“I do,” she said in an almost-whisper. “What kind of couple do you think would do something like that?”
I rested my lips against Delilah’s hair. “Maybe a couple so swept up in their love they need to touch each other constantly. Breathe each other in. Feel connected through movement.”
“Maybe…” she started, “maybe they love the home they created together. I can see the Thornhills dancing together at the end of a long day. As a form of comfort. Romantic comfort.”
“It sounds like our fake marriage is quite happy,” I said. Delilah was dancing easily with me, our bodies attuned to the steps although we’d never practiced. “Perhaps we do it every night.”
She hummed a little—a sound of bliss. “Even though I can’t dance?”
“I’d keep teaching you,” I promised. “And really, it would only be an excuse to hold you.”
She squeezed my hand tighter.
“We probably did dance the night we eloped,” she said so softly I almost missed it. “A little drunk, still in our wedding clothes, feet bare in our hotel room.”
My lips grazed her temple, the shell of her ear. “Then what happened, wife?”
“I think we both know what happened.”
Across the floor, Victoria wiggled her fingers at me. I wiggled mine back. I twirled Delilah in a circle, her skirts billowing around her heels glamorously. She looked surprised, then delighted.
I tugged a laughing Delilah back into my chest. “Where does a librarian learn how to dance?” she said.
I twirled her again, and she hammed it up a little this time.
“Now who’s a quick study?” I grinned. The tip of my nose brushed along her jaw. “My grandparents lived in a care facility for years with dementia. They didn’t always recognize each other, though they loved to share a dance during the facility dance lessons. I used to take my siblings, Joelle and Jeremiah, with me every Saturday for dance lessons there. It was completely silly, completely happy, and entirely heart-breaking, all at the same time.”
“They’d still dance with each other though?” Delilah asked.
We were barely swaying now.
“Yes, they did, quite happily too.” I smiled at the memory. “They passed away one month apart. I was in high school and I remember my mom taking her first sabbatical after they died. She’d never even taken a vacation day before.”
“What did you do together when she wasn’t working?”
“Read books. Went to the park. Checked out novels at the library. It wasn’t anything particularly spectacular. The ordinariness of that time is what made it so memorable for me.”
“Oh,” she began, “oh, I love that story, Henry. Your grandparents must have loved each other very much.”
“They were devoted to each other,” I replied.
Our feet moved back and forth, our bodies pushed together as one as I stared into Delilah’s eyes. This was all part of the game, all part of my job—seducing her, seducing the crowd into believing our love was real. At least, that was the lie I told myself when I brushed my lips against her cheek.
“How come no one ever taught you how to dance?” I asked.
“I haven’t dated anyone who ever wanted to dance with me.”
She was tilting her neck, and I was entranced with the column of her throat—the line of her collarbone, the pale flesh disappearing beneath the beads. I wanted to caress her fluttering pulse point but held off. The minute my lips touched such an intimate place on Delilah’s body, I was going to permanently lose any remnants of this charade.
There’d be no more pretending between us.
“I don’t have a ton of experience with passion or romance.” Delilah beheld our joined hands, the diamonds of her ring twinkling. “I wasn’t sure I’d do a good job undercover because of it.”
“Because you couldn’t fake being married?”
“No.” Our lips hovered an inch apart. “I wasn’t sure I could fake being in love.”
I’d worried about this too. And yet even at our most awkward, our partnership had held the shape of something comfortable; a natural texture that made becoming the Thornhills easier and easier for me.
“You do a pretty decent job of bluffing though. Victoria totally believes you’re madly in love with me.” She was attempting to tease, but I remembered how she’d described her relationship with Mark: I wasn’t a person to him. I was a body to be used.
Delilah’s gown swished across the floor as we danced closer and closer to the string quartet. The opening melody of Etta James’s “At Last” swirled around us, serving only to loosen my tongue.
“It’s not hard to pretend when you’re the most beautiful woman in this entire room, Delilah.” My teeth lightly scraped at the skin below her ear.
“Henry,” she said.
I’d gone too far.
“Henry.” Her tone was sharp, entire body stiffening in a single second. I scanned the crowd for Victoria—goddammit. I’d been so wrapped up in Delilah I’d forgotten to pay attention to our suspect.
And she was striding from the dance floor, Sven in tow. Heading for a back part of the room with an Employees Only: Authorized Area sign hanging across it.
“Follow my lead.” Delilah was half-dragging me across the dance floor as my mind scrambled to catch up. Our staged slow dance had left me dazed. But my partner was on the move, two steps ahead, racing toward two burly security guards who were standing in front of the Authorized Area sign.
She stopped and I almost ran into her. “Excuse me,” she said to Burly Guard #1. “I need your help. Immediately.” Her tone was haughty. She gestured for them to stand close to her, and as they moved her index finger pointed at the briefly exposed hallway.
“Some kind of problem?” #1 asked.
“A man, a gentleman over there?” They glared off into the distance—and I slipped into the darkness, aware of the other guests, their possible attention. “It’s the one in the dark-blue suit.”
“Half the crowd is wearing dark-blue suits,” #2 sighed. “Ma’am.”
Delilah gave her best Victoria impression, crossing her arms and pursing her lips. “Yes, well, can you please go over and tend to them? I’ve been trying to get a drink for the past hour, and their behavior is upsetting. It’s out of control.”
As if on cue, two men by the bar began laughing uproariously.
Both guards sighed extravagantly, one of them squawking into a radio. “Yeah, wait right here.”
I was flat against the wall, hidden by shadows. Delilah watched them lumber off for all of a second before dashing backward into the hallway, backing right into my chest.
“Fuck,” she wheezed.
“It’s just me.” I grabbed her shoulders. “What’s the plan?”
“Where on earth did she go?” she muttered. “And it’s not like Sven’s easy to miss.” The carpeted hallway was pitch-black and filled with doors. No windows.
“Delilah? The plan?” We were slipping down the hallway like sharply dressed cat burglars. The raucous sounds of the museum gala faded away the farther we walked.
“No plan, just action,” she whispered.