lover.
As I navigate through Halcyon Hall’s main gallery, Ezra stays a half-step behind me, his fingers brushing mine with deliberate casualness. Eyes follow our progress, and I meet them all with the practiced indifference of someone aware of his value in every room he enters.
Lorenzo doesn’t seek attention. It’s simply his due.
A waiter appears at my elbow with a fresh tray of champagne flutes. I exchange my empty glass for a full one, my fingers lingering on his. The young Beta blushes and almost spills the remaining drinks as he hurries away.
“Lorenzo Vescari, as I live and breathe!”
The call cuts through the ambient chatter, pitched to carry.
I turn to find a woman draped in a sequined wrap that catches the light with every movement, transforming her into a walking disco ball. She wears her silver hair swept into anelaborate updo, and diamonds drip from her earlobes with vulgar abundance.
Marquise something-or-other. I’ve met her at three different auctions in the past, and she’s tried to take me to bed after each one. She’s marked me as her husband number five, and I enjoy playing the game of allowing her to chase with no intention of giving in.
“Marquise.” I take her offered hand and kiss her papery skin. “You look ravishing, as always.”
“Such a charmer.” Her fingers trap mine, preventing escape. “I’ve missed you terribly since Paris. The circuit has been positively dreary without your presence.”
Ezra stiffens beside me, but his face reveals nothing beyond polite interest.
