“Robert Vanderburg.” He extends his hand, and I shake it just like my mimi always taught me, a firm grip and eye contact. “I haven’t seen you before. Who is your family?”
It strikes me, then, just exactly how high society this evening is. Family? He means to ask if I am from a founding family or another one of those fancy east coast names. Ones that are placed on statues or holding seats of government.
My moms were both from different parts of the country. They moved here for college and always said the rest was history. Their parents didn’t care so much for their “lifestyle,” so I don’t know them. I have no idea what kind of family I could present to him that wouldn’t sound as poor as I am.
So I’m honest.
“Joanna Cole, my moms weren’t from Gwenmore.”
“Ah,” I see the subtle way his face ticks at the knowledge I have two moms, though he quickly presses on. “New blood is always good if it means Mr. Ravenscroft is out again.”
“Yes, well, we are going to make an order with the bar and return to our box.” Augustine makes a move towards the bar, but Robert stops him.
“I’ll join you. Give us a moment to chat about the upcoming election this fall.”
“You know I will not discuss politics, Vanderburg.”
Ah, so he is that kind of rich.
“I am looking forward to the election,” I say, nervously filling the awkward silence that stretches as Augustine places an order for some kind of cocktail made with tea and affogato for me. “I met the mayor recently, he was lovely.”
“Hawthorn is not so lovely, darling.”
My fingers tighten around Augustine’s forearm. The hairs at the back of my neck rise and I desperately want to rub away the goosebumps that rise up on my skin under the sleeves of my dress. It doesn’t sound the same, but I am suddenly exposed and vulnerable. My stomach tightens like it knows it will be taking a hit.
“Leave, now, Vanderburg.” Augustine’s glare is ice cold. He angles his body in front of mine. “I will not in this life or the next ever support your bid for mayor. You are a vile bastard who would see our city coffers drained for your personal pleasures.”
Robert’s face turns violently red, his jowls shaking as he grits his teeth to avoid saying anything in return. Augustine stares him down until he walks away, joining back into a crowd of people.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m sorry I-”
“Mon abeille,” Augustine’s soft fingers grip my hand, gently kissing my knuckles before placing it against his chest. “Are you alright? It felt like you were about to have a fit.”
“He called me darling.” I swallow hard, trying to push the lump down in my throat. “It’s silly, but I was just… back in that room.”
“There is nothing trivial about trauma recovery or what you are feeling, Joanna. It was barely a week ago. You almost died.”
Our drinks arrive, and Augustine passes me a martini glass with a small golden spoon nestled in a dainty scoop of ice cream swimming in rich, aromatic espresso. His whiskey glass is smoking, or steaming, but the ice in it is cut into a perfect sphere.
“What a vibe killer,” I mutter, holding my glass at the steam to keep the ice cream cold. “Sorry.”
“Would you like to return to our box or go home?” he asks.
There is no evidence that if I chose to leave, to be driven south of the river and away from all the people that Augustine is so used to being surrounded by, he would be upset. He would graciously take me away, kiss me goodnight, and call me when he got home to arrange another date. I have no doubt of that. Even if the bond is affecting him the way it is me, he will put it aside to make sure I feel comfortable, safe. He is a gentleman, first and foremost, and my boogeyman second.
I take a deep breath, letting the murmurings of the crowd and the cold drink in my hand recentre me. It takes a few moments, but he waits for me and I smile when I see the look of adoration in his eyes.
“I want to finish what we started.”
A blush tinges my cheeks even though I already knew I was going to complete the bond tonight. I want Augustine, I did before the bond, and I hope I will forever.
15
Joanna
In true gentlemanly fashion, Augustine keeps his hands to himself for the rest of the show. He insisted I remain seated on his lap, but his touch was nothing but soothing. The second half of the show is a bit confusing because I couldn’t tell you a single thing that happened in the first half. It is beautiful and heart-breaking all the same, and I want to beg Augustine to take me again.
Marcus is waiting for us at the front of the building, exactly where he dropped us off. The privacy screen is already up when I’m ushered inside, and I’m not sure if it’s for his benefit or ours. Augustine buckles me in, and the fluttering feels set off in my chest. Unlike the first journey, there is no teasing. I lay my head on Augustine’s shoulder and hold his hand in my lap. His thumb traces little patterns around my palm.
