Once dinner and the speeches have wrapped up, the dance floor opens up. Our table empties as everyone hits the floor in pairs, leaving me and Hunter with a moment more or less alone.
“Riley, you’ve gotta stop worrying about it,” he says, looking over at me. “You should be having fun. We’re at a ball, for Christ’s sake.”
I smile faintly. “Your dad doesn’t have a dungeon he’ll throw me in for spilling state secrets, does he?”
Hunter rolls his eyes. “No one’s throwing you in a dungeon, and you didn’t spill any secrets. It’s loud in here, that guy probably didn’t even hear you. And it’s not like this is a well-kept secret. Among this set, yes. No one in my dad’s world knows. But there are people at home who do—people I’ve given reason not to like me, in fact. There are other ways it could get out.”
“I know, but there’s a difference between local gossip that could be denied and written off as a rumor, and me saying something like that to you in a place like this,” I say, gesturing around.
As if to illustrate my point, some royal-dignitary-looking dude in a fancy green sash goes strolling past our table.
I look at Hunter and raise my eyebrows as if to say, “See?”
Hunter shakes his head, pushes his chair back, and stands. “Come on.”
I look up at him, but don’t move. “Where are we going?”
“To dance,” he states, offering me his hand.
I take it, reluctantly rising from my seat. “I do like dancing with you.”
“Mm-hmm,” he murmurs, drawing me closer and escorting me to the dance floor.
Once we’re on the dance floor together, some of my cares fall away. There’s something about dancing with Hunter that I really love, and dancing with him in a place as lovely as this… I shouldn’t squander the evening worrying about some strange man I may never see again.
I feel like a real princess dancing with her prince in a fairy tale made just for me. Hunter holds me close to him and we dance through several songs, then we take a break to grab champagne and watch the other guests milling about.
We don’t go back to our table right away. Preferring to spend a little time alone, Hunter leans against an empty stretch of the ornate, gilded wall and drags me against him.
“Are you having more fun now?” he asks.
I nod happily, taking a sip of my champagne and gazing up at him. “I am. And I know I’ve never really had champagne except when I’m with you, but personally, I think this is the best champagne I’ve ever tasted.”
A voice I don’t recognize suddenly steals my attention from Hunter. When I look up and see the man from the hall, my heart stops.
“I prefer Cristal myself, but I can’t very well complain about Dom, can I?”
Perhaps because I’ve stiffened in his embrace, Hunter scowls at the stranger instead of being friendly like he normally would. “And who might you be?”
I tug on Hunter’s arm. He looks down at me, and I lean up to whisper. “This is the guy from the hall.”
Hunter’s confusion clears. His eyes harden ever so slightly, but his lips tilt up in a deliberately casual smile.
The man from the hall steps forward, meeting Hunter’s gaze and extending his hand. “Caleb Grant. We haven’t met, but I think we’re going to be fast friends.”
Hunter extends his hand toward Caleb. “Oh, do you?”
Like Hunter, this man opted not to go with a traditional black tux tonight. Unlike Hunter, he made the daring choice to wear a rich green velvet tuxedo jacket—not a look a lot of men could pull off, but he’s pulling it off quite well.
He’s undeniably attractive, lean but well-built with golden hair, secretive blue eyes, and a mischievous smile.
His mischief doesn’t feel like Hunter’s, though—mostly playful and harmless. No, there’s much more calculation in the man standing before us, but if he’s grown up in this world, I can imagine why.
And it feels like he has grown up in this world. I found it so daunting to step into tonight, but this man has never been an outsider here. To him, this was his playground. I bet he knows every nook, every cranny, every dirty little secret.
And now he knows who Hunter is, because I opened my big, stupid mouth and told him.
Out of all the people at the party, I wonder if he’s the absolute worst person I could have shared that information with.
My stomach rocks with nerves, but Hunter shakes Caleb’s hand, sizing the man up.
“What makes you think that?” Hunter asks casually.
Rather than answer him, Caleb’s gaze shifts to me as he drops his hand. “And you are?”
I don’t answer. I instantly dislike him, and I make it no secret as I narrow my eyes at him.
Hunter squeezes my waist. “This is my girlfriend, Riley.”
I look over at Hunter uncertainly, but he nods for me to go ahead, so I try to be a little less cagey as I look back at the stranger. Since he shook Hunter’s hand, I offer mine, too. “Riley Bishop.”
“Lovely to meet you, Riley.” He takes my hand, but he doesn’t shake it. He brings it to his lips and kisses it.
I jerk my hand away, regarding him even more warily than I did before.
He smiles, his eyes dancing with amusement.
“There you are!”
My gaze darts away from him as a beautiful girl with long blonde hair in a tight red dress stops next to Caleb. She hands him a glass of champagne, keeping one for herself, then glances at us as she takes a sip.
Her expression is open and friendly, not at all measured and calculated like his. She has blonde hair like him, but if I had the impression for even a moment that she might be his sister, he eliminates it when he slides a hand around her waist a little too intimately for her to be a relation.
“Sorry,” he says to her. “I didn’t mean to leave you holding the alcohol. I saw someone I wanted to say hello to.”
The girl must not be into public displays of affection. She peels his hand off her almost absently as she flashes us a smile. “Hi, I’m Zoey. Are you friends of Caleb’s?”
The girl has a faint southern accent that makes her sound even sweeter, so I don’t think she’s from New York originally.
Without giving us a chance to answer, Caleb introduces us to her. “This is Hunter Maxwell and his girlfriend, Riley Bishop.”
Hunter regards Caleb carefully. “I didn’t tell you my name.”
“Didn’t you?” Caleb takes a sip of his champagne, holding Hunter’s gaze.
The girl he called Zoey frowns, looking over at him with a look of mild disapproval on her face. “You’re not makin’ trouble, are you, Caleb?”
“Would I do that?” he asks, looking over at her.
“Yes,” she answers without hesitation. Her gaze flickers to us as if mildly concerned.
Before she can say anything else, Caleb assures her, “I’m just making new friends.” To us, he says, “I make it a point to familiarize myself with all the interesting people in my city, but I haven’t seen you two around.” As he says it, he gestures between us with the hand holding his champagne glass. His gaze lingers on Hunter. “Not from New York?”
Hunter shakes his head. “Boston. Just in town for the charity ball.”